He sensed as much as saw these resolved dynamics, a perception born of a lifetime at sea, subconscious in its impact on his intelligence. His conscious mind, compelled to wait for an explanation, briefly diverted itself by a recollection of his wife Elizabeth, whose wonder at first seeing phosphorescence in the breakers running up on the shingle strand of Hollesley Bay had given him a profound pleasure.

'You must have seen so many wonders, Nathaniel,' she had said, 'while I have seen so very little of life.'

'I wish I could have shared more with you,' he had replied kindly. He tossed the recollection aside as he heard quite clearly the query from the boat.

'C'est Andromeda?'

'The devil...' He struck flint on steel and had lit a candle when the tap came at the door. Midshipman Paine's disembodied features appeared round the door.

'Captain, sir?'

'I'm awake, Mr Paine, and aware we have a French boat alongside.'

'Aye sir, and a military officer asking to see you, sir.'

Drinkwater frowned. 'To see me? You imply he asked by my name.'

'Asked for Captain Nathaniel Drinkwater, sir, very particularly. Mr Marlowe said I was to emphasize that, sir.'

'Very well, I assume the officer at least was British.'

'Oh no, sir, Mr Marlowe said to tell you he had a lot of plumes on his shako and Mr Marlowe judged him to be either a Russian or a Frenchman.'

Drinkwater was dragging a comb through his hair while this exchange was in progress. It was not in his nature to bait midshipmen, but Drinkwater knew, though the cockpit thought he did not, that Paine had acquired the nickname 'Tom' on account of having the surname of the English revolutionary. He was a solemn but rather prolix lad.

'And what did you make him out to be, Mr Paine?'

'Well, he does have a fantastic shako, sir, but his voice is ... well, I mean his accent is ...'