Bolitho watched him gravely. He had grown very fond of him, and had come to admire his controlled dedication to others, his humanity towards the men of their small squadron.

He said, “We will miss you. sir.” He was sincere, yet very aware of the inadequacy of his words. “I, above all, owe you a great deal, as I think you know.”

The admiral rose to his feet and walked round the desk. Against Bolitho’s tall slim figure he seemed suddenly older and defenceless against what lay ahead of him.

After a pause he said, “You owe me nothing. But for your mind and your integrity I would have been discarded within weeks of hoisting my flag.” He held up one hand. “No, hear what I have to say. Many flag captains would have used my weakness to enhance their own reputations, to show their indispensability before their commanders-in-chief in higher places. If you had spent less time in fighting your country’s enemies and giving your utmost to your subordinates, you would almost certainly have been given the promotion you so richly deserve. It is no shame that you have turned your back on personal advancement, but it is England’s loss. Perhaps your new admiral will appreciate as I do what sort of a man you are, and be more able to ensure…” He broke off in a fit of coughing, the soiled handkerchief balled against his mouth until the convulsion had passed.

He said thickly, “See that my servant and secretary are sent

ashore in good time. I will come on deck in a moment.” He looked away. “But just for a while I wish to be left alone.”

Bolitho walked back to the quarterdeck in thoughtful silence. Overhead the sky had cleared and was bright blue, while the sea below the nearest headland was agleam with countless dazzling reflections. It would make the admiral’s departure all the harder to bear, he decided.

He looked along the length of the upper deck, at the assembled seamen at the braces and at the topmen already strung out along the yards, dark against the clear sky.