There was a brief lull in the buzz of speculation and rumour as some of the new men pattered down a ladder followed by Belsey, the duty master’s mate. All of the men had been read in, had taken the regulation shower under the deck pump, and now stood blinking in the shadows, their bodies pale and naked against the ship’s dark sides. Each man carried a new shirt and a rolled pair of trousers, as well as his own small possessions.

Belsey spun his cane and pointed to the corner mess table where Allday and old Strachan watched the procession in silence. He barked, “You two! You’ll be in this mess, got it?” He glared into the dark corner of the berth deck. “You’ve been given your watch and action stations, so just get settled in, and look sharp about it!” He raised his voice. “Show these replacements where to sling their hammocks, and then get this deck cleared up!” He wrinkled his thick nose. “It’s like a bloody pig-sty down here.”

One of the men detailed dropped his bundle on the table and looked down at Strachan and the others. He was tall and well muscled, and his broad chest was covered in a deep mat of dark hair. He seemed quite unconcerned about his nakedness and the rasp of Belsey’s introduction.

He said calmly, “Harry Onslow is the name, mates.” He looked over his shoulder. “An’ this is Pook, another good topman from the Cassius!” He spat out the name of the flagship, and Belsey who was hovering nearby strode across to the crowded table.

“Pay attention!” He stared round the watching faces. “Don’t you start thinking that you’ve got a real fine fellow here, my friends!” He gave a short grin. “Turn round, Onslow!” He moved his cane menacingly. “Just get a bit o’ sunlight over you!”

Onslow turned his body obediently so that the light played across his back. Something like a hollow groan came from the packed sailors, and Belsey added coldly, “Take a good look, afore you start listening to the like o’ this scum!”

Allday tightened his lips as he saw the savagely mutilated skin on Onslow’s body. He could not imagine how many times the man had been flogged, but that he had survived was surely a miracle.

The whole of his back, from the nape of the neck to the top of his buttocks, was ugly with broken and uneven weals, pale and obscene against his tanned arms and legs.

Ferguson looked away, his mouth quivering.

Even Pochin, a hard spectator at many floggings, said thickly, “ ’Ere, mate, put yer shirt on!”

The other man, Pook, was thin and wiry, and although his back also displayed the clawing embrace of the cat, it was nothing compared with Onslow’s.

Belsey sauntered away followed by the other new seamen.

Onslow pulled the shirt over his head and shook out the clean new trousers. Calmly he remarked, “What is so different about your captain? Does he like his men to look pretty?” He had a lazy Norfolk accent, and seemed quite unmoved by the horror his scars had unleashed.