Herrick gave a wry smile. “But their ship had sailed by the time you sorted things out, Mr Wolfe?”

Like his first lieutenant, Herrick had little sympathy with all the prime seamen who were exempt from naval service merely because they were employed by John Company or some harbour authority. England was at war. They needed seamen, not cripples and criminals. Every day it got harder. Herrick had heard that the press-gangs and undaunted recruiting parties were working many miles from the sea now.

He glanced up at the towering mainmast and its imposing spread of rigging and crossed yards. It was not difficult to remember the smoke and the punctured sails. The marines in the maintop yelling and cheering, firing swivels and muskets in a world gone mad.

They walked into the coolness of the poop, each ducking between the heavy deckhead beams.

Wolfe said, “The admiral came alone, sir.” He hesitated, as if to test their relationship. “I thought he might bring his lady.”

Herrick eyed him gravely. Wolfe was huge and violent and had seen service in everything from a slaver to a collier brig. He was not the kind of man to be patient with a laggard or allow time for personal weaknesses. But neither was he a gossip.

Herrick said simply, “I had hopes too. By God, if ever a man deserved or needed-”

The rest of his words were cut dead as the marine sentry outside the great cabin tapped his musket smartly on the deck and shouted, “Flag-Captain, sah! ”

Wolfe grinned and turned aside. “Damned bullocks!”

The door was opened swiftly by little Ozzard, Bolitho’s personal servant. He was an oddity. Although a good servant, he was said to have been an even better lawyer’s clerk, but had fled to the Navy rather than face trial or, as some had unkindly hinted, a quick end on a hangman’s halter.