Marine Lieutenant Devereux fiddled with his own immaculate neck-stock, harumphed to clear his throat, and cocked a brow as he regarded his short line of Marines under arms, in a last-instant inspection.

Though ships' officers did not usually stand harbour watches, the First Officer, Mr. Anthony Langlie, was present, as was the Second Officer, the ever-cynical and recently wakened and yawning Lieutenant Catterall. The younger and cleverer Scot, Lt. Adair, also "toed the line" of a tar-paid seam in the starboard gangway planking, his sword loose and ready to present. Mr. Winwood, the Sailing Master, and Mr. Grace, the ship's other midshipman, also stood nearby, stiff-backed and chin-up with curiosity.

Thud! went the shabby cutter against the hull; a clatter of untidily "boated" oars. More, softer thuds as the cutter shouldered the proper captain's gig, and a grunt or two, some mumbles, as money changed hands for the short passage. Midshipman Larkin dared a peek outboard and downwards from his position at the opening of the entry-port, nodded to the neat-uniformed sailors in the side-party, and stiffened.

The Bosun, Mr. Pendarves, began his long, elaborate call as the dog's vane of the arriving officer's gilt-laced cocked hat peeked over the top step. At a whispered word, officers' swords were drawn, then presented before their faces; well-blacked Marine boots stamped on the creamy-pale, fresh-sanded planking; hands slapped glossy-oiled walnut musket buttstocks and fore-ends. At a word of command from Lt. Langlie, all hands present on deck stood erect and doffed their hats.

The arriving officer leaned back a little, gripping the tautly strung man-ropes for the last step of his ascent up the shelflike boarding battens that began level, and a bit aft, of the main chains.