Stand into Danger

7. The Chase

LIEUTENANT Charles Palliser strode to the Heloise’s compass box and then consulted the masthead pendant.

To confirm his fears, Slade, the acting-master, said dourly, “The wind’s backed a piece, but it’s also falling away.”

Bolitho watched Palliser’s reactions and compared him with Dumaresq. The captain was in Rio aboard Destiny, outwardly dealing with the ship’s affairs, even to the extent of seeing two seamen who had been put up for promotion. Fresh water, the prospect of a summons from the Portuguese Viceroy, it would mean nothing to most of the frigate’s company. But Bolitho knew what was really uppermost in Dumaresq’s thoughts: Egmont’s refusal to yield and his sudden departure in the brig Rosario. Without Egmont, Dumaresq would have little choice but to seek higher naval authority for instructions, and in that time the scent would go cold.

Slade had said that the brig had been steering north-northeast as she had cleared the roadstead. Egmont was heading along the coast, probably all the way to the Caribbean. In a small trading vessel like that it would be extremely uncomfortable for his lovely wife.

Palliser crossed to his side. On the brigantine’s confined deck he looked like a giant, but unusually content, Bolitho thought. Palliser was free of his captain’s word, could act as he pleased. Always provided he did not lose the Rosario. And with the wind dropping fast, that was a possibility.

He said, “They’ll not be expecting a chase. That is all we have on our side.”

He glanced up, irritated, as the forecourse boomed and flapped, empty of wind and allowing the heat to seek out the men on deck.

“Damn!” Then he said, “Mr Slade says the brig will stay inshore. Unless the wind shifts, I accept that. We shall continue as we are. Change the lookouts as you think fit, and have the weapons which are still aboard this vessel inspected.” He clasped his hands behind him. “Don’t work the people too hard.” He saw the surprise on Bolitho’s face and gave a thin smile. “They will have to take to the oars shortly. I intend to warp Heloise with the boats. They’ll need all their muscle for that!”

Bolitho touched his hat and walked forward. He should have guessed. But he had to confess admiration for Palliser’s preparations. He thought of everything.

He saw Jury and Midshipman Ingrave waiting for him by the foremast. Jury looked tense but Ingrave, who was a year older, could barely conceal his delight at being freed from his task of acting-clerk for the captain.

Beyond them were other familiar faces amongst the hastily selected hands. Josh Little, gunner’s mate, his stomach hanging over his cutlass-belt. Ellis Pearse, boatswain’s mate, a bushy-browed man who had shown the same satisfaction as Bolitho that Murray had deserted. Pearse would have been the man to flog him, and he had always liked Murray. And of course, there was Stockdale, his thick arms folded over his chest as he surveyed the brigantine’s deck, remembering perhaps that fierce, desperate struggle when Bolitho had fought hand to hand with the vessel’s master.

Dutchy Vorbink, foretopman, who had left the East India Company and exchanged their ordered and well-paid life for that of a man-of-war. He spoke little English, unless he wanted to, so nobody had discovered his true reason for volunteering.

There were faces which had now become people to Bolitho. Some coarse and brutalized, others who would brawl with the best of them but were equally quick to put right a wrong for a less outspoken messmate.

Bolitho said, “Mr Spillane, examine the arms chest and make a list of weapons. Little, you had better go through the magazine.” He looked around at the few swivel guns, two of which had been sent across from Destiny. “Hardly enough to start a war.”

It brought a few grins and chuckles, and Stockdale muttered, “There’s still some prisoners battened below, sir.”

Bolitho looked at Little. He had forgotten about the Heloise’s original company. Those not killed or wounded had been detained here. Safe enough, but in the event of trouble they would have to be watched.

Little showed his uneven teeth. “All taken care of, sir. I got Olsson on guard. They’d be too scared to challenge ’im!”

Bolitho agreed. Olsson was a Swede and was said to be half mad. It shone from his eyes which were like washed-out blue glass. A good seaman who could reef and steer and turn his hand to anything, but when they had boarded this same brigantine Bolitho had chilled to Olsson’s crazy screams as he had cleaved his way through his opponents.

He forced a grin. “I’d think twice myself.”

Pearse groaned as the sails shivered and then flapped dully against rigging and spars.

“There goes the bloody wind.”

Bolitho crossed to the bulwark and leaned out over the blue water. He saw the wind’s ripple on the surface moving away far ahead of the bows like a great shoal of fish. The brigantine lifted and sighed in the swell, blocks and sails clattering in protest as the power went with the wind.

“Man your boats!” Palliser was watching from beside the helmsmen.

Bare feet padded over the hot deck seams as the first crews went away in the quarter-boat, as well as Destiny’s cutter which they had kept in tow beneath the counter.

It took far too long to lay out the towing warps and pass them to the boats. Then with each boat angled away on either bow the painful, dreary business began.

They could not hope to make any speed, but it would prevent the vessel from drifting completely out of command, and when the wind came they would be ready.

Bolitho stood above the larboard anchor and watched the towlines tautening and then sagging beneath the glittering water as the oarsmen threw their weight into play.

Little shook his head. “Mr Jury’s no ’and for this, sir. ’E’ll need to use ’is starter on that lot.”

Bolitho could see the difference between the two towing boats. Jury’s was yawing badly, and a couple of the oars were barely cutting beneath the surface. The other boat, with Midshipman Ingrave in charge, was making better progress, and Bolitho knew why. Ingrave was not a bully, but he was well aware of his superiors watching from the brigantine, and was using a rope’s end on some of his men to make them work harder at the oars.

Bolitho walked aft and said to Palliser, “I’ll change the crews in an hour, sir.”

“Good.” Palliser was watching the sails and then the compass. “She’s got steerage-way at least. Few thanks to the larboard boat.”

Bolitho said nothing. He knew only too well what it was like as a midshipman to be suddenly thrown into an unpopular job. But Palliser did not press the point, which was something. Bolitho thought of his own sudden acceptance of his new role. He had not asked Palliser about changing the boats’ crews, he had told him, and the first lieutenant had accepted without question. Palliser was as wily as Dumaresq. In their very different ways they were able to draw out exactly what they required from their subordinates.

He glanced at Slade, who was shading his eyes to peer at the sky. A man who wanted promotion above all else. Dumaresq used that too, to extract the best from the intolerant master’s mate, which in turn would aid him when his chance of advancement finally came. Even Palliser had his mind set on his own command, and this temporary duty in charge of Heloise would stand very well on his record.

All through the day the relentless boat-pulling went on, while not even a faint breeze came to revive the sails. They hung from the yards, limp and useless, like the men who tumbled aboard from the boats as soon as they were relieved. Too exhausted to do much more than gulp down a double ration of wine which Slade had broached from the hold, they fell about like dead men.

In the cabin aft, tiny as it was, but adequate when compared with the rest of the space between decks, the relieved midshipmen and their lieutenants tried to find escape from the heat and the dangerous need to drink and keep on drinking.

With Palliser asleep and Slade on watch, Bolitho sat at the small table, his head lolling as he tried to keep his mind awake. Opposite him, his lips cracked from the sun’s glare, Jury rested his head on his hands and looked into space.

Ingrave was away with the boats again, but even his keenness was flagging badly.

Bolitho asked, “How do you feel?”

Jury smiled painfully, “Dreadful, sir.” He tried to straighten his back and plucked his sodden shirt away from his skin.

Bolitho pushed a bottle towards him. “Drink this.” He saw the youth hesitate and insisted, “I’ll stand your trick in the boats if you like. It’s better than sitting here and waiting.”

Jury poured a cup of wine and said, “No, sir, but thank you. I’ll go when I’m called.”

Bolitho smiled. He had toyed with the idea of telling Stockdale to go with the midshipman. One sight of him would put a stopper on any slackness or insubordination. But Jury was right. To make it easy for him when he most needed confidence and experience would only lay a snare for later on.

“I-I was thinking, sir.” He looked across guardedly. “About Murray. D’you think he’ll be all right?”

Bolitho thought about it. Even that was an effort. “Maybe. Provided he stays away from the sea. I’ve known men who have quit the Navy to return and find security under a different name in the service they had originally reviled. But that can be dangerous. The Navy is a family. There is always a familiar face and a memory to match it.”

He thought of Dumaresq and Egmont. Each linked by Dumaresq’s dead father, just as he was now involved with whatever they might attempt.

Jury said, “I often think about him. Of what happened on deck.” He glanced up at the low beams as if expecting to hear the ring of steel, the desperate shuffle of men circling each other for a kill. Then he looked at Bolitho and added, “I’m sorry. I was told to put it from my mind.”

A call shrilled and a voice yelled, “Away boats’ crews! Lively there!”

Jury stood up, his fair hair brushing the deckhead.

Bolitho said quietly, “I was told much the same when I joined the Destiny. Like you, I still have the same difficulty.”

He remained at the table, listening to the thump of boats alongside, the clatter of oars as the crews changed around yet again.

The door opened and bent double like a crippled sailor Palliser groped his way to a chair and thankfully sat down. He too listened to the boats thrashing away from the hull, the sluggish response from the tiller-head as the brigantine submitted to the tow.

Then he said flatly, “I’m going to lose that devil. After getting this far, it’s all been cut from under me.”

Bolitho could feel the disappointment like a physical thing, and the fact Palliser had made no effort to hide his despair was strangely sad.

He pushed the bottle and cup across the table. “Why not take a glass, sir.”

Palliser looked up from his thoughts, his eyes flashing. Then he smiled wearily and took the cup.

“Why not, Richard?” He slopped the wine carelessly over the rim. “Why not indeed?”

While the sun moved towards the opposite horizon, the two lieutenants sat in silence, occasionally taking a sip of the wine which by now was as warm as milk.

Then Bolitho dragged out his watch and said, “One more hour with the boats and then we shall secure for the night, sir?”

Palliser had been in deep thought and took several seconds to reply.

He said, “Yes. There’s nothing else we can do.”

Bolitho was stunned by the change in him, but knew if he tried to cheer him up the truce would be shattered.

Feet shuffled through the main-deck and Little’s great face squinted in at them.

“Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Slade sends ’is respects and says ’e can ’ear gunfire to the north’rd!”

An empty bottle rolled across the deck at the lieutenants’ feet and clinked against the side as the cabin suddenly tilted.

Palliser stared at the bottle. He was still seated, but his head was touching a beam without difficulty.

He exclaimed, “The wind! The damned, wonderful wind!” He clawed his way to the door. “Not a moment too soon!”

Bolitho felt the hull give a shiver, as if it was awakening from a deep sleep. Then with a bound he hurried after the lanky Palliser, sobbing with pain as his skull came in contact with a ring-bolt.

On deck the men were staring around with disbelief as the big forecourse filled and boomed noisily from its yard.

Palliser yelled, “Recall the boats! Stand by to come about!” He was peering at the compass and then up at the masthead pendant, just visible against the early stars.

Slade said, “Wind’s shifted, sir, veered a little, sou’-west.”

Palliser rubbed his chin. “Gunfire, you say?”

Slade nodded. “No doubt. Small pieces is my guess.”

“Good. As soon as the boats are secured, get under way again and lay her on the larboard tack. Steer nor’-west by north.”

He stood aside as the men ran through the deepening shadows to their stations.

Bolitho tested their new relationship. “Will you not wait for Destiny, sir?”

Palliser held up his hand and they both heard the muted sounds of gunfire.

Then he said tersely, “No, Mr Bolitho, I will not. Even if my captain succeeds in leaving harbour, and is able to discover more favourable winds than ourselves, he’ll not thank me for allowing the evidence he so sorely needs to be destroyed.”

Pearse yelled, “Boats secured aft, sir!”

“Man the braces! Stand by to come about!”

The wind hissed over the water and thrust against the canvas with new strength, pushing the brigantine over as a white troth gathered around her stem.

Palliser said sharply, “Darken ship, Pearse! I want nothing to betray our presence!”

Slade said, “It might be over an’ done with before dawn, sir.”

But the new Palliser snapped, “Nonsense! That vessel is being attacked, probably by pirates. They’ll not risk a collision in darkness.” He turned to seek out Bolitho and added, “Not like us, eh?”

Little shook his head and breathed out noisily. Bolitho could smell the drink on his breath, as strong as an open cellar door.

“Gawd, Mr Bolitho, ’e’s really ’appy at last.”

Bolitho thought suddenly of the face he had seen aboard the ship now under attack.

“Please God we shall be in time.”

Little, not understanding, walked away to join his friend Pearse for another “wet.”

So the new third lieutenant was as eager as the captain for prize money, he thought, and that could not be such a bad thing for the rest of them.

Palliser prowled across the poop like a restless animal.

“Shorten sail, Mr Bolitho. Take in the t’gan’sls and stays’l. Roundly now!”

Men groped their way to halliards and belaying-pins while others ran swiftly up the ratlines and out along the topgallant yard.

Bolitho always marvelled at the little time it took trained seamen to get used to a strange vessel, even in the dark.

It would soon be dawn, and he could feel the previous day’s weariness and hours without sleep clawing at his resistance. Palliser had kept his small company on the move throughout the night. Changing tack, altering course, retrimming sails, as he plotted and estimated the whereabouts of the other vessels. Several times there had been short exchanges of gunfire, but Palliser had said it was more to deter a possible chase than with any hope of close action. One thing had been proved by the occasional cannon fire. There were at least three vessels out there beyond the Heloise’s taut jib. Like wolves around a wounded beast, waiting for it to falter or make one fatal mistake.

Little called hoarsely, “All guns loaded, sir!”

Palliser replied, “Very well.” In a lower tone to Bolitho he added, “All guns. A few swivels and about enough canister to disturb a field of crows!”

Midshipman Ingrave said, “Permission to run up the colours, sir?”

Palliser nodded. “Yes. This is a King’s ship for the present, and we’re not likely to meet another.”

Bolitho recalled some of the muttering he had heard during the night. A few of the hands were troubled at the prospect of engaging pirates or anyone else with so puny an armament.

Bolitho darted a quick glance to starboard. Was there a faint lightening on the horizon? There was a good lookout aloft, and he was their best hope of taking the other vessel by surprise. It was unlikely that pirates intent on capturing and plundering a trader would be bothered about keeping a watch elsewhere.

He heard Slade whispering with Palliser. He was another one who was unhappy about the coming confrontation.

Palliser said fiercely, “Keep an eye on your course and be ready to change tack if we outrun the enemy. Leave the rest to me, see?”

Bolitho felt his limbs shiver. The enemy. Palliser had no doubts anyway.

Stockdale came from the shadows, his great frame angled against the deck as the wind held them over.

“Them buggers are usin’ chain-shot, sir. Once or twice I ’eard it when I was aloft.”

Bolitho bit his lip. So they intended to cripple the Rosario ’s rigging and then pound her into submission with less risk to themselves. They would get a shock when they saw Heloise bearing down on them. For a short while anyway.

He said, “Maybe Destiny’s already chasing after us.”

“Mebbee.”

Bolitho turned away as Jury came to join him. Stockdale did not believe that, any more than he did.

Jury asked, “Will it take much longer, sir?”

“Dawn comes up swiftly. You’ll see their topsails or upper yards at any minute now. If one of them fires again, we should be able to plot his bearing.”

Jury watched him in the gloom. “It does not trouble you, sir?”

Bolitho shrugged. “Not now. Later perhaps. We are committed, or soon will be.” He turned and put his hand on the midshipman’s shoulder. “Just remember something. Mr Palliser has picked some very experienced hands for this work. But his officers are somewhat youthful.” He saw Jury nod. “So keep your head and be where you can be seen. Leave the miracles to Mr Palliser.”

Jury smiled and then winced as his cracked lips reminded him of the previous day’s boatwork.

He said, “I’ll stay with you.”

Stockdale chuckled. “Beggin’ yer pardon, young gentleman, but don’t you be gettin’ in my way.” He swung a cutlass across the bulwark like a scythe. “Wouldn’t want you to lose yer ’ead, so to speak!”

Palliser called, “Stand by to take in the forecourse! Keep it quiet!”

The boatswain’s mate pointed abeam. “Dawn, sir!”

Palliser rasped, “God dammit, Pearse, we’re neither blind nor bloody deaf!”

Pearse grinned at Palliser’s back. “Palliser, you’re a real pig!” But he was careful that nobody should hear him.

“Deck there! Sail on the starboard bow! And ’nother to larboard!”

Palliser clapped his hands together. “We did it! Damn their eyes, we’re into them!”

At that moment a gun fired, making an orange flash on the dark water.

Slade said anxiously, “There’s a third to wind’rd!”

Bolitho gripped his hanger and pressed its scabbard against his thigh to calm himself.

Three vessels, the centre one was doubtless the Rosario, with her two attackers standing off to form one great triangle. He heard a slithering sound and then a splintering crash, and vaguely through the darkness ahead he saw a jagged patch of spray as some spars and rigging hit the water.

Stockdale nodded. “Chain-shot right enough, th’ buggers.”

“Stand by on deck! Watch your slow-matches!”

There was no need for stealth now. Bolitho heard a shrill whistle from the nearest vessel and the crack of a pistol. It had either exploded in error or had been used as a signal to warn their consort.

With their muskets and powder-horns ready to use, cutlasses and boarding pikes within easy reach, the Destiny’s seamen peered into the darkness.

“Take in the forecourse!”

Men ran to obey, and as the great sail was brailed up to its yard the growing light revealed the crouching figures and trained swivels like the rising of a curtain.

There was a series of bangs, and Bolitho heard the chain-shot screeching overhead like tormented spirits in hell.

Little said between his teeth, “Too ’igh, thank the liven’ Jesus!”

The deadly chain-shot threw up broken spray far to starboard, but in direct line with the brigantine’s two masts.

“Lee helm!” Palliser was gripping a backstay as he studied the enemy’s blurred outline. “As close to the wind as you can!”

“Man the braces!”

The brigantine crept round, until her remaining sails were rippling in protest.

“Nor’-west by west, sir! Full an’ bye!”

The other vessel fired and a ball slammed down within twenty feet of the Heloise’s bow and hurled spray high over the beak-head.

Then firing began in earnest, the balls wide and haphazard as the gun crews tried to guess what the newcomer was trying to do.

Another ball ripped through the driver and left a jagged hole in the canvas large enough for a man’s head.

Palliser exploded, “That bloody fool brig fired at us.”

Little grinned. “Thinks we’re pirates, too!”

“I’ll give him pirates!”

Palliser pointed at the vessel which was rising out of the darkness to larboard and shortening as she changed tack to run down on the brigantine’s impudent approach.

“Schooner! Take her first!”

Little cupped his hands. “On the uproll, lads!”

Men were still dragging one of the swivels across to mount it on the opposite side and yelled at Little to give them more time.

But Little knew his trade well.

“Easy, lads!” It was like hearing a man quietening a beast. “Fire!”

Like glow-worms the matches plunged down and the swivels barked viciously at the oncoming vessel. A murderous hail of closely packed canister swept across her forecastle, and Bolitho thought he heard screams as it found a target.

“Stand by to come about!” Palliser’s voice carried easily even without his speaking-trumpet. “Lee braces!”

Palliser walked jerkily down the sloping deck to join Slade by the helm. “We’ll go for another one. Put up your helm.”

Heeling hard over, the brigantine ran to leeward, her canvas banging lustily until the seamen had hauled the yards round again. The second vessel seemed to pivot across the jib-boom until she lay to larboard, her stern end on to the charging Heloise.

Palliser yelled, “Rake her poop, Little!” He swung on Slade and his gasping helmsmen. “Steady as she goes, you fool!”

Bolitho found time to pity Slade’s concern. The Heloise was rushing down on the other vessel’s stern as if she was about to smash bodily through her quarter like an axe.

“Fire!”

Flashes lit up the decks of both vessels as their guns spat out darting orange tongues, accompanied by the crash of iron hitting home.Heloise’s canister must have wiped the other vessel’s poop clean. Helmsmen, gun crews, there was not enough room to escape as the “daisy cutters’” jagged charges swept amongst them. She began to fall downwind, to be raked yet again by Little’s other swivels.

“Set the forecourse!” Palliser’s voice was everywhere.

Bolitho could see him clearly now, his lean body moving about the poop and framed against the brightening sea like an avenger.

“Fire!”

More balls shrieked overhead, and Bolitho guessed that their first target had regained his courage and was closing to the aid of his companion.

He saw the Rosario for the first time, and his heart sank at the spectacle. Her foremast had gone completely, and only half of her main appeared to be standing. Wreckage and severed rigging trailed everywhere, and as the sun lifted above the horizon Bolitho saw the thin scarlet threads which ran down from each scupper. It was as if the ship herself and not her defenders was bleeding to death.

“Hands wear ship!”

Bolitho jabbed a seaman’s shoulder and yelled, “Join the others!” He felt the man jump before he ran to throw his weight on the braces. He had imagined it to be hot iron and not his hand.

There was a tremendous crash, and Bolitho almost fell to his knees as two hits were scored on the Heloise’s hull.

Bolitho saw Ingrave staring at the nearest vessel, wide-eyed and unable to move.

He shouted, “Get below and attend to the damage!” He strode to the midshipman and gripped his sleeve and shook him like a doll. “At once, Mr Ingrave! Sound the well!”

Ingrave stared at him vacantly, and then with unexpected determination ran to the companion.

Stockdale unceremoniously dragged Bolitho’s arm and held him aside as a massive block fell from aloft, broken cordage whipping behind it. It struck the bulwark and bounced over the side.

Palliser shouted, “Stand to!” He had drawn his sword. “Ready to larboard!”

Against the schooner’s cannon, small though they were, the swivels sounded insignificant. Bolitho saw the canister blast through the schooner’s fore-sail and hurl two men into bloody bundles before more balls smashed through Heloise’s lower hull. He heard the havoc tearing between decks, the crack of splinters and collapsing timbers, and knew they had been badly hit.

Someone had managed to get the pumps going, but he saw two men fall bleeding badly, and another who had been working on the topsail yard trying to lower himself to safety with one leg hanging to his body by a muscle.

Palliser shouted, “Come aft!”

As Bolitho hurried to join him he said, “We’re doing no good. Get below yourself and report the damage.” He blinked as more shots thudded into the reeling hull, and somewhere a man shrieked in agony. “Feel her? She’s going!”

Bolitho stared at him. It was true. The Heloise’s agility had given way to an ungainly response to both helm and wind. It did not seem possible. So quickly, and their roles had changed. There was no aid at hand, and their enemies would not let them die easily.

Palliser snapped, “I’m going to steer for the brig. With our men and her guns there’s still a chance.” He looked steadily at Bolitho. “Now be a good fellow and get below.”

Bolitho hurried to the companion, his quick glance taking in the splintered deck planking and stark bloodstains. They had fought here before. Surely that was enough? Perhaps fate had always intended they should end thus?

He called to Jury, “Come with me.” He peered down into the darkness, dreading the thought of being trapped below if the ship went down. He spoke carefully to hide his anxiety. “We will examine the damage together. Then if I fall…” He saw Jury gasp. So he had not yet accepted the idea of death. “… you will relay the details to Mr Palliser.”

Once down the companion ladder he lit a lantern and led the way forward, careful to avoid some of the jagged splinters which had been smashed through from the deck above. The sounds were muffled but filled with menace as the ship shook and bucked to the bombardment.

The two attacking vessels were working round on either beam, heedless of the danger of hitting each other in their eagerness to destroy the little ship with the scarlet ensign at her peak.

Bolitho dragged open a lower hatch and said, “I can hear water.”

Jury whispered, “Oh, dear God, we’re foundering!”

Bolitho laid down and dipped his lantern through the hatch. It was a scene of complete chaos. Shattered casks and remnants of canvas floated amongst splintered wood, and as he watched he imagined he saw the water rising still further.

He said, “Go to the first lieutenant and tell him there’s no hope.” He restrained Jury, feeling his sudden surge of fear as more balls cracked into the hull. “ Walk.Remember what I said. They’ll be looking to you.” He tried to smile, to show that nothing mattered. “All right?”

Jury backed away, his eyes moving from the open hatch to Bolitho.

“What will you do?”

Bolitho turned his head sharply as a new sound echoed through the listing hull like a giant’s hammer. One of the anchors had broken free and was smashing into the bows with every roll. It could only speed their end.

“I’ll go to Olsson. We must release the prisoners.”

And then Bolitho was alone. He swallowed deeply and tried to keep his limbs from shaking. Then very slowly he groped his way aft again, the regular boom of the anchor against the hull following him like an execution drum.

There was another thud against the hull, but it was followed instantly by a loud crack. One of the masts, or part of it, was coming down. He tensed, waiting for the final crash as it hit the deck or plunged over the side.

The next instant he was spread-eagled in the darkness, the lantern gone from his hand, although he did not feel anything, nor did he recall the moment of impact.

All he knew was that he was pinned beneath a mass of wreckage and unable to move.

He pressed his ear to a ventilation grating and heard the surge of water as it battered through the bilges and lower hold. He was on the edge of terror, and knew that in seconds he could be screaming and kicking in a hopeless attempt to free himself.

Thoughts crowded through his mind. His mother as she had watched him leave. The sea below the headland at Falmouth where he and his brother had first ventured out in a fisherman’s boat, and his father’s wrath when he had discovered what they had done.

His eyes smarted, but when he tried to move his fingers to his face the fallen debris held him as cruelly as any trap.

The anchor had stopped its incessant boom against the hull, which meant it was probably under water with the forepart of the vessel.

Bolitho closed his eyes and waited, praying that his nerve would not break before the end.