"Aubrey…"

Jack lowered his eyes and wished Admiral Gilbraith would shut up.

He was going to say something consolatory, he knew it. He had already endured this from Stephen.

"Aubrey, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; don't blame yourself for events held in the hands of fate, for how God wills it to be, so it is,"

Jack wished the Admiral would shut up with greater fervour. He was about to say something deeply religious, as usual.

"You should pray to the Almighty that you sir, and the lives of your crew, and your own were preserved against all likelihood. Unfathomable indeed are the workings of the Lord."

"Aye aye, My Lord." Said Jack wearily.

"I suggest that you look to some quiet contemplation at times like these,"

"Aye aye, My Lord," he said again.

"Chaire will give you my written orders. Good day. Dissmissed."

As ever, Gilbraith's religious teachings much outnumbered his military ones, and his orders were usually squeezed into the very ends of his interviews, if they were even mentioned.

His written orders, given to him by the Captain of the Fleet, requested and required him to make his way, with utmost dispatch, to an inlet near Brest and to sink, burn or take the three French privateers sheltering within.

This mission pleased Jack- it was one after his own heart, but also Jack remembered painfully that it had been after his first lieutenant's own heart as well.

"Mr Mowett," Jack called to his new first officer, "I want to be underway within the hour,"

"Sir." The lieutenant's usually jovial round face looked pale and drawn, and although his saluted smartly, jack could tell that his thoughts were not unlike his own.