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and creased that he looked like the Old Man of the Sea, although Adam knew he was in his forties. He had served in almost every size and class of vessel from schooner to second-rate, and had been a sailing master for some ten years. If the senior warrant officers were the backbone of any man-of-war, the sailing master must surely be her rudder.
Unrivalled
was lucky to have him.
    Adam joined him and said, ‘Gibraltar tomorrow, eh?’
    Cristie regarded him impassively. ‘I see no problems, sir.’ He had a clipped, matter-of-fact manner, and did not waste words.
    Adam realised that Galbraith had come aft again, this time with one of the ship’s five midshipmen. He tested his memory. Sandell, that was his name.
    Galbraith was saying, ‘I was observing you, Mr Sandell.
Twice
, I’ve warned you before. Discipline is one thing, force another!’
    The midshipman retorted, ‘He was doing it on purpose, sir. Hanging back so that my party was delayed.’
    It was unusual for Galbraith to reveal such anger, especially with some of the watchkeepers close enough to hear. He seemed to calm himself with an effort.
    â€˜I know you must control the men in your charge. If you are to become a King’s officer that is all a part of it. Inspire them, persuade them if you like, but
do not abuse them.
I’ll not remind you again!’
    The midshipman touched his hat and retreated. Adam caught only a glimpse of his profile. Galbraith had made an enemy there, as was the way of first lieutenants everywhere.
    Galbraith walked up the sloping deck and said, ‘Young ruffian! Too ready with his starter by far. I know his part of the drill was held up by the man in question, I saw it myself. But with sixty hands short, and some of those aboard little better than bumpkins, it needs more care.’
    It was like mist clearing from a telescope. Adam suddenly remembered hearing that a midshipman had been put ashore to await a court martial after a sailor had been accidentally killed at sea. The matter had never come to court martial and the midshipman had been sent to another vessel. He had been an admiral’s son. It had been about the time when Galbraith had seen his promised promotion cancelled. Nobody could prove there was a connection; few would even care. Except Galbraith. And he was here, second-in-command of one of the navy’s most powerful frigates. Would he remain content, or would he be too afraid for what was left of his career to show the spirit which had once earned him a command of his own?
    â€˜Any orders, sir?’
    Adam glanced at the nearest eighteen-pounders. Another difference.
Unrivalled
’s armament consisted mainly of such guns, and they made up the bulk of her topweight. The designers had insisted that these eighteen-pounders, usually nine feet in length, be cast a foot shorter in an effort to reduce some of the weight.
    A frigate was only as good as her firepower and her agility, and he had taken careful note of the sea creaming almost as high as the ports on the lee side. In a fierce ship-to-ship action, a captain could no longer rely on supremacy merely by taking and holding the wind-gage.
    He said, ‘We shall exercise the larboard battery this afternoon, Mr Galbraith. I want our people to know their guns like their own minds. As you remarked, we are short-handed, and if required to engage on both sides at once we shall be busy indeed.’ He saw the slight frown. ‘I know we may not be called to fight. The war might be over already for all we know.’ He touched his arm and felt him flinch at the contact. ‘But
if
we fight, I intend this ship to be the victor!’
    Galbraith touched his hat and walked away, no doubt to face the questions and displeasures of the wardroom.
    Adam walked to the dripping hammock nettings and steadied himself as the deck lurched to another strong gust. The land was almost gone from view. Cape St Vincent, the scene of one of