To be back at sea! Were Savage in any respects ready to sail, what a grand morning's departure it would be, but, alas, his frigate still lay to anchor with both bowers and both stern kedges down, with her upper masts and rigging stripped "to a gant-line" for re-rigging and re-masting to his satisfaction. Her jib-boom and bowsprit had been steeved to a lower angle, whole new sets of inner and outer jibs cut and sewn, and the Sailmaker and his crew ready to make new fore-and-aft stays'ls to Lewrie's requirements, once the upper masts were set in place… all to aid HMS Savage to "point" just a half, or a quarter, point closer to the eyes of the winds.

The sooner, the better, pray Jesus! Lewrie fretfully thought, his good mood and joy of a good breakfast curdled by the dread that he might not stay free long enough to skitter over the horizon, out of reach of his pending legal troubles… and the adamantine wrath of the Beauman family.

No wonder the others were peerin' at me so odd, Lewrie thought as he reached the stone quays; wond'rin' whether I'm saint or felon.

The George Inn was one of the better establishments in Portsmouth, the favourite of senior naval officers, so he had been among an host of Rear-Admirals, a Commodore or three, and Post-Captains of more than Three Years' Seniority, like himself, "salted enough" to wear a pair of gilt-lace epaulets on their shoulders. They'd seemed polite and civil enough, some smiling as they pointed him out to their table companions and gave him a nod. Others, well…