The cutter's transom had leapt out of the fog, boat falls trailing in the tide from her stern davits. He had caught a brief glimpse of a carved taffrail, oak leaves and her name: Kestrel. Then he had scrambled aboard, aware of a number of idlers about the deck, a huge mast, boom and gaff and a white St George's ensign drooping disconsolately aft. A short, active looking man bustled up. About forty, with beetling eyebrows and a brusque though not impolite manner. He conveyed an impression of efficiency.

'Can I help you, sir?' The blue eyes darted perceptively.

'Good morning to you. My name's Drinkwater, acting lieutenant. D'you have a boat down?' he nodded aft to the vacant davits.

'Aye, sir. Jolly boat's gone to Gravesend. We was expecting you.'

'My chest is at Tilbury fort, please to have it aboard as soon as possible.'

The man nodded. 'I'm Jessup, sir, bosun. I'll show you to your cabin.' He rolled aft and hopped over the sea-step of a companion-way. At the bottom of the ladder Drinkwater found himself in a tiny lobby. Behind the ladder a rack of Tower muskets and cutlasses gleamed dully. Leading off the space were five flimsy doors. Jessup indicated the forward one. 'Main cabin, cap'n's quarters… he's ashore just now. This 'ere's your'n sir.' He opened a door to starboard and Drinkwater stepped inside.

The after-quarters of Kestrel were situated between the hold and the rudder trunking. The companionway down which they had come left the deck immediately forward of the tiller. Facing the bottom of the ladder was the door to the main cabin extending the full width of the ship. The four other doors opened on to tiny cabins intended by a gracious Admiralty to house the officers of the cutter. The after two were tapering spaces filled with odds and ends and clearly unoccupied. The others were in use. His own was to starboard. Jessup told him the larboard one was 'for passengers…' and evaded further questioning.