Keverne came aft again and touched his hat. “Permission to dismiss the watch below, sir.”

“Yes. That was well done, Mr Keverne.”

A voice called, “The Valorous is on station, sir!”

“Very well.” Bolitho moved to the weather side as the parties of seamen and marines hurried across the planking and vanished to their messdecks below. A cramped, teeming world where they lived between the guns they would serve in battle, with little more than a shoulder’s breadth to swing a hammock. He wondered what some of them were thinking of their new destination.

Draffen’s face glowed momentarily as he peered at the compass. Then he moved back to Bolitho’s side and fell in step with him as he began to pace slowly up and down below the empty nettings.

“It must be a strange feeling for you, Bolitho.”

“How so, sir?” Bolitho had almost forgotten that he was not alone in his usual restless pacing.

“To command a ship like this. One which you yourself took in battle.” He hurried on, exploring a theme which had obviously given him some thought. “In your shoes I would be wondering if I could defend a vessel when I had in fact seized her in the face of great odds.”

Bolitho frowned. “Circumstances must always play a great part, sir.”

“But tell me, as I am greatly interested. What do you think of her as a ship?”

Bolitho paused by the quarterdeck rail, resting his palms on it, feeling the wood shaking under his touch as if the whole complex mass of timber and rigging was a living being.

“She is fast for her size, sir, and only four years old. She handles well, and the hull has some fine factors too.” He gestured forward. “Unlike our own ships-of-the-line, her planking is continued right around the bow, so there is no weak bulkhead to receive an enemy’s fire.”

Draffen showed his teeth. “I like your enthusiasm. It is some comfort. But I imagined you would say otherwise. A born sea officer, a man from a long line of sailing men, I’d have laid odds on your despising the work of an enemy shipyard.” He laughed softly. “I was wrong, it appears.”

Bolitho eyed him calmly. “The French are fine builders. Line for line their hulls are faster and better than our own.”

Draffen spread his hands in mock alarm. “Then how can we win? How have we been victorious against greater numbers of the enemy?”

Bolitho shook his head. “The enemy’s weakness does not lie in his ships, or in his courage either. It is leadership. Two-thirds of their trained and experienced officers were butchered in the Terror. And they’ll not regain their confidence while they are bottled up in harbour by our blockade.” He knew Draffen was deliberately drawing him out but continued, “Each time they break out and engage our squadrons they learn a little more, grow steadily more confident, even if a sea victory is denied them. Blockade is no longer the answer, in my opinion. It hurts the innocent as much as those for whom it is intended. Clearcut, decisive action is the solution. Hit the enemy whenever and wherever you can, the size of the actions is almost immaterial.”