Drinkwater drained the glass. Exactly how accurate the news was of a check to the French he did not know, but he was acutely aware that the events of the coming summer were likely to be vital in the Baltic. As the cabin door opened to admit the officers the noise of a fiddle came from forward where the hands had been piped to dance and skylark. Drinkwater stood and welcomed his guests as Mullender moved among them with a dozen glasses of blackstrap to whet their appetites.

'You ordered the purser to issue double grog to all hands, Mr. Rogers, I trust?'

'Aye, sir, I did.' Rogers had made some effort to sober up from his injudicious imbibing earlier that day.

'That is as well. I am conscious of having made all hands work hard on our passage. Despite the disappearance of the convoy, which I don't doubt we shall soon remedy, it was necessary that we deliver the Government's dispatches without delay.' Drinkwater turned to a tall, thin lieutenant who wore a hook in place of his left hand and from whose pink nose depended a large dewdrop. I see you have come from the deck, Mr. Q. Is the fog still as dense?'

Lieutenant Quilhampton shook his head, sending the dewdrop flying. 'Doing its damnedest to lift, sir, though I cannot depend on half cannon-shot at the moment. But a dead calm still and no sign of any merchantmen.'

'And unlikely to be, Mr. Q. They'll have snugged down and ridden out that gale like sensible fellows, if I don't mistake their temper.'

'Rather an unusual convoy for a frigate of our force, sir, wouldn't you say?' put in Midshipman Lord Walmsley. 'I mean two North-country brigs don't amount to much.'