Another of Hotham's. "Old Jarvy" frowned from behind his desk in his day-cabin as Captain Thomas Charlton entered. He'd never met this fellow, even in peacetime service when the Royal Navy was reduced to quarter-strength. Good enough record, he'd found, but nothing particularly distinguished since the American War. Good patrons, Charlton had, though; even if Hotham was his principal "sea-daddy," there were enough recommendations from others he trusted more who had vouched for him.

"Thomas Charlton, come aboard as directed, sir," the man piped up, with just more than a touch of cool wariness to his voice. "Old Jarvy" was one of the sternest disciplinarians in the Fleet, known for a volcanic temper when aroused. Known for using a hatchet when a penknife would suit others, too, when it came to dealing with those who'd irked him. Charlton reviewed his recent past; had he done something wrong?

"Captain Charlton, well met, sir. Take a seat. And I will have a glass with you," Sir John Jervis offered, almost sounding affable.

With a well-concealed sigh of relief, Captain Charlton sat, his gold-laced hat in his lap, happy that it wouldn't be his arse that was reamed out-not this time.

A few minutes of social prosing, enquiries about acquaintances, even a politic question as to his predecessor Admiral Hotham's newest posting; then Sir John put the situation before Charlton, liking what first impression he'd drawn of the man.

Not that he had that much choice; those senior post-captains he knew well enough to trust, some of whom he'd stood "sea-daddy" to, or those he'd learned he could trust with responsibility once he'd taken command, were already busy about his, and their King's, business. He counted himself fortunate that he'd found another he could trust; much like turning over a mossy rock and not finding the usual slug!

Charlton was nearly six feet tall, a little above middle height; a slim and wiry sort, most-like possessed of a spare appetite and a spartan constitution. Most captains in their late forties went all suety, to "tripes and trullibubs" from too many grand suppers and the arrival of modest wealth and good pay, at last.