It was a harsh school, right enough, Bolitho thought. But a lot of good had come from it. The petty tyrants and bullies were fewer now, for braggarts had little to sustain them in the face of an enemy broadside. Adroit young leaders were emerging daily. He glanced at Neale’s profile. Men like him, who could rouse that vital loyalty when it was most needed.

Apparently unaware of his superior’s scrutiny, Neale said, “We shall change tack at midnight, sir. Close-hauled, it’s likely to be a bit lively.”

Bolitho smiled. Browne was already as sick as a dog in his borrowed cabin.

“We should sight some of our ships tomorrow then.”

“Aye, sir.” Neale turned as a young midshipman struggled across the spray-dashed planking and scribbled quickly on the slate by the wheel. “Oh, this is Mr Kilburne, sir, my signals midshipman.”

The youth, aged about sixteen, froze solid and stared at Bolitho as if he was having a seizure.

Bolitho smiled. “I am pleased to meet you.”

As the midshipman still seemed unable to move, Neale added, “Mr Kilburne has a question for you, sir.”

Bolitho grinned. “Don’t play with the boy, Neale. Is your memory so short?” He turned to the midshipman. “What is it?”

Kilburne, astonished that he was still alive after being brought face-to-face with his admiral, a young one or not, stammered, “W-well, sir, we were all so excited when we were told about your coming aboard…”

By all he probably meant the ship’s three other midshipmen, Bolitho thought.

Kilburne added, “Is it true, sir, that the first frigate you commanded was the Phalarope?”

Neale said abruptly, “That’s enough, Mr Kilburne!” He turned apologetically to Bolitho. “I am sorry, sir. I thought the idiot was going to ask you something different.”