Command a King`s Ship

14. The Bristol Sailmaker

'Time to move, is it, sir? Davy watched Bolitho as he craned over the rocks, his shirt pale against the darkening sky.

'I believe so. Tell Carwithen to muster the hands.'

He shivered as the sea-breeze explored his body. Once the sun had dipped over the hills at his back it grew cool, even cold, in minutes. They had been too long in the heat, plagued by sun and thirst, and a multitude of flies which had appeared as if by magic. He watched the anchored schooner's outline, the soft glow of lights from poop and forepeak. The fire on the beach had died to a blotch of red embers, and he could see nobody near it, but guessed the lookout was still in his refuge beyond the pools.

Allday whispered, 'All ready, Captain.' He held his cutlass clear of the rocks. 'Mr. Davy's making sure they all know what to do.'

Bolitho nodded without answering, trying to gauge the distance they must cover. Surprisingly, it seemed greater in the growing darkness, but he was reassured by the occasional snatches of voices from the vessel to show they had given no heed to their missing comrade.

Davy slithered down beside him. 'I've sent Carwithen's party away, sir.' He looked at the sky, the isolated puffs of light cloud. 'Wind's steady enough.'

'Yes.' Bolitho checked his pistol and tightened his belt. 'Follow me. Single file.'

Like ghosts they topped the last rock barrier, the sounds of loose stones and rubble seemingly very loud in the gloom. But as Davy had observed, the wind held steady, and was making a lively chop along the beach and narrow spur of headland. Noisy enough to drown any small sound they might be making.

Once, as they followed the curve of the hillside they all froze in their tracks as two dozing sea-birds rose flapping and screaming almost from under their feet.

Bolitho waited, listening to his heart, to the sharp breathing of the men at his back. Nothing. He lifted his arm and they began to move forward and downwards again.

When he looked across his shoulder he saw the rough edge of the rock barrier, where they had waited fretting for sunset, far above his slow-moving party. They were almost down to beach level now, and he heard a man curse quietly as he slipped in the first of the small pools. Davy's party were having to wade in the shallows to his right, and he hoped none of them would fall headlong into one of the rock pools there, now hidden by the rising tide.

He thought momentarily of the ship, anchored on the other side of the islet. The familiar sounds and smells. Herrick waiting anxiously for news of success or disaster. If it was to be the latter, he could do nothing to help this time. His would be the task of contacting the 'enemy' and making what he could of it. It was easier to think of them as the enemy. It never helped to picture them as men. Flesh and bone like himself.

Allday touched his arm urgently. 'Boat coming inshore, Captain!'

Bolitho held up his hand and brought both parties to a shuffling silence. The boat must have come around the schooner's hidden side. He could see the splash of oars, the lively froth of the stem as it bounced across the first leaping surf.

He thought of Carwithen and his handful of men who were creeping up and around the solitary lookout. They should have been there by now. He recalled Carwithen's brutal madness with the boarding axe, and wondered if he had been the one to strike the luckless lookout down.

A voice echoed suddenly in the darkness, and for an instant Bolitho imagined Carwithen had been delayed, or that the lookout was calling an alarm. But the voice came from the boat, louder this time, and despite the strange tongue, Bolitho knew the man was calling a question. Or a name perhaps.

Allday said, 'They've come a'looking for their mate, Captain.' He dropped to one knee to keep the grounding boat framed against the surf. 'Six of 'em.'

Bolitho said quietly, 'Stand fast, lads. Let them come to us.' He heard a man clicking his jaws together. Tense, nervous.

Probably terrified in these unfamiliar surroundings.

Allday said, 'One of 'em's going up the cliff to the lookout.' Bolitho drew his sword very carefully. Of course. It would be the first place a searcher would go. Ask if the missing man had been seen.

He watched the other five strolling up the beach, swinging their weapons casually, chatting as they approached.

Bolitho glanced behind him. His men were barely visible as they crouched or knelt amongst fallen rocks, or squatted in the sea itself. He turned to study the oncoming shadows. Twenty yards, fifteen. Surely one would see them soon.

A terrible cry tore the stillness apart, hanging above the ridge long after the man had died.

Bolitho saw the five shadows turn in confusion, knew the dying scream must have been the man sent to the lookout. lie yelled, 'At 'em, lads!'

Without a shout or a cheer they were all up and rushing after the five figures who had turned back towards the surf.

One of them slipped and fell headlong, tried to rise, but was slashed into a sobbing heap by a seaman's cutlass as he dashed past.

The others had reached the boat, but deprived of two of their strength, were unable to shift it. Steel gleamed in the shadows, and as the seamen charged amongst them the fight became confused and deadly. A seaman caught his foot in the boat-rope and before he could recover his balance was pinned bodily to the shingle by a long sword. His killer died almost simultaneously. The remaining two threw down their weapons and were instantly clubbed into unmoving heaps by the maddened sailors.

Davy snapped tersely, 'One of ours is dead, sir.' He rolled the man over on to his back and dragged the cutlass from his fingers.

Bolitho eased the sword back into its scabbard. His legs felt shaky from running, from nervous tension. He looked at the anchored schooner. No shouts, no calls to arms. He thought -he heard the same sing-song voice chanting above the seething surf, remote and vaguely sad.

Davy said hoarsely, 'Damned poor lookout, sir.'

Bolitho watched his men gathering around the two boats. The one which had been there all day was furthest up the shingle and would need the more men to move it.

He replied, 'Wouldyou have expected trouble, in their place?'

Davy shrugged. 'I suppose not.'

Carwithen came hurrying down from the ridge, his helpers hard put to keep up with him.

He said savagely, 'That bloody fool Lincoln was too slow with his dirk!' He glared at the watching men around him. 'I'll see to him later!'

Bolitho said, 'Boats in the water.' He sought out the six marines. 'You take the second one. You know what to do.'

One, the man who had first sighted the schooner, grunted. 'We knows, sir. We holds the boat where we can see the poop, an' pin down anyone who tries to pass the lanterns there.'

Bolitho smiled. 'Captain Bellairs was right about you.'

Allday whispered, 'This way, Captain.'

He felt the surf engulfing his legs and waist, the boat's scarred planking as Allday reached down to drag him over the gunwale.

'Shove off!'

Bolitho restrained the urge to watch the frantic oars, the efforts to steer the boat clear of the surf. Just one blast of canister would be enough to nip his flimsy plan in the bud.

The boat lifted and then surged heavily forward, the blades taking control as the hull freed itself from the strong undertow. Bolitho saw the schooner's tall masts rising to greet him, the tracery of rigging and shrouds almost lost against the sky.

Allday stood straddle-legged and wary, the tiller bar held lightly in his fingertips.

'Easy all!' He craned forward as if to impress them more. 'Bow-man, ready!'

Astern Bolitho heard the regular splash of oars as the other boat pulled hastily towards the schooner's bows.

Allday said quickly, 'It's now or never, Captain!' His teeth were bared with concentration, so that some men in the forward part of the boat thought he was smiling.

Bolitho stood up beside him and reached out to fend off the overhanging quarter, as like a moving object it loomed right above the boat.

'Now!'

There was a yell and a quick clatter as the bow-man hurled his grapnelup and over the bulwark. With a jerking, grinding crash the boat came alongside, some men falling in confusion, while others climbed eagerly over their sprawled bodies and entangled oars as if using a living bridge to reach the vessel's main deck.

Figures were already dashing from the forecastle, but as a man ran wildly from aft there was a muffled bang, the wellaimed musket ball hurling him round like an insane dancer, his agony clearly silhouetted against the poop lanterns.

Bolitho felt rather than saw a figure coming at him from the scuppers. Something hissed above his head even as he ducked round and struck for his attacker with his sword. The swaying figure backed and came on again, and Bolitho realised he was holding a huge axe, swinging it from side to side as he advanced.

Carwithen exclaimed, 'A plague on that bastard!' and fired his pistol full in the man's face. To Bolitho he snarled, 'That'll teach him!'

Another of the crew had climbed frantically into the foremast shrouds and was being pursued by a yelling seaman. Once again a musket stabbed the darkness from the other boat, and with a faint cry the man fell headlong to the deck where he was promptly despatched by a waiting cutlass.

Allday yelled, 'Most of 'em have gone below,. Captain!' He ran to a hatchway and fired his pistol into it. 'The fight's gone out of 'em now, I'm thinking!'

Bolitho peered aft at the poop lanterns. 'Call the other boat to give assistance!'

It was suddenly very quiet on the schooner's deck, and as Bolitho walked slowly towards the small cabin hatch just forward of the wheel he was conscious of his own footsteps and the feeling the fight was not yet over.

He moved warily around the outstretched corpse which had been the first to fall to a marine sharpshooter, its face shining in the lantern light, the lower jaw broken away as if by an axe stroke.

Allday said, 'Stand aside, Captain!'

But a seaman was already clambering over the hatch coaming, his face suddenly screwing up in terrible agony as a pistol exploded beneath him.

A shadow darted through the pluming smoke, and Bolitho saw it was the scarfaced seaman called Lincoln, his eyes like stones as he allowed his lean body to drop straight through the hatch, using his dead companion to cushion the fall. His feet thudded into the corpse, and as he turned he whipped a knife from between his teeth, hitting out twice in the darkness, the second blow bringing a scream of pain.

More men were swarming down after him, and Bolitho -yelled, 'Bring a lantern! Drag those men clear!'

Feet pounded over the planking, and he heard Armitage calling anxiously from the boat alongside.

Carwithen was already down on the cabin deck, knocking a seaman aside even as he made to finish the wounded pirate with his dirk.

Bolitho paused on the ladder, searching for Davy, his mind still able to grapple with the realisation that Allday had saved his life. But for his warning, he and not that poor seaman would be lying there dead.

'Mr. Davy! Hoist both boats inboard once you have secured our prisoners!'

'Aye, aye, sir!' He sounded jubilant.

'And mount a guard on them. I want no fanatic opening the bilges to the sea before we can even make sail!'

He followed Allday down the ladder, the sea-noises suddenly muffled and lost.

A seaman kicked open the cabin door and darted inside with a levelled pistol.

'Nothin', zur!' He swung round as a shadow moved beyond an upended chair. 'Belay that, zur! There's another rascal 'ere! I'll get 'im for 'ee!'

Then he fell back in horror. 'By Jesus, zur! 'E's one of us!'

Bolitho stepped into the cabin, ducking low between the deckhead beams. He could appreciate the seaman's shocked surprise. It was a small, cringing wreck of a man. He was on his knees, fingers interlocked as in prayer while he swayed back and forth in time to the ship's motion.

Bolitho sheathed his sword, stepping between the quivering creature and his fierce-eyed-seaman.

'Who are you?'

He made to move closer and the man threw himself bodily at his feet.

'Have mercy, Captain! I done nothin', sir! I'm just an honest sailorman, sir!'

He gripped Bolitho's shoes, and when he reached down to pull him to his feet Bolitho saw with horror that every nail had been torn from his fingers.

Allday said harshly, 'On your feet! You are speaking to a King's officer!V

'Easy.' Bolitho held up his hand. 'Look at him. He has suffered enough.'

A seaman dropped his cutlass and lifted the man into a chair. 'Oi'll get 'im a drink, Cap'n.'

He dragged open a cupboard and gaped as the little man screamed wildly, 'Don't touch! 'E'll flay you alive if you dare lay yet 'ooks on it!'

Bolitho asked, 'Who will?'

Then he seemed to realise what was happening. That it was not part of another in a whole procession of living nightmares. He stated at Bolitho's grave features, tears running unheeded down his sunken cheeks.

'Mu jadi!'

Carwithen muttered, 'What, here?'

The creature peered around Bolitho, his terrified eyes search

ing the crowded passageway, the dead seaman below the hatch. 'There! 'Is son!'

Bolitho turned swiftly and stooped above the man brought down by Lincoln's knife. Of course, he should have seen it. Instead of congratulating himself on being spared a horrible death.

The man was still alive, although the seaman's blade had laid open his neck and shoulder in a great, gaping wound. Must have missed the artery by a whisker and no more.

He was naked to the waist, but his loose trousers, now blotchy with his own and the seaman's blood, were of the finest silk. His eyes were tightly shut, his chest moving in quick, uneven thrusts.

Carwithen said, 'Let me finish the bastard, sir!' He was almost pleading.

Bolitho ignored him. The man was not aged much more than twenty, and around his throat he wore a gold pendant in the form of a prancing beast. Like the one on Muljadi's flag. It was just possible.

He snapped, 'Bind his wound. I want him to live.'

He turned to the ragged figure in the cabin. 'My men will take care of you, but first I want…'

The figure edged nearer the door. 'Is it really over, sir?' He was shaking violently and close to collapse. 'It's not a cruel trick?' Allday said quietly, 'This is Captain Bolitho, matey. Of His Majesty's Ship Undine.'

'Now tell us who you are?'

The little man sank down to the deck again. Like a cowed dog. 'I was sailmaker, sir. In the Portuguese barque Alvares. Took on in Lisbon when I lost me own ship. We was carryin' a mixed cargo from Java when we was attacked by pirates.'

'When was this?' Bolitho spoke carefully, very aware of the other man's confusion.

'A year back, sir. I think.' He dosed his eyes with the effort.

'We was taken to Muljadi's anchorage, wot there was left of us. Muljadi's men killed most of 'em. Only kept me 'cause I was a sailmaker.'

'I tried to escape once. Didn't know I was bein' 'eld on an island, y'see. They caught me before I'd been free an hour. Put me to torture.' He was shaking more violently now. 'All of 'em sat there watchin'. Enjoyin' it. Laughin'.' He lurched to his feet and threw himself towards the door, snatching up a cutlass as he screamed, 'Pulled out all my nails with pincers, an' worse, the bloody bastards!'

Lincoln caught his wrist and turned the cutlass away from the unconscious figure in the passageway.

'Easy, mate! You could cause a mischief with that, eh?' The man's cheerful voice seemed to steady him in some way. He turned and looked at Bolitho very steadily. 'Me name's Jonathan Potter, once of Bristol.'

Bolitho nodded gravely. 'Well, Jonathan Potter, you can be of great service to me. It will not bring back your friends, but it may prevent others suffering in the same manner.' He

glanced at Allday. 'Look after him.'

He walked from the cabin, grateful for the clean air which greeted him on deck, the sense of purpose as Davy's men prepared to get under way. Potter had probably been the only Englishman aboard the Portuguese barque. For that, and no other reason, had his life been spared. Kept like a slave, a downtrodden creature less than a man. From what he had heard of Muljadi it seemed a far more truthful reason.

Davy crossed to his side. 'I am about ready to weigh, sir.' He paused, sensing Bolitho's mood. 'That poor devil must have suffered terribly, sir. He is scars and scabs from head to toe. Little more than bones.'

Bolitho studied his pale outline thoughtfully. 'Something kept him alive, Mr. Davy. Fear of death, a need for revenge, I know not which.' He grasped a stay as the deck swayed restlessly in the swell. 'But whatever it was, I intend to use it to good purpose.'

'And the schooner's master, sir?'

'If he is really Muljadi's son we have a catch indeed. But either way I want him kept alive, so pass the word to that effect.' He thought of Carwithen's eyes. 'To all hands.'

He peered abeam at the small islet where so much had happened. The craggy distortions were lost in deep shadow. It was a whale once again.

'We will run to the sou'-east directly and gain sea-room. I am not yet acquainted with these waters. By dawn we should be able to come about and make contact with Undine.' He looked at the men hurrying about the schooner's deck. 'She's a fine little prize.'

Davy stared at him and then at the vessel, the realisation coming to him apparently for the first time.

'I see, sir. A prize.' He nodded happily. 'Worth a good price, I'll be bound.'

Bolitho walked to the opposite side. 'I thought that might interest you, Mr. Davy.' He added, 'Now, have the capstan manned and break out the anchor while the wind holds.' He thought of Herrick. 'We are no longer beggars.'

Davy shook his head, not understanding. Then he looked at the helmsman and at the others gathering at the capstan bars and grinned broadly.

A prize at last. Perhaps the first of many.

Noddall hovered by the cabin table and bobbed his head with satisfaction as Bolitho pushed his empty plate aside.

'More like it, sir! A man works the fairer on a full belly!'

Bolitho leaned back in his chair and let his eyes move slowly around the cabin. It felt good to be back aboard Undine, and with something to show for their efforts.

The lantern above the table seemed much dimmer, and when he glanced through the stern windows he saw that dawn had already given way to an empty sky, the horizon slanting across the thick, salt-stained glass like a thread of gold.

In the captured schooner he had rejoined Undine at almost the same hour as this, the previous day, the strain and tension of their short, bitter fight lost momentarily in the cheers from the watching seamen and marines.

Herrick had been almost beside himself with pleasure, and had insisted that Bolitho should go to his cabin without delay and rest.

The schooner had once been under the flag of the Dutch East India Company, although it was impossible to tell how long she had been in the pirates' hands. But from her filthy condition and disorder between decks it seemed likely it had been a considerable while since Dutch sailors had manned her.

He let his mind drift as he listened to bare feet padding overhead, the sluice of water and the clank of a pump as the decks were washed down for another day.

Noddall was right, he had eaten a good breakfast. Thinly sliced fat pork, fried pale brown with biscuit crumbs. Always his favourite. Helped down with strong coffee and some treacle.

Herrick tapped on the door and entered the cabin.

'Wind's holding steady from the sou'-west, sir.' He looked alert and clear-eyed.

Bolitho smiled. 'Good, Thomas. Have some coffee.'

It was always strange how Herrick relaxed once there was a, set plan to perform. If he really guessed how hazy it was in his captain's mind he gave no sign.

'Mr. Mudge informs me that we are logging some ten knots, sir.' Herrick took a mug from the servant and grinned. 'He's up there beaming away as if he's just won a fortune at the tables.'

Bolitho frowned. 'That means we should make a landfall at any time now. If yesterday's wind had been more than a snail's pace we could have been there now.' He spread his arms, feeling the touch of a clean shirt against his chest and back. 'But there was plenty to do.'

Herrick smiled. 'Mr. Davy's well on his way to Pendang Bay by now.'

Bolitho replied, 'Aye. He'll be feeling like a post-captain, if I'm not mistaken.'

When he had put Davy in charge of the schooner, and had sent him back to Conway, he had seen his face come alight, as if from within. He must have looked like that himself once, he thought. He had been put in charge of a prize when he had been a lieutenant, far younger than Davy. The first step to real command was said to be the greatest, so perhaps it would work for Davy, too.

He looked up at the open skylight as a voice pealed, 'Deck there! Land on the lee bow!'

Bolitho smiled, feeling the chill on his spine. 'If the Argus is elsewhere, I will have to think again.'

The door opened slightly and Midshipman Armitage reported, 'Mr. Soames's respects, sir. Masthead has sighted land on the lee bow.'

Bolitho said, 'Thank you, Mr. Armitage.'

He saw the deep hollows around his eyes, the nervous way his fingers twitched against his patched breeches. Unlike any of the others who had returned, he was unable to hide his real feelings. His fear. His knowledge that he could no longer contain it.

'My compliments to Mr. Soames. Tell him we will exercise both watches at gun drill in half an hour.' He hesitated and added, 'If there is anything troubling you, it would be as well to confide in the first lieutenant here, or myself, if you feel it might help.'

Armitage shook his head. 'N-no, sir. I am better now.' He hurried away.

Bolitho looked at his friend and asked quietly, 'What are we to do about that one?'

Herrick shrugged. 'You cannot carry them all, sir. He may get over it. We've all had to go through it at one time or another.'

'Now then, Thomas, that does not sound like you at all!' He smiled broadly. 'Admit you are concerned for the lad!'

Herrick looked embarrassed. 'Well, I was thinking of having a word with him.'

'I thought as much, Thomas. You haven't the right face for deceit!'

Another knock at the door announced the surgeon had arrived.

'Well, Mr. Whitmarsh?' Bolitho watched him framed in the doorway, the early sunlight from the cabinn hatch making a halo around his huge head. 'Is our prisoner worse?'

Whitmarsh moved through the cabin like a man in a prison, ducking under each beam as if seeking a way of escape.

'He is well enough, sir. But I still believe, as I told you when you returned to the ship, that he should have been sent back to the settlement in the schooner.'

Bolitho saw Herrick's jaw tighten and knew he was about to silence the surgeon's aggressive outburst. Like the other officers, Herrick found it hard to cover his dislike for him. Whitmarsh was little help in the matter either.

Bolitho said calmly, 'I cannot answer for a prisoner if he is there and we are here, surely?'

He watched the beads of sweat trickling down the man's forehead and wondered if he had taken a drink this early. It was a wonder it had not killed him already.

Above his head he heard the regular stamp of boots, the click of metal, as the marines mustered for morning inspection.

He made himself say, 'You must trust my judgement, Mr. Whitmarsh, as I do yours in your own profession.'

The surgeon turned and glared at him. 'You are admitting that if you'd sent him back to Pendang Bay he would have been seized and hanged!'

Herrick retorted angrily, 'Damn your eyes, man, the fellow is a bloody pirate!'

Whitmarsh eyes him fiercely. 'In your opinion, no doubt!'

Bolitho stood up sharply and walked to the windows.

'You must live in reality, Mr. Whitmarsh. As a common pirate he would be tried and hanged, as well you know. But if he is the son of Muljadi he is something more than a cat's-paw, he could be used to bargain. There is more at stake here, more lives in peril than I feared. I'll not falter because of your personal feelings.'

Whitmarsh seized the edge of the table, his body hanging over it like a figurehead.

'If you'd suffered as I have-'

Bolitho turned on him, his voice harsh. 'I know about your brother, and I am deeply sorry for him! But how many felons and murderers have you seen hanging, rotting in chains, without even a thought?' He heard someone pause beside the open skylight and lowered his voice. 'Humanity, I admire. Hypocrisy, I totally reject!' He saw the fury giving way to pain on the surgeon's flushed features. 'So take care of the prisoner. If he is to be hanged, then so be it. But if I can use his life to advantage, and in doing so save it, then amen to that!'

Whitmarsh moved vaguely towards the door and then said thickly, 'And that man Potter you brought from the schooner, sir. You have put him to work already!'

Bolitho smiled. 'Really, Mr. Whitmarsh, you do not give up easily. Potter is with the sailmaker as his assistant. He will not be worked to death, and I think that keeping busy will be a quicker cure than brooding over his recent sufferings.'

Whitmarsh stalked from the cabin, muttering under his breath.

Herrick exclaimed, 'What impertinence! In your shoes I'd have laid about him with a belaying-pin!'

'I doubt that.' Bolitho shook the coffee pot, but it was empty. 'But I feel that I'll never win his confidence, let alone his trust.'

Bolitho waited for Noddall to bring his dress coat and best cocked-hat, feeling rather ridiculous as the servant fussed and tugged at cuffs and lapels.

Herrick said bluntly, 'I think it's a bad risk, sir.'

'One I'll have to take, Thomas.' He saw Noddall pull a long strand of hair from one of the buttons. Her hair. He wondered if Herrick had noticed. He continued, 'We have to trust the French captain. All the rest is so much supposition.'

Noddall had taken the old sword from its rack on the bulkhead, but held it across his arm, knowing by now it was more than his life was worth to usurp Allday's ritual.

Bolitho thought of Whitmarsh's anger, and knew that much of it had good foundation. Had the prisoner been sent back in the schooner he would doubtlessly have been taken by Puigserver, if he was still at the settlement, or held in irons until he could be sent to the nearest Spanish authority. Then, if he was lucky, he would certainly be hanged. If not, his fate hardly bore thinking about. Like father, like son.

As it was, the schooner's surviving crewmen, a savagelooking collection of half-castes, Javanese and Indians, would meet a swift fate before much longer.

How many lives had they taken, he wondered? How many ships plundered, crews murdered, or broken into husks like Potter, the Bristol sailmaker? The bargain was probably onesided.

He walked from the cabin, still pondering the rights and wrongs of instant justice.

On deck it was remaining fresh, the day's heat yet to come, and he took a few paces along the weather side while there was still time. In the heavy dress coat he would be dripping unless he held to the sails' curved shadows.

Fowlar touched his forehead and said awkwardly, 'May I thank you, sir?'

Bolitho smiled. 'You have earned it, Mr. Fowlar, have no fear.'

He had made the master's mate an acting-lieutenant to fill the gap left by Davy. Had young Keen been aboard, it would have been his chance. Another would be put in Fowlar's place. And so it went on, as in all ships.

Herrick took Fowlar aside and waited until Bolitho was pacing again.

'A word of warning. Never interrupt the captain when he is taking his walks.' He smiled at Fowlar's uncertainty. 'Unless in real emergency, of course, which does not include your promotion!' He touched his shirt. 'But congratulations, all the same.'

Bolitho had already forgotten them. He had seen the dark smudge of land which just topped the glittering horizon, and was wondering what he might find there. It looked at this distance like one great spread of land, but he knew it consisted of a crowded collection of islets, some even smaller than the one where they had captured Davy's schooner. The Dutch had originally occupied them because of their shape and position. Ships anchored amidst the surrounding islets would have the advantage of using any wind to put to sea, the use of several channels to avoid delay. The fortress had been built to protect the place from marauders, such as the one who now commanded it and challenged all authority and every flag. The Dutch still listed the Benuas as one of their possessions. But it was in name only, and they were no doubt glad to be rid of it and its unhappy history.

He saw the sailmaker speaking with Potter below the forecastle, and wondered if he would ever really recover from his suffering. It could not be easy for him to be drawing so near to Muljadi's stronghold again. But of all the people aboard, he was the only man, apart from the prisoner, who had seen what lay beyond the protective reefs and sandbars where he had endured so much.

He shivered slightly in spite of his heavy coat. Suppose he had misjudged his opponents? He, too, might become another Potter, a pitiful, broken thing which even his friends and his sisters in England might wish to think of as dead.

And Viola Raymond? How long would she take to forget him?

He shook himself out of his mood and said, 'Mr. Soames!

You may beat to quarters and clear for action now!' He saw the ripple of excitement run through the men on the gun deck.

'Exercise the larboard battery first.'

Allday walked up the slanting deck and turned the sword over in his hands before buckling it to Bolitho's belt. 'You'll be taking me, of course, Captain.'

He spoke calmly, but Bolitho saw the anxiety in his eyes. 'Not this time.'

Calls shrilled along the berth deck, and the marine drummer boys ran breathlessly to the quarterdeck rail, pulling their sticks from their white crossbelts to begin their urgent tattoo.

Allday said stubbornly, 'But you'll be needing me, Captain!'

'Yes.' Bolitho looked at him gravely. 'I will always do that…'

The rest of his words were lost in the rattle of drums, the stampede of feet as the Undine's people ran to quarters once again.