To Glory We Steer

15

 

THE STORM BREAKS

 

Surprisingly the wind did hold, and twenty hours after Proby's prophecy the Phalarope's anchor splashed down into deep, clear water amidst a huddle of low, desolate islets.

Apart from lowering boats and filling them with water casks in readiness for the following morning, it was pointless to attempt a landing with night so close at hand, but at the first hint of daylight, long before the sun was able to burnish an edge to the horizon, the first boatloads of men grated up the narrow shelving beach of the nearest islet.

Bolitho climbed through the tangle of dark scrub at the top of the beach and stared round at the busy preparations behind him. The boats had already shoved off to collect more men, and the ones already landed were standing huddled together, as if conscious of the island's bleak inhospitality. One or two of the sailors were staggering like drunken revellers, their legs so used to the pitch and toss of a ship's deck that the unfamiliar land destroyed their sense of balance.

Petty officers bawled orders and checked their lists of names, and as the next batch of men arrived to join the swelling mass of sailors at the water's edge the first parties picked up their casks and tools and began to stumble inland.

Lieutenant Okes appeared on the ridge and touched his hat. `All working parties ready, sir.' He looked harassed.

Bolitho nodded. `You have your orders, Mr. Okes. Just follow the rough map I made for you and you should find fresh water without difficulty. Keep the men moving fast before the sun comes up. You'll need every available man to carry the full casks down to the beach, so see they don't wander off.'

He saw Trevenen, the cooper, scurrying ahead of another party accompanied by Ledward, the carpenter, the latter ever hopeful of replenishing his stock of spare timber. He'd not find much here, Bolitho thought grimly. These islets were useless and left well alone, but for occasional fresh-water parties. Underfoot the ground was hidden by layer upon layer of rotten vegetation, its heavy stench well mixed with seagull droppings and small bright patches of fungus. Further inland there were a few hump-backed hills, from the top of which a man could see the sea in every direction.

Okes walked off after his men, and Bolitho caught sight of Farquhar's slim figure outlined against the green scrub, before he too vanished over the far side of the ridge. Bolitho had deliberately ordered the midshipman to join Okes in command of the main party. It would do them both good to work together, if only to break down the strange air of watchful tension between them. It seemed as if Farquhar was playing some sort of game with Okes. Ever since his escape from the Andiron Farquhar had made a point of not speaking to Okes, but his presence alone seemed more than enough to reduce the lieutenant to a state of permanent agitation.

Okes had acted hastily during the retreat from Mola Island, but unless he made an open admission there was. little point in pursuing the matter, Bolitho thought. He could sympathise with Farquhar, and wondered what he himself might have done under the same set of circumstances. Farquhar's built-in sense of caution had obviously taught him that there was more to a career than gaining petty triumphs. Also his breeding, the security of a powerful family, as well as his own selfconfidence, gave him the ability to bide his time.

Herrick strode up the slope and said, `Shall we return to the ship, sir?'

Bolitho shook his head. `We'll walk a little further, Mr. Herrick.'

He pushed through a line of sun-scarred bushes and headed away from the beach. Herrick walked beside him in silence, no doubt thinking of the strangeness of the land around him. The sea's gentle hiss was gone and the air was heavy with alien smells and a thick, clinging humidity.

Bolitho said at length, `I hope Okes can get the men working quickly. Every hour may be precious.'

`You are thinking of the French, sir?'

Bolitho wiped the sweat from his face and nodded. `De Grasse may have sailed by now. If he behaves as Sir George Rodney believes he will, his fleet will already be striking west for Jamaica.' He looked up fretfully at the limp leaves and cloudless sky. `Not a breath of wind. Nothing. We were lucky it held long enough for us to reach here!'

Herrick was breathing heavily. `My God, sir, I'm feeling this!' He mopped his face. `I have not set foot ashore since Falmouth. I had almost forgotten what it was like.'

Falmouth. Again the name brought back a flood of memories to Bolitho as he strode unseeingly through the thick scrub. His father would still be waiting and wondering, nursing the hurt which Hugh had left with him. Bolitho wondered momentarily what would have happened if he had seen and recogpised his brother on the Andiron's poop on that first savage encounter. Would he have pressed home his attack with such fervour? If he had caused Hugh's death it might have eased the minds of the Navy, but in his heart Bolitho knew that it would only have added to his father's grief and sense of loss.

Perhaps Hugh already had another ship. He dismissed the idea at once. The French would not trust another prize to a man who had allowed Andiron to fall into her own snare. And the American rebel government had few ships to spare. No, Hugh would have his own problems in plenty at this moment.

He thought too of Vibart, left behind in charge of the Frigate. It was strange how Evans' murder had affected him. Bolitho had always thought Evans to be more of a toady than s friend of the first lieutenant. Yet his death seemed in some way to have deprived Vibart of something familiar and reliable, the last outlet from his own isolation. Bolitho knew that Vibart blamed him for Evans' death, as much as he hated Allday for the deed. Vibart viewed humanity like sentiment. To him both were useless. hindrances to duty.

He also knew that he would never see eye to eye with Vibart whatever happened. To Bolitho the humane treatment of his men, the understanding of their problems, and the earning of their loyalty, were as precious as gold. Equally he knew he must uphold this difficult and bitter man, for commanding a ship of war left little room for personal animosity amongst officers.

Bolitho halted with a jerk and pointed. `Is that a marine?'

Herrick stood beside him breathing deeply. A red coat flashed between the dull foliage and then another, and as Bolitho started forward, Sergeant Garwood appeared at the head of a file of sweating marines.

Bolitho asked sharply, `What are you doing ashore, Sergeant?'

Garwood stared fixedly over Bolitho's shoulder. `Mr. Vibart 'as sent all the marines across, sir.' He swallowed hard. `The prisoner Allday 'as escaped, sir. We've been sent to catch 'im again!'

Bolitho heard Herrick catch his breath and glanced quickly at his, streaming face. He could see the shock and disappointment plain on the lieutenant's' features, as if he was personally involved.

`I see.' Bolitho controlled the sudden rise of anger and added calmly, `Where is Captain Rennie?’

'T'other side of the island, sir.' Garwood looked unhappy. `The relief sentry found the cell guard clubbed senseless an' the prisoner gone, sir. 'Is manacles 'ad been struck off too, sir.,

'So someone else was involved?' Bolitho stared hard at the sergeant's bronzed features. `Who else is missing?'

The marine gulped. 'Yer clerk, Ferguson, sir!'

Bolitho turned away. `Very well, I suppose you had better carry on now that you are here.' He watched the man clump gratefully away and then said tightly, `Mr; Vibart was over hasty to send all the marines ashore. If the ship was surprised at her anchor by another vessel, there woud be insufficient men to repel an attack.' He turned abruptly. `Come, we will go back to the beach.'

Herrick said wretchedly, 'I am sorry, sir. I feel to blame more than ever. I trusted Allday, and I was the one who chose Ferguson as your clerk.'

Bolitho replied flatly, `It has proved that we were both wrong, Mr. Herrick. An innocent man does not run!' He added, `Mr. Vibart should not have allowed his anger to blind his judgement in this matter. Allday will surely die if he is left here. He will go mad on this island once the ship has sailed, and will not thank Ferguson for his rescue from a cell!'

They hurried across the beach, and the drowsing gig's crew jerked into life as the two officers climbed aboard.

Bolitho shaded his eyes to look at the anchored frigate as the gig moved slowly across the placid water. The sun was only just showing above the nearest hump of land, and the Phalarope's: yards and topmasts were shining as if coated with

gilt.

Herrick asked quietly, 'If the marines catch Allday, sir. What will you do?'

`I will hang him this time, Mr. Herrick. For the sake of discipline I have no choice now.' He glanced back at the land. `For that reason I hope they do not find him.'

The bowman hooked on to the chains, and Bolitho pulled himself through the entry port.

At his elbow Herrick snapped, `Why did you not hail the gig, man?' His own unhappy thoughts put an unusual edge to his voice.

The seaman at the entry port blinked and stammered, `I'm sorry, sir. I-I ..: His voice trailed away as he stared up at the quarterdeck.

There was a tight group of seamen beneath the quarterdeck, and as the cold realisation seeped into Bolitho's brain, they pushed out into the growing sunlight which shone and reflected on their raised muskets.

Herrick thrust Bolitho aside and reached for his sword, but a giant sailor with a pistol snapped, `Stay where you are, Mr. Herrick!' He pointed up at the quarterdeck rail. `Otherwise it will go hard with that one!'

Two more men appeared from behind the cabin hatch, between them carrying the small, struggling figure of Midshipman Neale. One man drew a knife from his belt and laid it across Neale's throat, grinning down at the two officers as

he did so.

The tall seaman, whom Bolitho now recognised as Onslow, stepped slowly across the maindeck, his pistol trained on Herrick. `Well, Mr. Herrick? Do you drop your sword?' He grinned lazily. `It's all the same to me!'

Bolitho said, `Do as he says, Mr. Herrick.' He had seen the brightness in Onslow's eyes, and knew that the man was eager, desperately eager to kill. He was only just keeping his pent up madness in check. One false move and there would be no more time left to act.

The sword clattered on the deck. Onslow kicked it aside and called sharply, `Take the gig's crew forrard and batten 'em down with the other pretty boys!' He tapped his nose with his pistol. `They'll all join us later, or feed the fish!'

Some of the men laughed. It was a wild, explosive sound. Brittle with tension.

Bolitho studied Onslow, the first shock giving way to sudden caution. Every captain dreaded such a moment. Some had earned it, others had fallen foul of uncontrollable circumstances. Now it had happened to him. To the Phalarope.

It was mutiny.

Onslow watched as the gig's crew was bundled below deck and then said, `We'll up anchor as soon as a likely wind blows. We have the master below, and either he or .you will take the ship to open waters.'

Herrick said hoarsely, `You're mad! You'll swing for this!' The pistol barrel came down sharply, and Herrick dropped to his knees, his hands across his forehead.

Bolitho saw the blood bright across Herrick's fingers and said coldly, `And if the wind fails to arrive, Onslow? What will you do?'

Onslow nodded, his eyes searching Bolitho's face. `A good question. Well, we have a good little ship beneath us. We can sink any boat which tries to board us, do you not agree?'

Bolitho kept his face impassive, but realised that Onslow had good reasons for confidence. Outnumbered by the rest of the crew and Rennie's marines, Onslow was still in a position of king. Even a handful of men could keep boats at bay with the frigate's guns loaded with grape. He glanced at the sun. It would be hours yet before Okes started on the long march back to the beach.

He said slowly. `So it was you all the time.'

Another man, small and stinking of rum, capered round the two officers. `He done it all! Just as 'e said 'e would!'

Onslow snarled, `Stow it, Pock!' Then more calmly, `Your clerk told me when the ship was nearing land. All I had to do was foul the fresh-water casks with salt.' He laughed, amused by the very simplicity of his plan. `Then, when you headed this way, I killed that rat Evans.'

Bolitho said, `You must have been afraid of Aliday to incriminate him with murder!'

Onslow glanced along the deck and then said calmly, 'It was necessary. I knew if the bullocks were still aboard some of my white-livered friends might not be so willing to sieze the ship!' He shrugged. `So I had Allday released, and the bullocks went charging off after him. Just as I knew they would!'

`You've damned yourself, Onslow!' Bolitho kept his voice level. `But think of these other men with you. Will you see them hanged?'

Onslow shouted, `Shut your mouth! And -think yourself lucky I've not had you strung up at the mainyard! I'm going to barter the ship for our freedom! No bloody navy'll catch us after that!'

Bolitho hardened his tone to hide his rising despair. `You are a fool if you believe that!'

His head jerked back as Onslow struck him across the face with the back of his hand. `Silence!' Onslow's shout brought more men pressing around. Herrick was dragged to his feet and his hands were pinioned behind him. He was still dazed, and his face was streaming with blood.

Bolitho said, `You can send the officers ashore. They are nothing to you, Onslow.'

'Ah now, Captain; you're wrong there!' Onslow's good humour was returning. `Hostages. You may fetch a good price, too!' He laughed. `But then you must be getting used to that!'

Pook yelled, `Why not kill 'em now?' He waved a cutlass. `Let me have 'em!'

Onslow looked at Bolitho. `You see? Only I can save you.1 'What have you done with the first lieutenant? Bolitho saw

Pook nudge another seaman. `Have you killed him, too?' Pook sniggered. `Not likely! We're savin' 'im for a bit o' sport later on!'

Onslow flexed his arms. `He's flogged enough of us, Captain. I'll see how he likes the cat across his fat hide!'

Herrick muttered between his clenched teeth, `Think of what you're doing! You are selling this ship to the enemy!'

`You're my enemy!' Onslow's nostrils flared as. if he had been touched with a hot iron. `I'll do what I like. with her, and with you, too!'

Bolitho said quietly, 'Easy, Mr. Herrick. There is nothing you can do:'

`Spoken like a true gentleman!' Onslow gave a slow grin. `It's best to know when you're beaten!' Then sharply he called, `Lock them below, lads! And kill the first bugger who tries anything!'

Some of the men growled with obvious disapproval. Their lust was high. They were all committed. Bolitho knew that Onslow's careful plan was only half clear in their rum-sodden minds.

Onslow added, `As soon as the wind gets up, we're off, lads! You can leave the rest to Harry Onslow!'

Herrick and Bolitho were pushed along the deck and down into the dark confines of a small storeroom. A moment later Midshipman Neale and Proby, the master, were thrust in with them and the door slammed shut.

High up the side of the cabin was a small circular port, used to ventilate the compartment and the stores it normally contained. Bolitho guessed that the mutineers had already dragged the contents elsewhere for their own uses.

In the darkness Neale sobbed, `I-I'm sorry, sir! I let you down! I was on watch when it all happened!'

Bolitho said quietly, `It was not your fault, boy. The odds were against you this time. It was just ironic that Onslow stayed aboard because he could not be trusted off the ship!'

Neale said brokenly, 'Mr. Vibart was in his cabin. They seized him and nearly killed him! Onslow stopped them just in time!'

Herrick said bleakly, `Not for long!' Then with sudden fury, `The fools! The French or the Spanish will never bargain with Onslow! They won't have to. They'll seize the Phalarope and take the whole lot prisoners!'

Bolitho said, `I know that, Herrick. But if the mutineers began to think as you do, they'd have no reason for sparing our lives!'

`I see, sir.' Herrick was peering at him in the gloom. `And I thought . .

`You imagined that I had given up hope?' Bolitho breathed out slowly. `Not yet. Not without a fight!'

He stood up on an empty box and peered through the small vent hole. The ship had swung slightly at her cable and he could see the far end of the little beach and a low hill beyond. There was no sign of life. Nor had he expected any.

Proby muttered, `Two of the mutineers I know well. Good men, with no cause to follow scum like Onslow and Pook!' He added thickly, `It'll do 'em no good. They'll be caught and hanged with the rest!'

Herrick slipped and cursed in the darkness. `Damn!' He groped with his fingers. `Some old butter! Rancid as bilge water!'

Bolitho cocked his head to listen to the sudden stamp of feet and a wave of laughter. `They've taken more than butter, Mr. Herrick. They'll be too drunk to control soon!' He thought of the knife's glitter across Neale's throat. Soon the second phase would be enacted. The mutineers. would get bored with merely drinking. They would have to prove themselves. To kill.

He said, `Can you come up here beside me, Neale?' He felt the midshipman struggling on to the box. `Now, do you think you could get through that vent?'

Neale's eyes flickered in the shaft of sunlight. He replied doubtfully, `It's very small, sir.' Then more firmly, `I'll try!'

Proby asked, `What do you have in mind, sir?'

Bolitho ran his hands across the circular hole. It was barely ten inches across. He controlled the rising excitement in his heart. It had to be tried.

He said, `If Neale could slip through ..: He broke off. The butter! Quick, Neale, strip off your clothes!' He reached out for Herrick. `We'll rub him with butter, Herrick, and ease him through, like a sponge in a gun barrel!'

Neale pulled off his clothes and stood uncertainly in the centre of the storeroom. In the faint glow from the vent hole his small body shone like some discarded statue. Bolitho took a double handful of stinking butter from the deck and ignoring Neale's cry of alarm slapped it across his shoulders. As Herrick followed suit Bolitho said quickly, 'The loyal men, Neale, where are they?'

Neale's teeth were beginning to chatter uncontrollably but he replied, 'In the cable tier, sir. The surgeon and some of the older hands as well.'

'Just as I thought.' Bolitho stood back and wiped his palms on his breeches. `Now listen. If we get you through this hole, could you climb along the forechains?'

Neale nodded. 'I'll try, sir.'

'The others will be locked in the tier by staple. If I can distract the guards you open the door and release them.' He rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. 'But if anyone sees you, forget what I said and jump for it. You could swim ashore before anyone could catch you.'

He turned to the others. 'Right, lend a hand here!'

Neale felt like a greasy fish, and at the first attempt they nearly dropped him.

Herrick suggested, 'One arm first, Neale, then your head.'

They tried again, with the room plunged into total darkness as the struggling, wriggling midshipman was forced into the vent hole.

The boy was gasping with pain, and Proby said, 'Lucky he ain't no fatter.'

Then, with a sudden rush he was through, and after a few agonising seconds, while they all waited for a shouted challenge from the deck, his eyes appeared outside the vent hole. He was scarlet in the face and his shoulder was bleeding from the rough passage.

But he was strangely determined, and Bolitho said softly, 'Take your time, boy. And no chances!'

Neale vanished, and Herrick said heavily, 'Well, at least he's out of it if the worst happens.'

Bolitho looked at him sharply. It was almost as if Herrick had read his own thoughts. But he replied calmly, 'I'll blow this ship to hell before I let it fall to the enemy, Mr. Herrickl Make no mistake about it!'

Then, in silence, he settled down to wait.

 

John Allday leaned against a tall slab of rock, his chest heaving from exertion as he fought to regain his breath. A few paces away, lying like a corpse with his head and shoulders in a small pool, Bryan Ferguson drank deeply, pausing every so often to give a great gasp for air.

Allday turned to look back through the tangled mass of small trees through which they had just come. There was still no sign of pursuit, but he had no doubt that the alarm was now under way.

He said, 'I've not had time to thank you, Bryan. That was a rash thing you did!'

Ferguson rolled on to his side and stared at him with glazed eyes. 'Had to do it. Had to.'

'It's your neck as well as mine now, Bryan.' Allday studied him sadly. 'But at least we're free. There's always hope when you have your freedom!'

He had been lying in his darkened cell listening to the familiar sounds of boats filling with men and pushing off from the frigate's hull. Then, as the emptied ship had fallen into silence, there had been a cry of alarm and the thud of a body falling against the door.

Ferguson had wrenched it open, his mouth slack with fear, his fingers trembling as he had unlocked the shackles and gabbled out some vague ideas of escape.

The dawn wass still a dull smudge in the sky as they had slipped quietly over the side into the cool water. Like many sailors Allday could hardly swim a stroke, but Ferguson, driven by the desperation of fear, had helped him, until choking and gasping they had both staggered on to the safety of the beach.

Hardly speaking they had run or crawled through dense brush, had climbed over fallen rocks, never pausing to either look back or listen. Now they were between two low hills, and exhaustion had pulled them both to a halt.

Allday said, `Come on, we'd better get ourselves moving again. Up this hill. We'll be safe there. You should be able to see miles from the top.'

Ferguson was still staring at him. 'You were right about Onslow. He is a bad man!' He shuddered. 'I thought he was just trying to be friendly to me. I told him things about the captain's log. About what the ship was doing!' He staggered to his feet and followed Allday slowly up the side of the hill. 'No one will believe me now. I'm as guilty as he isl'

'At least you know I didn't kill the purser!' Allday squinted up at the sun. It would soon be time to stop and hide.

'Onslow boasted about it!' Ferguson gave another shudder. `After you had been taken to the cells I overheard him talking with some of the others, Pook and Pochin. He boasted how he had killed Evans!'

Allday pulled him into a bush. 'Look!' He pointed across to a distant hillside at a slow-moving line of red dots. `The bullocks are out looking for us already.'

Ferguson gave a low cry. `I'll never get back home! I'll never see Grace again!'

Allday looked at him gravely. `Hold on, Bryan! We're not finished yet. Maybe another ship will call here one day, and we'll pretend we're shipwrecked.'

He turned to watch the distant marines as they moved away to the right. Mariness in their heavy boots and equipment were no match for this sort of game, he thought. Even on a bare Cornish hillside he could have evaded them. Here it was easier, because of the heavy tangle of scrub all around them.

He said, 'It's all right. They're over the other side now. Come on, Bryan!'

They continued up the hillside until Allday found a sheltered clump of bushes which jutted from a great fallen slide of rock. He threw himself down and stared out at the great empty waste of water.

`We'll be safe here, Bryan. When the ship puts to sea we'll build a shelter like I had outside Falmouth. Don't worry about it.'

Ferguson was still standing, his eyes wide as he peered down at his friend. 'Onslow intends to take the ship!' His mouth quivered. `He told me. He knew I couldn't do anything. He said that I was as guilty as the rest of them!'

Allday tried to grin. `You're tired!' He tried again. `Look, how can Onslow seize a frigate? His grin faded into a look cf shocked horror as the true implication dawned on him. He jumped to his feet and seized Ferguson's arm. `Do you mean Onslow planned all of this? The fresh water, the murder, and my escape? He did not wait for a reply. The expression on the others man's face was enough.

He gave a hollow groan. `My God, Bryan! What are we going to do?'

Ferguson said weakly, `I wanted to tell you. But there was no time! They'd have killed you anyway.'

Allday nodded heavily. `I know, Bryan. I know.' He stared at the ground. `I warned them about this.' He ran his fingers through his hair. 'Mutiny! I'll have no part of it!' He looked at Ferguson with sudden determination. `We must go back and warn them.'

`It'll be too late!' Ferguson clasped his hands together. `Anyway, I couldn't go! Don't you see? I'm one of them now!' Tears began to pour down his face. 'I couldn't take the lash, John! Please, I couldn't!'

Allday turned his back to hide his face from the other man. He stared out to sea, at the hard horizon line which seemed to represent the impossibility of distance. You poor little bugger, he thought. It must have cost a lot of pluck to knock down the sentry and open the cell. Over his shoulder he said calmly, `I know, Bryan. But give me time to think things out.'.

So it was all wasted after all. The determination to take life as it came, to accept danger and hardship in order that he should one day return home, had all come to nothing. It was curious that Ferguson, the one man aboard who had the most to lose, had been the one.to spring off the disaster of mutiny.

And disaster it would be, he told himself grimly. They never gave up a search for a mutineer. No matter how long it took. He remembered seeing some of them hanging in chains at Plymouth. Rotting, eyeless remnants left to the gulls as a warning to others.

Far out on,the flat, glittering water something moved to break the calm emptiness of the horizon. Allday dropped on one knee and shaded his eyes with both hands. He blinked to clear the moisture and then looked again. Months at sea as a masthead lookout had given him the sailor's instinct to interpret more than was merely visible to the naked eye. He turned his head very slightly. There was another one. Much smaller. Probably a mile beyond the first.

Ferguson seemed to realise something was happening. `What is it?'

Allday sat down on the rock at his side and stared at him thoughtfully. `There are two frigates out yonder, Bryan. Big ones, probably Frogs by the look of 'em.' He let the words sink in and then asked quietly, `Tell me about your wife back at Falmouth. Grace, isn't that her name?'

Ferguson nodded dumbly, still not understanding.

Allday reached out and took his hand firmly in his own. `She'll not want to remember you as a mutineer, Bryan?' He saw the quick shake of the head, the unheeded tears on his sunburned cheeks. Then he continued, `Nor will she want to remember you as the man who let his ship fall to the enemy Without lifting a finger to help her.' He stood up slowly and pulled Ferguson to his feet. `Take a look at those ships, Bryan, and then tell me what to do. You saved my life. I owe you that at least!'

Ferguson stared at the dancing reflections, too blinded with tears to see beyond Allday's quiet words. 'You want me to go back with you?' He spoke in a small voice, yet unable to stop himself. 'To go back?'

Allday nodded, still keeping his eyes on Ferguson's agonised face. 'We have to, Bryan. You can see that, can't you?'

He touched Ferguson's arm, and after a momentary hesitation began to walk down the side of the hill. He did not have to look back to know that Ferguson was following him.

 

Bolitho felt the hair stirring against the nape of his neck, and stood up to face the small vent hole. After a moment he said, 'Do you feel it? The wind is returning!'

Herrick replied uneasily, 'Okes will never be back in time. And even if he is. ..'

Bolitho touched his lips. 'Quiet! Someone's coming!' He bent down and with a quick jerk thrust Neale's clothes out through the vent hole.

The door grated back and Pook peered in at them. He gestured with a heavy pistol. 'On deck! All of you!' His eyes were very bright, and his shirt was well stained with neat rum. Then he stared past Bolitho and shouted, 'Where's that brat gone, for Christ's sake?'

Bolitho said calmly, 'Out through the port. He swam ashore.'

Pook muttered, 'It'll do 'im no good! 'E can stay with the others to starve!'

Cursing and muttering to himself he drove the three officers on deck, where Onslow and some of his trusted men were assembled beside the wheel.

Bolitho whispered to Herrick, 'Don't provoke him. He looks too dangerous to trifle with!'

Onslow was certainly, showing signs of strain, and as Bolitho and the others reached the quarterdeck rail he snapped, 'Right then! You can get the ship under way!' He levelled his pistol at Herrick's stomach and added meaningly, 'I shall shoot him if you try and trick me!'

Bolitho glanced along the maindeck, feeling his spirits sinking. There were some twenty men staring up at him. All the ones who had been sent from the Cassius and some others he recognised as old and trusted men of the original Phalarope crew. As he had remarked to the unhappy Neale, it was just bad luck that all these men had stayed together aboard the frigate- while other, more reliable elements had been sent ashore, with the water casks. Normally it would not have mattered. He bit his lip and stared beyond the bowsprit where a small islet seemed to be swinging on its own momentum as the wind tugged at the anchored ship. Now it made the difference between life and death to all of them.

He nodded to Proby. 'Tops'ls and jib, Mr. Proby.' To Onslow he said, 'We will need more men to break out the anchor.'

Onslow showed his teeth. 'A good try, but not good enough. I will cut the cable!' He waved the pistol. 'I have enough men here for the sails!' He hardened his jaw. 'Try that sort of trick again and I will kill the lieutenant!' He cocked the pistol and pointed it again at Herrick. 'Carry on, sir!'

Bolitho felt the sun beating down on his face and tried to shut out the overwhelming sensation of defeat. There was nothing he could do. He had even put young Neale's life in danger now.

Quietly he said, 'Very well, Onslow. But I hope you live long enough to regret this.'

A man yelled from forward, 'Look! There are some men on the beach!'

Onslow swung round, his eyes glinting. 'By God, there's a boat shoving off!'

Bolitho turned to watch .as the Phalarope's jolly boat -idled clear of the sand and began to move across the water. There were only two men in it, and he guessed that the landing party must have broken into panic at the sight of the frigate preparing to sail without them. Several mutineers were already aloft, and a jibsail flapped impatiently in the rising breeze. He could see many more men further along the green ridge and the glint of metal on a drawn sword. .

Onslow said slowly, 'Let the boat get near enough to rake with a nine-pounder!' He was grinning. 'And fetch up Mr. bloody Vibart! We'll give those bastards something to remember us by!' To Bolitho he said, 'It will be a hanging after all, and who better?'

It took four men to drag the first lieutenant from the cabin hatch. His clothes were in ribbons, and his face was scarred and battered almost beyond recognition. For several seconds he stared up at the running noose which was already being passed down from the mainyard to eager hands on deck. Then he turned and looked up towards the quarterdeck, seeing Bolitho and the others for the first time. One of his eyes was closed, but the other stared straight at Onslow with neither fear nor hope.

Onslow called, `Now, Mr. Vibart! Let us see you dance to our tune!' Some of the men laughed as he added, `You'll get a good view from up there.'

Bolitho said, `Leave him! You have me, Onslow, isn't that enough?'

But Vibart shouted, `Save your pleadings for yourself! I don't want your damn pity!'

Suddenly a voice shouted, `Look! In the jolly boat! It's Allday and Ferguson!'

Several men ran to the side, and one even started to cheer. Onslow rasped, `Stand by that gun! We don't need them here!'

Bolitho watched narrowly as another big seaman, the one called Pochin, pushed past the wheel and growled, ` 'Old on! It's Allday! 'E's a good mate, an' always 'as bin.' He looked down at the maindeck. `What d'you say, lads?'

There was a rumble of agreement from some of the watching men, and Pochin added, `Call the boat alongside.'

Bolitho could feel his heart pounding against his ribs as the boat bumped against the hull, and in sudden silence Allday and Ferguson climbed up through the entry port.

Pochinn leaned over the rail and shouted, `Welcome back, John! We'll sail together after all!'

But Allday stayed where he was below the starboard gangway, the sunlight bright across his upturned face. Then he said, `I'll not sail with him!' He pointed straight at Onslow. `He killed Evans and put the blame on me! I would have ended on a gallows but for Bryan here!'

Onslow replied calmly, `But now you're free. I never intended you to die.' There was sweat on his forehead, and the knuckles around the pistol were white. `You can stay with us, and welcome.'

Allday ignored him and turned to the men on deck. `There are two French frigates out yonder, lads! Will you let the Phalarope fall to them because of the word of that murdering swine?' His voice grew louder. `You, Pochin? Are you such a fool that you cannot see your own death?' He seized another seaman by the arm. `And you, Ted! Can you live with this for the rest of your life?'

A babble of voices broke out, and even the man from aloft swarmed down to join the others in noisy argument.

Bolitho shot a glance at Herrick. It was now or never. He had seen two armed seamen walk aft- to see what was happening. They had to be the sentries guarding the rest of the prisoners.

But it was Vibart who acted first. Broken and bleeding, his head sunk dejectly in his shoulders, he was momentarily forgotten by the men around him.

With a sudden roar he lashed out and knocked his guards sprawling.

Bolitho yelled, 'Neale! Now, for God's sake!'

As he shouted he threw himself bodily sideways into Onslow, and together they rolled kicking and fighting across the deck.

Pook screamed with fury and had his feet kicked from under him by Herrick, who scooped up his pistol, cocked it and fired in a matter of seconds. The force of the shot lifted Pook from his knees and smashed him back against a carronade, his jaw and half his face blown to bloody fragments.

Somehow Onsiow managed to fight himself free, and with one great bound cleared the rail to land amidst the other seamen. The sudden pistol shot had left the men standing like statues, but as Onslow hit the deck he snatched up a cutlass and yelled, `To me, lads! Kill the bastards!'

Bolitho seized Onslow's pistol and fired point-blank at a man by the wheel, and then gasped, `Go aft, Mr. Proby! Get weapons!'

There was a ragged volley from the forecastle, and the stunned mutineers reeled back across the maindeck as another handful of seamen surged up from below led by Belsey, the master's mate, his injured arm strapped across his body, but wielding a boarding axe with his good hand.

Herrick shouted, `The boats are coming, sir!' He hurled his empty pistol at another shadowy figure and grabbed a cutlass from Proby. `My God, the boats are coming at last!'

Bolitho snapped, `Follow me!' Swinging the unfamiliar cutlass like a scythe he dashed down the ladder, hitting out with all his strength as a man charged across the deck with a long pike. He felt the hot blood spurt across his face as the massive blade sliced through the man's bulging neck artery as if it had been thread.

Faces loomed up, ugly and distorted, but faded into screams as he slashed his way across the deck to where Vibart was fighting with his bare hands against three mutineers. As he drove his cutlass into the nearest man's shoulder, he saw the sun gleam on a knife, and heard Vibart's great bellow of agony. Then he was down, and as the released men from the. cable tier charged into the fray, some of the remaining mutineers dropped their weapons and held up their hands. Bolitho slipped in some blood and felt someone lifting him to his feet. It was Allday.

He managed to gasp, `Thank you, Allday!'

But Allday was staring past him, to the far side, where encircled by levelled weapons and abandoned by his fellow conspirators, Onslow stood with his back against a gun, his cutlass still held in front of him.

Allday said, `He is mine, sir!'

Bolitho was about to answer when he heard Vibart calling his name. In three strides he reached the man's side and knelt on the stained planking where Ellice and Belsey were holding Vibart's shoulders clear of the deck. There was a thin ribbon of blood running from the corner of Vibart's mouth, and as he lay staring up at Bolitho's grave features he looked suddenly old and. frail.

Bolitho said quietly, `Rest easy, Mr. Vibart. We'll soon have you comfortable.'

Vibart coughed, and the blood dribbled down his chin in a growing flood. `Not this time. They've done for me this time!' He made as if to move his hand, but the effort was too much. From behind his shoulders the surgeon gave a quick shake of his head.

Bolitho said, `It was a brave thing you did.'

There was a clash of steel across the deck, and Bolitho turned to see Allday and Onslow circling each other with bared cutlasses. The other men stood watching in silence. This was no court martial. This was the justice of the lower deck.

Bolitho looked again at Vibart. `Is there anything I can do for you?'

The dying man grimaced as a fresh agony ran through his body. `Nothing. Not from you. Not from anybody!' He coughed again, but this time the torrent did not stop.

As the returning boats ground alongside and the gangways became alive with breathless men, Vibart died.

Bolitho stood up slowly and stared at the dead man. It was somehow typical and right that Vibart had remained unflinching and unshaken to the end.

He saw Captain Rennie and Midshipman Farquhar stepping over some wounded seamen, their faces drawn and ashen by what they saw. He clasped his hands behind him to hide his emotion from them.

`Put these men under guard, Mr. Farquhar. Then carry on at once with loading the fresh water. We sail as soon as it is Completed.' He walked slowly across to the opposite side, and as the men parted to let him through he saw Onslow staring up at him, his eyes already glazed in death.

All at once Bolitho felt sick and unclean, as if the mutiny had left him with another, deeper scar.

He said harshly, 'I hope we can match the French as well as we can fight each other!' Then he turned and strode aft.