“I have often expected some isolated outbreak.” He could not hide the anger in his voice. “Some politicians and sea officers imagine that common sailors are little better than vermin and have treated them accordingly.” He stared hard at Rook. “But for the fleet to mutiny as one man! That is a terrible thing!”

Rook seemed vaguely relieved that he had at last unburdened himself. Or maybe he had been half expecting to find the Euryalus in the hands of mutineers demanding heaven knew what.

He said, “Many fear that the worst is yet to come. There has been trouble at the Nore too, though we do not hear the full truth down here. I have patrols everywhere in case other troublemakers come this way. Some of the ringleaders are said to be Irish, and the Admiralty may expect this to be a diversion for another attempt to invade there.” He sighed worriedly. “To live and see this thing is beyond me, and that’s a fact!”

Mutiny. Bolitho looked over to where the admiral was in close conversation with his secretary. This was a bad ending to his career. Bolitho had known the full meaning, the hot, unreasoning fury which mutiny could bring in its wake. But that was in isolated ships, where conditions or climate, privation or downright brutality of an individual captain were normally the root causes. For a whole fleet to explode against the discipline and authority of its officers, and therefore King and Parliament as well, was another matter entirely. It took organisation and extreme skill as well as some driving force at the head of it to have any hope of success. And it had succeeded, there was no doubt of that.

He said, “I will speak with Sir Charles at once.” He took the envelope from Rook’s hand. “This is a bitter homecoming.”

Rook made as if to join Keverne and the others, but halted as Bolitho added sharply, “You will favour me by remaining silent until I tell you otherwise.”

The admiral did not look up or speak until Bolitho had finished telling him of Rook’s news. Then he said, “If the French come out again, England will be done for.” He looked at his hands and let them fall to his sides. “Where is Vice-Admiral Broughton? Is he not here after all?”

Bolitho held out the envelope and said gently, “Perhaps this will explain what we are to do, sir.”

He could see the emotions crossing and re-crossing the admiral’s wizened face. He had been hating the thought of striking his flag for the last time. But he had accepted it. It was like his illness, unbeatable. But now that there was a real possibility of continuing he was probably torn between two paths.

He said, “Show our visitor aft.” He made an effort to square his shoulders. “Then set the hands to work. It would be unwise for them to see their leaders in despair.”

Then followed by his secretary he walked slowly and painfully into the poop’s shadow.