'Now that war has broken out again her protection is the more necessary and the Hull ships are assembled in the Humber awaiting your convoy. That is where the Melusine presently lies. Her captain has recently become, er, indisposed, and you have been appointed in his stead…'

Drinkwater nodded, listening to the First Lord and eagerly wishing that he had known his destination was the Arctic before he despatched Tregembo and Quilhampton on their shopping expeditions. But there was also a feeling that this was not the only reason that he was waiting on the First Lord.

'During the peace,' St Vincent resumed, 'the French have despatched a vast number of privateers from their ports. These letters-of-marque have been reported from all quarters, most significantly on the routes of the Indiamen and already cruisers are ordered after them. That is of no matter to us this morning…' St Vincent rose and turned to the window. Drinkwater regarded the small, hunched back of the earl and tried to catch what he was saying as he addressed his remarks to the window and the distant tree-tops of the park.

'We believe some of these private ships have left for the Greenland Sea.' St Vincent spun round, a movement that lent his words a peculiar significance. 'Destruction of the northern fishery would mean destitution to thousands, not to mention the removal of prime seamen for His Majesty's ships…' He looked significantly at Drinkwater. 'You understand, Captain?'

'Aye, my Lord, I think so.'