‘Lower away, ’andsomely there!’ Hoggett’s voice, which seemed even louder on this raw morning.

The cutter began to descend, the men on the tackles taking the strain, feet somehow finding a grip on the slippery planking.

‘’Vast lowering!’

He heard Dancer give a groan.

‘My head, Dick. I feel like death!’

Even the Board itself was hard to fix in the mind, like a dream fast disappearing. Only certain moments remained clear: the three figures at the table. An empty chair. And the sudden, startling interruption when the admiral had made his entrance. Perhaps the handshakes remained most vivid in his memory. We wish you a speedy promotion!

Then back to Gorgon, in darkness, passing an overloaded boat full of sailors, all of whom sounded drunk, probably just paid off from some merchantman. He and Dancer had been unable to stop laughing at the string of curses launched by their own coxswain. Then, in the midshipmen’s berth, the heavy silence of some, hunched over written notes, studying or pretending to, by the flickering light of glims, or apparently asleep, being shattered as they had risen as one: a midshipman’s salute to any successful candidate for promotion. Hoarded drinks appearing, which had ranged from blackstrap to cognac, helped down by beer from the mess cask, with a mock fight known as ‘Boarders Away!’ to round off the occasion. It had taken threats of physical violence from the warrant officers’ mess to quieten the celebration.

Bolitho cleared his throat, or tried to. And now the captain wanted them aft, in the great cabin.