'Ready sir!'

From forward Jessup's cry was faintly condescending and Drinkwater smiled into the darkness.

'Down helm!' he called.

Kestrel came up into the wind, her mainsail thundering. Drinkwater felt her tremble when the jib flogged, vibrating the bowsprit. Then she spun as the wind filled the backed headsails, thrusting her round.

'Heads'l sheets!'

The jib and staysail cracked until tamed by the seamen sweating tight the lee sheets.

'Steadeeee… steer full and bye.'

'Full an' bye, sir.' The two helmsmen leaned on the big tiller as Kestrel drove on, the luff of her mainsail just trembling.

'How's her head?'

'Sou' by west, sir.'

That was south by east true, allowing two points for westerly variation. 'Very well, make it so.'

'Sou' by west it is, sir.'

The ebb ran fair down the coast here and the westing they had made beating offshore ought to put them up-tide and to windward of the landing place by the time they reached it, leaving them room to make the location even if the wind backed. Or so Drinkwater hoped, otherwise his commission would be as remote as ever.

Towards midnight the wind did back and eased a little. The reefs were shaken out and Kestrel drove southwards, her larboard rail awash. Drinkwater was tired now. He had been on deck for nine hours and Griffiths did not seem anxious to relieve him.

Kestrel was thrashing in for the shore. Drinkwater could sense rather than see the land somewhere in the darkness ahead. It must be very near low water now. Drinkwater bit his lip with mounting concern. With a backing wind they would get some lee from the cliffs that rose sheer between Le Treport and Dieppe and it would be this that gave them the first inkling of their proximity. That and the smell perhaps.