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without the pipes and orders that regulate every minute of life on such a vessel. Old Atkinson, Mr. Cartwright’s worn and silent servant, found a sack of oats and busied himself with making a pot of burgoo for our breakfast. His master grumbled about his guns not being loaded and the loss of a sporting shoot, but the old man paid him no heed.
    The rest of the crew occupied themselves with plaiting their long pigtails or relieving themselves over the side. On such a small and crowded vessel there was no privacy, which affected none at all but the Reverend Stow. I watched him take a bucket and modestly seat himself upon it behind a row of barrels. This caused much amusement among the tars and their laughter roused Lieutenant Cartwright. He came out from the cabin, looked sternly about and let fly his water over the gunwale.
    His business completed, he joined me on the poop as I placed the shallop on a heading that would bring us between Fogo Island and the Little Fogos. We exchanged a few words about our course and situation and he nodded his approval, even allowing himself a smile when I told him that we would enter Fogo Harbour well before noon. I asked him whether he expected to find Mr. Palliser and the Guernsey there, to which he replied, “I should think not, unless the governor has already seized the Valeur . He is determined to put an end to this French business and he will search every cove in the Bay of Notre Dame to meet that end.”
    â€œAnd what of the Liverpool ?” I asked. “If she is at Fogo, will her captain expect his people returned?”
    He shrugged and grabbed a halyard to steady himself. “Mister Palliser has said that the Liverpool s are to remain under my command until we have completed our task. I see no reason why that may change.”
    What I’d hoped to hear was that the three sailors would be returned to their frigate, for in spite of some improvement I could not bring myself to trust them. Something might be made of the boy Jenkins, I thought, but Grimes and Rundle were accomplished idlers.
    â€œI believe it is high time that I put a name to our worthy little vessel,” the lieutenant was saying. “In view of the importance of our mission, I think it hardly fitting that we continue to call her a common shallop.” He sniffed the brisk morning air and rocked himself on his heels. “I have given the matter some consideration, Mister Squibb. Because she is as much a sloop as a shallop, henceforth we shall call her a sloop. It imparts a greater measure of dignity, does it not? And I believe that I shall name her HMS Dove , in honour of the task that has been laid before us.”
    He turned to me with a self-satisfied smile, even as I was thinking that it would take more than a lieutenant’s fancy to turn a fishing boat into a naval sloop. And a sloop-of-war named the Dove ? Before I could think of a suitable reply, we were startled by a sudden cry from the chaplain, and a very loud cry at that. In fact, it may have been a screech. We looked to see him stumbling from behind a hogshead with his breeches about his ankles.
    â€œWhat the devil— ”Mr. Cartwright exclaimed, even as the Reverend Stow snatched the wig from his head to cover his manhood. The sight of him would have struck me as the height of comedy, were it not for the words he managed to stammer.
    â€œThat b-barrel! Just there! The Lord protect us—there’s s-something moving in it!”

John Cartwright
    Am I to be frustrated at every turn by weather and circumstance? Or else by human failing and deceit? The first of these I can do nothing about and the other is a trial borne by all who command. But this disregard for my orders is beyond the tolerance of any man. Were I a flogging officer, I would have one or two of my crew stretched across a gun at this very moment. They may thank their stars that I will not debase my principles to assert my authority.
    This morning