By the time Ramage finished the Master had a contented grin on his face: he had looked glum at the prospect of four new lieutenants - all strangers to each other as well as the ship, he grumbled - but brightened at the mention of Bowen's name. The Surgeon was a fine chess player and had spent many hours teaching the Master. And between the two men there was a bond that included their Captain: Ramage and Southwick had spent most of their time in the Triton brig during a voyage from England to the West Indies - Bowen's first in one of the King's ships - curing the Surgeon's alcoholism. They had nursed him through the horrors of delirium tremens, and kept his mind occupied in the critical weeks after that, which was when Southwick had been under Ramage's orders to cultivate an interest in chess.

'Midshipmen,' Southwick said suddenly. 'The four on board with the previous captain have all transferred. I hope we aren't sailing without any ...'

'You might end up wishing we were,' Ramage said. 'We'll have at least two. The Marchesa -'

'Excuse me, sir,' Southwick interrupted hurriedly, 'how is she?'

‘Very well, and she wishes to be remembered to you. She has a young nephew who arrived in London recently. Apparently he was in Sicily when we rescued the Marchesa, and stayed there until he could get to Malta. He came back in a frigate and, according to the Marchesa, learned a little on the way and now talks of nothing but ships and the sea. We shall be having him with us. He's fourteen years old and speaks good English. A lively lad. I had no others, so when Lord St Vincent heard there were vacancies ...'

Southwick nodded understandingly. 'I hope his choices are good but -'

'I think he is only providing one, but don't complain,' Ramage said with mock earnestness. 'His Lordship intended to nominate a chaplain.'

Southwick's face fell. 'I hope that -'

'I bargained very gently.' I did not ask for a particular first lieutenant - but I mentioned you for Master. His Lordship was delighted. I did not ask for a particular second lieutenant - but I said I would like a particular surgeon. His Lordship was still delighted. When His Lordship said he had a chaplain who wanted a berth, I mentioned casually that I was not asking for particular third of fourth lieutenants either - nor a Marine officer.'

'His Lordship did well out of it,' Southwick commented. 'In giving you your Master and Surgeon, he has four lieutenants, three midshipmen and a Marine officer for himself.'

'I forgot to mention that he allowed me a dozen men for you ...'

'For me, sir?'

'Yes - Jackson, Stafford, Rossi, Maxwell and a whole lot more former Tritons.'

'By Jove, sir,' Southwick exclaimed delightedly, 'how did you manage to trace where they were?'

'Well, of course, Jackson, Rossi and Stafford were with me in France, so I could trace them, and Maxwell and the rest were all in the Victory here at Portsmouth, and one of them wrote to me on behalf of the rest a month ago, asking if I was ever given a ship ...'

'They're lucky fellows,' Southwick said. 'Anyway, I must admit I'm glad to be getting them. From the look of some of the men we have at the moment, we'll be able to promote some of the lads. By the way, sir, the ship's already provisioned for four months; that's the only pleasant surprise I had when I came on board!'

For the next half-hour the two men discussed how they would get the Juno into a condition where she could join the squadron of the most eagle-eyed of admirals, a discussion which ended when Ramage remembered that his trunk had not been brought below, and was sufficiently angry to send for the First Lieutenant, telling Southwick to wait in the coach.

The man stood just inside the door of the great cabin, swaying slightly and with a befuddled grin on his face. He was drunk not from a few incautious tots earlier, but because he had long ago reached the stage where he needed a tot an hour to get through the day, just as a ship could only get to windward by tacking. Apart from Bowen, he was the first officer ever to be drunk on duty in any ship Ramage commanded, and his eyes had the cunning look of a ferret. He was making no attempt to hide his condition and Ramage suddenly guessed the reason. An officer found drunk on duty would normally be sent to his cabin, if not put under an arrest. This wretched fellow, finding that the new Captain had done nothing about it, had concluded that Ramage was nervous and unsure of himself and, like the previous Captain, would let him stay happily drunk.

He did not know that Ramage had orders from the Admiralty to send the man off the ship and that it was unlikely he would ever be employed again. The letter transferring him out of the Juno was there on the sideboard and for a moment Ramage considered giving it to him. Then he decided to wait until next morning: the man ought to be punished, however lightly and briefly, for his part in reducing the Juno to its sorry state.

'My trunk?' Ramage asked quietly. 'Why has it not been sent below?'

'You told me to have it hoisted on board – sir.’

‘Iforgot to order you to have it sent below?’

'Yes.' The man was grinning.

'Very well. I hardly expect the First Lieutenant of a ship I command to need orders for such a routine matter. However, you are drunk; you were drunk when I came on board and now you are under arrest. Go to your cabin and stay there. If you have any liquor in your cabin you will leave it outside the door. If you touch a drop more I'll have you put in irons -'

'But you can't put me in irons!' the man exclaimed. 'I'm -'

By now Ramage was standing in front of him, his face expressionless. The First Lieutenant looked up and saw the narrowed eyes but he was too drunk to notice anything except that the Captain was not shouting: he was not the first man who failed to realize that the quieter Ramage's voice became, the more angry he was.

'Can't I?' Ramage asked, almost conversationally. 'If I thought it would sober you up I'd have you put in irons and stand you under the wash-deck pump for an hour.’

The man, suddenly alarmed, tried to stand to attention but banged his head on the beam overhead.

'Go to your cabin,' Ramage said. 'Report to me at seven tomorrow morning with your trunk packed. In the meantime you are relieved of all duties and are under close arrest'

The man lurched from the cabin and Southwick came back, shaking his head. 'There's no saving a man like that, sir; he's drunk because he is bad, not bad because he's drunk. I'll rouse out the master-at-arms and arrange for a sentry. I'll have your trunk sent down in five minutes.'

Ramage nodded. 'Well, we've made a start, but it's going to be a long job...’

Next morning Southwick grumbled to Ramage that the Juno was more like Vauxhall Turnpike when the Portsmouth stage came in than a ship of war. The former Tritons were arriving with sea bags, the officers leaving the frigate were cursing and swearing as sea chests were accidentally dropped, and each of the new lieutenants was wandering round the ship with the lost look of a Johnny-Come-Lately. Ramage gave up long before the sun had any warmth in it. He met the dozen former Tritons and welcomed them on board with bantering warnings that their recent holiday on board the Victory was over; he watched stony-faced as the former First Lieutenant left the ship, sober for the first time in many months and perhaps even ashamed of himself.

Bowen arrived just before noon and, with, three leather bags of surgical instruments, looked more like the prosperous surgeon from Wimpole Street that he had once been than a surgeon of a frigate. He greeted Southwick with obvious pleasure and, waving at the sea chest being hoisted on board, told him he had brought him a present of a set of chessmen. This announcement provoked a loud groan from the Master, who protested that he had vowed to play only on the even-numbered days of the month.