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waters of the North Sea.
    ‘He hath the pride of Goliath before the Philistine Host,’ Sawyers nodded in Ellerby’s direction. ‘He shall meet David at God’s will.’
    Drinkwater looked at the Quaker. He was not surprised that there were divisions of opinion and rifts between a group of individuals as unique as the whale-captains. Once on the fishing grounds there would be a rivalry between them that Drinkwater foresaw would make his task almost impossible. But the remark had either a touch of the venom of jealousy or of a confidence. Given what he had seen of Sawyers he doubted the man was a hypocrite and marked the remark as a proof of the Quaker’s friendship. He responded.
    ‘I am most grateful, Captain Sawyers, for your kind offer to pilot us clear of the Humber. It is an intricate navigation, given to much change, but I had not supposed that a gentleman of your persuasion would countenance boarding a King’s ship.’ He gestured towards the lines of cannon housed against the rail.
    ‘Ah, but thou hast also doubtless heard how those of my persuasion, as thou has it, are not averse to profit, eh?’ Sawyers smiled.
    ‘Indeed I have,’ replied Drinkwater smiling back.
    ‘Well I shall confess to thee a love of the fishery, both for its profits and its nearness to God. It seems that thy presence is indispensable this season and so,’ he shrugged, ‘in order to practise my calling, sir, I have needs to assist thee to sea. Now, thou must bring her to larboard two points and square the yards before that scoundrel Ellerby forces you ashore on the Burcom.’
    Nimrod was foaming up on their quarter, a huge bow wave hissing at her forefoot.
    ‘May I give her the forecourse, sir?’ asked Germaney eagerly.
    ‘Aye, sir, he knows well enough to keep astern according to the order of sailing,’ added Hill indignantly.
    Drinkwater shook his head. ‘This is not a race. Mr Q!’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Make to Nimrod, “Keep proper station”.’
    ‘Aye, aye, sir.’
    Drinkwater turned his full attention to the Nimrod. She was almost level with the Melusine’s mizen now, no more than a hundred feet off as she too swung to larboard.
    In the waist of the sloop men milled about watching the whaler and looking aft to see the reaction of their new commander. Officers too, advised of the trial of strength taking place above, had come up from their watch below. Drinkwater saw Singleton’s sober black figure watching from the rail while Mr Gorton explained what was happening.
    Drinkwater felt an icy determination fill him. After the days of being put upon, of being the victim of circumstance and not its master, he secretly thanked Ellerby for this public opportunity. By God, he was damned if he would crowd an inch of canvas on his ship.
    Quilhampton and little Frey were sending up the signal. It was a simple numeral, one of two score of signals he had circulated to his charges the evening before. Mr Frey had even tinted the little squared flags drawn in the margins with the colours from his watercolour box. Drinkwater smiled at the boy’s keenness.
    Amidships the newly joined Tregembo nudged the man next to him.
    ‘See that, mate. When he grins like that the sparks fly.’ There was renewed interest in the conduct of their captain, particularly as the Nimrod continued to surge past.
    Drinkwater turned to his first lieutenant. ‘Give him the larboard bow chaser unshotted, if you please.’
    ‘Larbowlines! Spitfire battery stand by!’
    It was all very modish, thought Drinkwater ruefully, the divisions told off by name as if Melusine had been a crack seventy-four. Still, the men jumped eagerly enough to their pieces. He could see the disappointment as Germaney arrived forward and stood all the guncrews down except that at the long twelve pounder in the eyes.
    Germaney looked aft and Drinkwater nodded.
    The gun roared and Drinkwater saw the wadding drop right ahead of Nimrod’s bowsprit. But still she came on.
    ‘Mr Germaney! Come