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you can send
this
one, he’ll not be missed!’
    Pears returned to the poop where Bunce was waiting for him, his straggly hair blowing in the wind like spunyarn.
    He barked, ‘Pass the word to the second lieutenant to lay aft.’
    Bolitho considered his feelings.
He was going
. So was Sparke.
Take that man’s name
.
    He thought of Cairns as his one chance of showing his mettle had been taken from him. It was another measure of the man, Bolitho thought. Some first lieutenants would have kept all the credit for the idea of boarding the other craft, hoarding it for the final reward.
    It was getting dark early again, the low cloud and steady drizzle adding to the discomfort both below and on deck.
    Cairns met Bolitho as he came off watch, and said simply, ‘I have selected some good hands for you, Dick. The second lieutenant will be in command, assisted by Mr Frowd, who is the ablest master’s mate we have, and Mr Midshipman Libby. You will be assisted by Mr Quinn and Mr Couzens.’
    Bolitho met his even gaze. Apart from Sparke and Frowd, the master’s mate, and to a lesser extent himself, the others were children at this sort of thing. He doubted if either the nervous Quinn or the willing Couzens had ever heard a shot fired other than at wildfowl.
    But he said, ‘Thank you, sir.’ He would show the same attitude that Cairns had displayed to the captain.
    Cairns touched his arm. ‘Go and find some dry clothing, if you can.’ As he turned towards his cabin he added, ‘You will have the redoubtable Stockdale in your cutter. I would not be so brave as to try and stop him!’
    Bolitho walked through the wardroom and entered his little cabin. There he stripped naked and towelled his damp and chilled limbs until he recovered a sensation of warmth.
    Then he sat on his swaying cot and listened to the great ship creaking and shuddering beneath him, the occasional splash of spray as high as the nearest gunport.
    This time tomorrow he might be on his way to disaster, if not already dead. He shivered, and rubbed his stomach muscles vigorously to quell his sudden uncertainty.
    But at least he would be doing something. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and groped for his breeches.
    No sooner had he done so than he heard the distant cry getting louder and closer.
    â€˜All hands! All hands! Hands aloft and reef tops’ Is!’
    He stood up and banged his head on a ring-bolt.
    â€˜Damnation!’
    Then he was up and hurrying again to that other world of wind and noise, to the
Trojan
’s demands which must always be met.
    As he passed Probyn’s untidy shape, the lieutenant peered at him and grinned. ‘Fog, is it?’
    Bolitho grinned back at him. ‘Go to hell!’
    It took a full two hours to reef to the captain’s satisfaction and to prepare the ship for the night. The news of the proposed attack had gone through the ship like fire, and Bolitho heard the many wagers which were being made. The sailor’s margin between life and death in this case.
    And it would all probably come to nothing. Such things had happened often enough on this commission. Preparation, and then some last-minute hitch.
    Bolitho imagined it was going to be an almost impossible thing to find and take the other ship. Equally, he knew he would feel cheated if it was all called off.
    He returned to the wardroom to discover that most of the officers had turned into their bunks after such a day of wind and bustle.
    The surgeon and Captain D’Esterre sat beneath a solitary lantern playing cards, and alone by the streaming stern windows, staring at the vibrating tiller-head, was Lieutenant Quinn.
    In the glow of the swaying lantern he looked younger than ever, if that were possible.
    Bolitho sat beside him and shook his head as the boy, Logan, appeared with an earthenware wine jug.
    â€˜Are you feeling all right, James?’
    Quinn looked at him, startled. ‘Yes, thank you,