Bill took the envelope and weighed it in his hands. "Good God," he said. And he was a slow reader too.

He listened to the captain. Part of it was what John had told him too, but hearing someone else explain John's brave deeds to him made him feel even prouder than he had before. His son had made something of himself, against all the odds. And even this Captain St. Clair thought highly of him.

There was something else as well, however. A discomfort. There was no question about his son's courage. And evidently the circumstances had necessitated John's actions. But it was violence nonetheless. He had surely killed men. Killed them in battles Bill wasn't sure they had any business fighting. He had never felt patriotic. What had his 'country' done for him, other than punish him and his family brutally for a crime committed as a child? Through the reformitory, it had sought to drill and sometimes beat the Empire into him. Indeed many boys had gone on too join the Royal Navy. But in Bill, it had only instilled a mistrust of authority and a suspicion of any institution that glorified violence as a way to salvation. What good could the British Empire claim to do among the 'uncivilized peoples' anyway, when back at home, infants were still dying in slums from foul living conditions and a lack of nutrients. John had turned out better than he could have dreamed, but it had not changed Bill's opinion on his choice of career.

"Aye, 'e's a brave lad, our John. I give 'im that. He was never easily frightened. Made it hard on 'is old man at times. But here he is. Just 'ope he won't do anything stupid."