Bolitho smiled. “I’d better go at once, in that case.” He hesitated. “And thank you for making me welcome.”

Rhodes sank down in a chair and thought about the noon meal. He heard the clatter of oars alongside and the shout of the launch’s coxswain. What he had seen of Bolitho he liked. Young certainly, but with the restless quality of one who would do well in a tight corner or in a screaming hurricane.

It was strange how you never considered the worries and problems of your betters when you were a midshipman. A lieutenant, junior or not, was a kind of superior being. One who berated and was quick to find fault with the youthful beginners. Now he knew better. Even Palliser was frightened of the captain. Probably the lord and master was terrified of upsetting his admiral, or someone higher still?

Rhodes smiled. But for a few more precious moments there was peace.

Little, the gunner’s mate, stood back, his broad hands on where his hips should have been, and watched as one of his men tacked up another recruiting poster.

Bolitho pulled out his watch and looked across the village green as a church clock chimed midday.

Little said gruffly, “Mebbee time for a wet, sir?”

Bolitho sighed. Another day, after a sleepless night in a tiny, none too clean inn where he worried that his small recruiting party might desert, in spite of what Rhodes had said about their selection. But Little had made sure that part had gone well. He was totally at odds with his name; squat, overweight, even gross, so that his belly sagged heavily over his cutlass belt like a sack. How he managed it on purser’s rations was a marvel. But he was a good hand, seasoned and experienced, and would stand no nonsense.

Bolitho said, “One more stop, Little. Then…,” he gave a rueful smile, “I’ll buy you all a drink.”

They brightened up immediately.