pacing the weather quarterdeck. Drinkwater moved over to the lee side where young Chalky White was shivering in the down-draught of the main topsail.
'Mr Drinkwater!' The captain called sharply.
'Sir?' Drinkwater hurried over to where the captain was regarding him with a frown. His heart sank.
'Sir?' he repeated.
'You are not wearing your sword.'
'Sir?' repeated Drinkwater yet again, his forehead wrinkling in a frown.
'It is the first morning you have had your present appointment that you have not worn it.'
'Is it, sir?' Drinkwater blushed. Behind him White giggled.
'You must be paying the correct attention to your duties and less to your personal appearance. I am pleased to see it.'
Drinkwater swallowed.
'Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'
Hope resumed his pacing. White was in stitches, the subject of Mr Drinkwater's sword having caused much amusement between decks. Drinkwater turned on him.
'Mr White! Take a glass to the foremasthead and look for England!'
'England, Nat… Mr Drinkwater, sir?'
'Yes, Mr White! England!'
England, he thought, England and Elizabeth…
