The boat lurched alongside and almost threw him from his feet as he jumped clear of the gunwale and began to climb up the spray-dashed side.

He tried to shut his ears to the crash of sound which greeted him. The trilling pipes from the side party, and the slap of muskets as the marines presented arms; it was too easy and too dangerous to let his guard slip even for an instant. Even to allow himself to enjoy this moment to the full, for which he had been waiting for so long.

A tall, heavily built lieutenant stepped forward and removed his -hat. `Lieutenant Vibart, sir. I am the senior here.' He had a thick, rasping tone, and his face was unsmiling.

`Thank you, Mr. Vibart,' Bolitho stared past him along the full length of his ship. The gangways on either side of the hull which connected the forecastle with the quarterdeck were crowded with silent men, and others had climbed into, the shrouds so that they could see their captain better. His eye moved on, across the neat lines of guns, firmly lashed behind closed ports, the spotless decks and well-flaked lines. Lieutenant Vibart was a good first lieutenant as far as smartness and outward appearance was concerned, he thought.

Vibart was saying gruffly, `Mr. Okes and Mr. Herrick, the second and third lieutenants, sir.'

Bolitho nodded, keeping his expression noncommittal. He had a quick impression of two young officers, nothing more. Later the men would emerge from behind the strange faces. Right now it was more important that his own impression on them was made quite clear.

`Have the hands lay aft, Mr. Vibart.' He drew his commission from inside his coat and unrolled it as the men were urged towards him. They looked healthy enough, but their bodies were clad in rags, and some of them seemed to be dressed in the remains of what they had been wearing when pressed into service. He bit his lip. That would have to be changed, and at once. Uniformity was all important. It killed envy amongst the men, if only for poor remnants of clothing.