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difference and truly decided the outcome of a war.
    However, much of his time was likely to be spent on blockade, while enemy shipping, though possibly in sight, would remain tantalisingly out of reach and protected by fire from shore batteries, should he steer too close. And with a dangerous coast ever present – ever ready to trap him and his ship with treacherous shoals or an uncharted rock, it would be no holiday. Blockade duty was also slow and monotonous, taking its toll on both fabric and men; a constant crossing of the same tightrope might become commonplace in time but the inherent danger remained and, as he returned the perfumes and lotions to join the books in their crate, Banks knew he would have no energy to waste on such nonsense.
    He turned from the box, picked up the picture of John once more, then replaced it rather guiltily on the table as his body servant entered the great cabin.
    “There are some more personal things here, David,” he told him. “See to them, will you? Most can go in the quarter gallery or my sleeping cabin; the books I am not so certain of.”
    “Those bookcases we have are already filled, sir,” the young man told him seriously. “But I can ask Chips to make up some more; maybe they could go in the coach?”
    “Do that, will you, but don't give it importance, I am certain Mr Roberts is busy enough with the ship working up.” Indeed the carpenter and his team, which represented one of the larger departments in a third rate, would be fully employed for some time to come and Banks had no intention of diverting him merely for the storage of books that would never be read. He indicated the picture of John with elaborate casualness. “But if he could send a hand to fix this next to the portrait of Lady Banks, I should be obliged. There is no urgency, however.”
    “I can rig that for you, sir,” David told him cheerfully, picking up the picture and smiling with genuine affection at the boy's image. “Won't take no time at all.”
    “Thank you, I would appreciate that,” Banks muttered, grateful, yet again, to have an efficient man at his side. David was a former slave, freed on his voyage to St. Helena roughly two years ago. Since then he had proved a loyal steward, both on the journey back, and in the house Banks and Sarah had taken near Southsea. In all that time David had never undertaken anything beyond him, and the more Banks grew to know the man, the more he was impressed by his many skills.
    “Have the rest of the cabin stores been taken aboard?” he asked, and the servant gave one of his customary full grins.
    “Oh yes, sir, though we have more than expected. Her ladyship has added items not requested, and we have a deal too much of everythin' else. There is coffee, preserves and dried fruit to supply much of the ship and I've had to store some wine in your sleeping quarters, as the sailing master says the spirit room is expected to be filled by the time we sail.”
    It was so like Sarah to be doubly sure he was well provided for. His personal livestock had yet to be delivered and Banks dared not guess what she had ordered there, or where it would be put.
    “I am sure you will cope, and do, of course, use any space you require.”
    “Very good, sir; I shall see to it.”
    As soon as he was alone, Banks slumped down on the easy chair that was another unrequested addition from Sarah, and wished all his problems might be confined to finding storeroom. Ignoring the work needed correcting her shoddy repairs, Prometheus was desperately short of men, and those she did carry seemed to be mainly landsmen or ordinary hands. All could be trained up, of course, but that would take time, and they were still seventy or so actual bodies short, with little likelihood of correcting the deficiency before they were to sail. Fortunately he had a good set of officers, with many known to him through two previous ships, while those sent to supplement what would be the largest wardroom he