Pascoe straightened his hat and tucked some of his rebellious hair beneath it. Bolitho had probably said that too.

Keen walked to the entry port and looked towards the boat. He could see Bolitho sitting in the stern-sheets, that old sword clasped firmly between his knees. To see him join any ship without the family sword would be like sacrilege, he thought.

There was Allday too, massive and watchful as he eyed the boat's crew with obvious displeasure. What had Pascoe's predecessor, the Hon. Oliver Browne, called the squadron? We Happy Few. There were very few of them now. Keen glanced at the big red ensign which flapped only occasionally from the poop. But there were enough.

Achates' first lieutenant, Matthew Quantock, a tall, heavy-jowled Manxman, watched the boat and then said, 'All ready, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Quantock.'

In his few weeks aboard while the overhaul was completed and he had gone through every list, log and book which concerned the ship, Keen had felt his way with care. It was not as if he was new to command. But to this ship's company he was different. A stranger. Until he had won their respect he would take nothing and nobody for granted.

The first lieutenant glanced at the signals midshipman by the foremast and said almost to himself, 'I'll lay odds Old Katie never expected to be a flagship, sir."

Keen smiled. He had learned something new. Old Katie. A ship with a nickname was usually a happy one.

The boat hooked on to the main chains and Captain Dewar of the Royal Marines drew his sword. The thin rasp of steel never failed to touch Keen. Like a memory. A chord of battle.

Keen looked at his command. All the idlers had drawn away from the entry port, and even the hands working on the yards high above the deck were motionless as they peered at the little scene below.