At last, to his infinite relief, Drinkwater saw Devaux's legs swing over the rail. He heard the lieutenant's suave voice, all trace of coarseness gone,

'Yer servant ma'am,' and the next instant he had tumbled into the boat. He grabbed the tiller from Drinkwater without ceremony.

'Shove off!… Oars!… Give way together and pull you buggers!' Devaux crouched in the stern, his body bent with urgency.

'Pull! Pull! Pull like you'd pull a Frenchman off Yer mother!' The men grinned at the obscenity. Devaux knew his business and the seamen bent their oar looms with effort, the blades sprang from the water and flew forward for the next stroke. Astern of them the Dane made sail. Once Devaux looked back and, following his gaze, Drinkwater made out a flash of colour where a woman waved.

'Wheeler,' said Devaux, 'we've work to do.' Quite deliberately Devaux told Wheeler the news. He knew the men within hearing would pass it on to the lower deck. Equally he knew Hope would not bother to do so, only a garbled version might reach the innermost recesses of Cyclops unless Devaux disseminated the information himself. These men could shortly be called upon to die and the first lieutenant sought to infect them with blood lust. He had seen what a fighting madness such enthusiasm could induce in British seamen and he knew Cyclops might need just such an infection in the coming hours.

'That Dane has just sailed from Cadiz. The Dons are at sea, a fleet of 'em. Bit of luck he was pro-British.' He paused reflectively. 'Married to an English girl. Damned handsome woman too…' he grinned, the marines grinned too — the message was going home.

It was dark when Cyclops rejoined the fleet. A full moon enabled Hope to take her in amongst the concourse of ships to where the three horizontal lanterns in Sandwich's rigging marked the presence of the Admiral.