He scrambled down into the boat. To his surprise Devaux was already there, still shouting.

'Where in God's name is Wheeler?' he roared at nobody in particular. Then as the red-coated marine lieutenant and six of his men clumsily descended the netting, their Tower muskets tangling in the cordage, 'Come on you bloody lobsters!' Devaux yelled to the appreciative grins of the seamen. Lieutenant Wheeler resented the insult to his service, but he was unable to retaliate due to his preoccupation with getting himself and his hanger into the boat without a total loss of dignity.

'Shove off! Out oars! Give way together and put your backs into it!'

The big boat drove forward and Devaux pushed the tiller into Drinkwater's hand.

'Take her alongside his lee side and keep her there.' He turned to Wheeler, 'She's a neutral so don't board unless you hear me shout.' He raised his voice, 'Bosun's mate!' The petty officer with the armed seamen stood up in the bow.

'Sir?'

'Make no attempt to board unless I need help — if I shout I want the whole bloody lot of you!'

The seamen grinned and fingered their blades. Minutes later Drinkwater's cracking voice was bellowing 'Oars!… Toss Oars!… Hook on!' Lieutenant Devaux leapt for the Dane's chains. For a second or two his elegant legs dangled incongruously, then he had hoisted himself to the deck of the brig.

The boat bounced up and down the side of the strange ship. Occasionally a towheaded face looked curiously overside at them. All in the boat were nervous. A few cannon balls dropped from the rail would plummet through the boat's planking. It seemed to Drinkwater that the first lieutenant had been gone hours. He watched the rail advance and recede as the Atlantic shoved the boat up the Dane's side then dropped her down again. He looked anxiously at Wheeler. The marine officer just smiled, 'Don't worry, cully. When the Hon John is in trouble he'll squeal.'