He broke off as Vibart strode back from the main deck. He touched his hat to the first lieutenant and said formally, “I have twenty-five men for you in my cutter, sir. The admiral requested they be used as replacements for the ones killed in battle.” He watched as Vibart climbed down to the port where the marines were already mustering a growing rank of lean-looking sailors.

The officer said quickly, “I have already spoken enough, my friend. But these men are outcasts. Nearly all have been in serious trouble of one kind or another. I think Sir Robert is more concerned in ridding his flagship of their influence than he is of helping your captain.” With a hurried glance at the distant two-decker he made towards his waiting boat. He whispered finally, “Sir Robert watches everything. No doubt it will soon be common knowledge that I have spent ten minutes in conversation with you!” Then he was gone.

Vibart clumped aft, his face wrinkled in a scowl. “We will read in those men immediately, Mr Herrick. I suppose the captain will want them dressed like the rest of his precious company?” He sniffed. “In my opinion they look more at home in rags!”

Herrick followed his angry glance and felt his spirits drop even further. These replacements were not men raw from the press. They were hardened and professional and at any other time would have been worth their weight in gold. But now they stood idly and insolently watching with all the arrogance of wild animals as the master’s mate and Midshipman Maynard sorted them into order and seniority. Curses and beatings would not impress their sort. Even floggings had changed them little, Herrick thought.

Vibart muttered, “We’ll see how the captain deals with this pretty bunch!”

Herrick did not speak. He could imagine the difficulties which seemed to be piling up hour by hour. If the captain tried to separate these troublemakers from the rest of the crew he would lose any respect he had gained. If he did not, their influence could wreak havoc on the crowded berth deck.

On patrol, out of touch with help, the Phalarope would need all her resources and skill to stay intact and vigilant.

Herrick had a sudden picture of the Andiron as she must have been when Masterman’s crew had surrendered. He stared round the sunny quarterdeck and felt chilled in spite of the glare. He imagined himself, suddenly alone, in a ship where discipline and loyal seamen had become strangers and mutineers.

Midshipman Maynard was watching him anxiously. “Signal, sir. Flag to Phalarope. Complete lightering and proceed to sea with all despatch.”

Herrick said wearily, “Acknowledge, Mr Maynard.”

Herrick stared over the rail where the seamen toiled with the fresh-water casks and then across at the tall-masted flagship. Almost to himself he muttered, “You bastard! You just can’t wait, can you.”

* * *

Grumbling and cursing, the duty watch climbed down the various ladders and into the already crowded berth deck. Both air and lighting came through the central hatchways, and in addition several canvas chutes had been rigged to help ventilate the overpopulated living spaces. At each scrubbed mess table men sat and made use of their time to their own best advantage. Some repaired clothing, heads bent to catch the filtered sunlight on their needles and coarse thread. Some worked on small model ships, and others merely sprawled yarning with their companions.