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be writing to Howe or Kempenfelt or...'
    'But there isn't an empty berth in the gunroom,' Drinkwater protested.
    'A prophet is never credited in his own land, is he, eh?' Devaux remarked ironically. 'Resign yourself to the fact that by nightfall you will be back in the orlop.'
    'I already have, but I cannot say I relish the prospect.'
    Devaux looked seriously at Drinkwater. 'I shouldn't be surprised, Nathaniel, if we were not to be here for some time. If you would profit from my advice, I should recommend you to seek examination at the Trinity House and secure for yourself a warrant as master. You cannot afford to kick your heels in a midshipmite's mess until someone notices you. Unless I am completely out of tune with the times, there will be fewer opportunities to make your name as this war drags to its unhappy conclusion. At least with a master's warrant, your chances of finding some employment in a peace are much enhanced.'
    'I shall mind what you say, sir, and thank you for your advice.'
    "Tis no matter. I should not entirely like to see your abilities wasted, though my own influence is too small to afford you any advantage.'
    'I had not meant...' Drinkwater protested, but Devaux cut him short with a brief, barked laugh.
    'You've no need to be ashamed of either ambition or the need to make your way in the world.'
    'But I had not meant to solicit interest, sir. I think, however, that I want experience to be considered for examination.'
    'Don't be so damned modest.' Devaux turned away and raised the glass again.
     
    Drinkwater had relinquished the deck when Hope returned. A cold and windy night had set in, with the great ships tugging at their cables, their officers anxious that they should not drag their anchors. The chill struck the gunroom, and those officers not on duty were considering the benefit to be derived from the blankets of their cots when Midshipman White's head peeped round the door.
    'Mr Drinkwater,' he called, 'Mr Devaux's compliments and would you join him in the captain's cabin, sir.'
    Ignoring the taunts of the other officers, Drinkwater pulled on his coat, picked up his hat and made for the companionway to the gun-deck. He halted outside the captain's cabin, ran a finger round his stock, tucked his hat neatly under his arm and, as the marine sentry stood to attention, knocked upon the door.
    'Come!'
    Captain Hope clasped a steaming tankard of rum flip, his shivering body hunched in the attitude of a man chilled half to death as he sat in his chair while his servant chafed his stockinged feet. The flickering candles showed his gaunt face pale with the cold and his eyes reddened by the wind. Devaux sat, elegantly cross-legged, on the settee that ran athwart the ship under the stern windows over which the sashes had been drawn, so the glass reflected the light of the candelabra.
    'Ah, Drinkwater, my boy. I have some news for you.'
    'Sir?'
    'We are to have a new third lieutenant, I'm afraid.'
    Drinkwater looked for a second at Devaux, but the first lieutenant's attention was elsewhere. 'I understand, sir ...'
    'No you don't,' said Hope so sharply that Drinkwater coloured, thinking himself impertinent. 'Lieutenant Wallace will join tomorrow,' Hope went on, 'but since the establishment of the ship has been increased by one lieutenant, I have persuaded the Admiral to allow you to retain your acting commission.'
    'I am much obliged to you, sir.' Drinkwater shot a second glance at Devaux and saw the merest flicker of a smile pass across his face.
    'I have recommended that your commission be confirmed without further examination. I can make no pledges on Admiral Kempenfelt's behalf, but he has promised to consider the matter.'
    'That is most kind of you, sir.'
    'Well, well. We shall see. That is all.'
     
    In the succeeding weeks Cyclops languished at Spithead, turning to the tide every six hours, but otherwise idle. Her people were active enough, hoisting in stores, water, powder and shot, and in due course