"Mr Bonden?"
The coxswain shook his head.
"Still nothing, sir,"
They had searched for three hours, and still found nothing but small scaly fish, wood and barnacles.
"Call the boats in," Jack ordered, "Mr Allen, plot our position and set a course to join the squadron West of Brest,"
"Aye sir,"
Jack wrung his hands together in frustration, his face terrifying a passing midshipman. He would have to enter into the ship's book; Opened beef cask No. 346. Fst. Lt. Tm. Pullings, Missing. He couldn't put DD, Discharged, Dead next to Tom's name. Not yet. Perhaps there was still hope.
"Uh, sir?"
Jack turned to see Bonden looking at him with deeply pitying eyes. He held out a dripping black object, which Jack took curiously. He identified it as a hat, a bicorn- shape changed by the water but still recognisable. And on the inside were sown the letters Lt. Thomas Pullings. It was his oldest hat, the first lieutenant's hat he had possessed. He had so proudly sown on the Lt. before his name.
"Thank-you, Barrett. He'll be wanting that…When he comes back,"
