TO GLORY WE STEER

14. BLOOD AND FRESH WATER

Tobias Ellice, the Phalarope's surgeon, arose wheezing from his uncomfortable stooping position and threw the sweatstained bandage out of the open stern window. `Right, sir. You kin stand up now if you like.' He stepped away from the bench seat as Bolitho threw his legs over the side and lifted himself to his feet.

Ellice mopped his streaming face and peered closely at the rough scar across Bolitho's ribs. `Not a bad job of work, if I says so meself!' He beamed and licked his lips. `It's thirsty work, an' no mistake!'

Bolitho touched the scar with his fingertips and then stood facing the open windows to allow the tiny breeze to play across his bare skin. It was good to be rid of the bandage, he thought. Its very embrace was a constant reminder of the Andiron and all that had gone before. It was well to leave it all in the past. There were troubles enough to deal with today and the next day after that.

It was a full fourteen days since they had sailed with the squadron from Antigua, and almost every one of them had been like this one. Hardly a lick of air which could seriously be called a breeze to fill the hungry sails or even to ventilate the ship. And all the time a broiling sun which seemed to bleach the colour from the sky itself. The nights brought little respite. Between decks the air remained humid and heavy with damp, and the seamen were further wearied by the constant calls to trim sails, only to be dismissed cursing and despairing as the wind died before a single sheet could be handled.

It was enough to break even the sturdiest heart, Bolitho thought heavily. And coupled with the fact that they had not sighted a single sail, and knew nothing of events beyond the mocking horizon, he found it was all he could do to restrain his own mounting impatience.

`How are the men?' He reached for a clean shirt and then relented. The old one would have to do. There was little point in badgering his servant to wash more clothes than necessary.

Ellice shrugged. `Not happy, sir. 'Tis bad enough as it is without hungering after a drink all the time.'

`Water is precious, Mr. Ellice.' It was now reduced to a pint a day per man, which was less than adequate. But there was no telling how long it would be before their senseless vigil was broken. He had increased the daily ration of Miss: Taylor, as the rough white wine from the victualling yard was named, but its satisfaction was only temporary. Within a few hours the drinker would be left as dry as before. He added as an afterthought, `They must get as much fresh fruit as we can spare. It is the only thing to keep down disease out here.'

It was odd how much clamour and argument there had been in Antigua when he had insisted on a full cargo of fruit to be shipped for his crew. Maybe that was what the admiral had meant when he had said, `You are an idealist in many ways!' But to Bolitho's practical mind it was only being sensible. Even though he had paid for the fruit from his own pocket he knew it was more of a good investment than a method of arousing favouritism with his men. A fit and healthy sailor was worth far more than a basket of fruit. In fact, the normal wastage did not stop there. Other men were used to care'for their sick comrades, and their work had to be taken on by still more men. And so it went on, yet there were still plenty of captains who could see no further than their prize money as a measure of success.

He tucked his shirt into his breeches and said, `Take a glass if you will, Mr. Ellice: He looked away ashamed as the big, untidy man shambled quickly to the sideboard and slopped a generous portion of brandy into his goblet. Ellice's hand shook as he poured and downed a second glass before mumbling, 'Thankee, sir. That's the first today!'

Bolitho glanced at the shadow of the stem, close to the barely moving wake. The sun was high in the sky. It was more than likely that Ellice had already consumed a goodly portion from his private store.

`I did not see you go ashore in Antigua, Mr. Ellice? You had only to ask.'

Ellice licked his lips and shot a quick glance at the decanter. `I never go on land now, sir, thankee all the same. At first I used to wander like a lovesick girl amongst the grass and weep when the shoreline dropped over the sea's edge.' He saw Bolitho nod towards the decanter and hurriedly poured another drink. `Now when the ship sails I hardly looks up.' He shook his head as if to restore some broken memory.

`Anyway, I've seen it all!'

There was a tap at the door, but before Bolitho could call it burst open and Lieutenant Vibart stamped into the cabin. He looked strained and angry, and wasted no time in breaking his news.

'I have to report that we are almost out of fresh water, sir.' Bolitho studied him for a few seconds. 'What do you mean?

Vibart glanced round the cabin. 'I have the cooper outside, sir. It might save time if he told you!'

Bolitho ignored Vibart's insolent manner. 'Send him in.' He was glad that the sea's reflected glare kept his face in deep shadow. At every turn events seemed to twist and mock at his efforts. Now this, the one predominant worry, had been fanned alight even as he had been openly discussing it with Ellice.

Mr. Trevenen, the Phalarope's cooper, was an undersized warrant officer who was known for his extremely bad eyesight. Too long in too many darkened holds had left him half blind, like some creature of the night. Now, as he stood blinking and shifting uneasily under Bolitho's stare he looked small and defenceless.

Bolitho stifled his usual feeling of pity which inevitably arose on the rare occasions of meeting the cooper. 'Well, spit it out, man! What the hell have you discovered?'

Trevenen gulped miserably. 'I've been doin' my rounds, sir. You see I always does 'em on a Thursday. If you build up a system of inspections you can..

Vibart bellowed, 'Tell him, you old fool!'

The cooper said in a small voice, 'Two thirds of me casks are foul with salt water, sir.' He peered at his feet. 'I don't understand it, sir. In all my years afloat I never seen nothin' like it.'

'Hold your damned tongue!' Vibart looked as if he would strike the wretched man. 'Admit that you made a mistake at Antigua. You're so bloody blind you don't know the difference! If I had my way I'd… '

Bolitho made himself speak slowly to give his mind time to recover from the shock. 'If you please, Mr. Vibart! I think I can evaluate the extent of this information!' He turned again to Trevenen. 'Are you sure now?'

The wrinkled head nodded violently. 'No mistake about it, sir!' He looked up, his faded eyes filling his face. 'In all my years, sir, I never..

'I know, Mr. Trevenen, you just told us.' Bolitho added to Vibart sharply, 'Have the casks checked for yourself, Mr. Vibart. Separate the fresh ones from the others, and see that the salt water is drained away and the wood cleaned off.'

He strode to the chart and leaned across it, his face set in a deep frown. 'We are here.' He tapped the chart with the heavy dividers. 'Fifty miles south-west of Guadeloupe, give or take a mile.' He picked up his ruler and ran it across the thick parch ment. 'There are some small islands to the south of us. Uninhabited and useless except for wrecking the unwary sailor.' He made a small cross on the chart and stood up. 'Call the hands and prepare to wear ship, Mr. Vibart. This breeze, slight though it is, will suit our purpose.'

He looked across at Trevenen. 'Whatever the reason for this, be it seepage or sheer carelessness, we must have water, and quickly! So prepare your party to take on a fresh supply.'

Trevenen blinked at him. He looked like a man who had just heard of a miracle at first hand.

Bolitho continued, 'We should make a landfall within two days, sooner if the wind finds us again. I have visited these islands before.' He touched the scar beneath the dark forelock of hair. 'There are streams and quite reliable pools on some of them.'

Vibart said heavily, 'The admiral gave no orders about leaving our station, sir:

'Would you have the men die of thirst, Mr. Vibart?' Bolitho stared down at the chart again. 'But if you are worried I will have my clerk make an entry in the patrol report today.' He smiled wryly. 'Should I vanish again, you will have the necessary shield from Sir Robert's anger!'

Ellice said dreamily, 'I was in a ship once when this 'appened. Two of the seamen ran amuck for want of water!'

Vibart snarled, 'Well you at least will be untroubled by that, I imagine!'

Bolitho smiled in spite of his. troubled thoughts. 'Carry on, Mr. Vibart. Have the hands mustered to their stations. I will be up directly.' He watched the door quiver in its frame and then said to Ellice, 'You asked for that, Mr. Ellice!'

The surgeon was unmoved. 'With all due respect to the first lieutenant, sir, but he was too long aboard a-slaver, if you ask me. To 'im men is just bloody extra cargo!'

'That will do, Mr. Ellice.' Bolitho glanced at the decanter.

As if by magic it had emptied during his talk with Trevenen.

'I suggest you take a turn around the maindeck.'

Ellice peered at him uncertainly. Then he grinned. 'Aye, sir. So I will. It'll give me a fair appetite!' He ambled away, his shabby coat hanging around him like a sack. Rain or fine, sun or sheeting, squalls, Ellice was never dressed differently.

Some had even suggested he slept in his clothes.

Bolitho dismissed him from his mind as the pipes shrilled and the decks thudded with bare feet as the men ran to their stations for wearing ship.

Within an hour the Phalarope had gone about, her sails flat and listless in the relentless glare. But in spite of the outward stillness there was enough power in the breeze to cause a small ripple beneath her gilt figurehead, and at the mainmast truck the commissioning pendant flapped and whipped with lonely agitation, as if it commanded the only strength the wind had to offer.

Lieutenant Herrick walked slowly aft along the maindeck, his eyes moving from side to side as he watched the men flaking down ropes and putting a last tautness in sheets and braces. He knew that they were discussing the news about the contaminated water, and other things beside, but as he passed even the usually friendly ones fell silent. The past two weeks of heat and dull discomfort were showing their teeth now, he decided. No one complained or grumbled any more. That was the worst sign of all.

He halted as Midshipman Maynard appeared below the quarterdeck and leaned heavily on a twelve-pounder. Beneath his tan his thin features were as bale as death, and his legs looked as if they were near collapse.

Herrick crossed to his side. `What is it, lad? Are you ill?'

Maynard turned and stared at him, his eyes opaque with fear. For a moment he could not speak, then the words poured from his dry lips in a flood.

`I've just come from below, sir.' He screwed up his face. 'I was sent down to the orlop to fetch Mr. Evans.' He swallowed hard and tried to speak coherently. 'I found him in his cabin, sir.' He retched,and swayed against the gun.

Herrick gripped his arm and whispered fiercely, 'Go on, lad! What the hell is wrong?'

'Dead!' The word was wrung from his lips. 'My God, sir! He's been cut to pieces!' He stared at Herrick's grim features, reliving, the nightmare of his discovery. He repeated faintly, 'Cut to pieces.'

'Keep your voice down!' Herrick struggled to control his shocked thoughts. In a calmer tone he called, 'Mr. Quintal! Take Mr. Maynard aft and see that he is kept alone!'

The boatswain, caught in the act of reprimanding a seaman, stared from one to the other. He touched his forehead and said gruffly, `Aye, aye, sir.' Then he asked quietly, 'Is somethin' up, sir?'

Herrick looked at Quintal's broad, competent face and answered flatly, 'It seems that the purser is dead, Mr. Quintall' He saw the quick start of alarm in the man's eyes and added, `Show no sign! This ship is like a tinderbox as it is.'

Herrick watched the boatswain leading the young midshipman into the shadow of the quarterdeck and then glanced quickly around him. Everything looked as it had two minutes earlier.

Lieutenant Okes had the watch and was standing at the quarterdeck rail, his eyes up at the topsails. Further aft Herrick could just see the captain in conversation with Vibart and Rennie, while at the wheel the two helmsmen looked as if they had been at their posts since time began.

Herrick walked slowly towards the lower cabin hatch. He made himself move calmly, but his heart felt as if it was in his throat.

With all hands employed trimming sails the lower deck was deserted and strangely alien. A few lanterns swung on their hooks, and as he began to climb down the second and last ladder Herrick could sense an air of menace and danger. Even so, he was totally unprepared for the sight in the purser's tiny cabin.

Deep in the hull of the ship the stillness was all the more apparent, and the solitary lantern on the low deckhead cast a steady circle of light on a scene which made Herrick's throat choke with bile. Evans, the purser, must have been secreting a, bag of flour for his own private uses when his assailant had struck him down. He lay spread-eagled on the upended sack, his eyes bright in the lamplight, while from his severed throat a great torrent of dark blood seeped and congealed in the scattered flour. There was blood everywhere, and as Herrick stared with fixed horror at the corpse at his feet he saw that Evans had been stabbed and slashed as if by some crazed beast.

He leaned against the door and touched his face with his hand. His palm felt cold and clammy, and he thought of young Maynard alone with this appalling spectacle. No one could have blamed him if he had rushed screaming to the upperdeck.

'My God!' Herrick's voice hung in the gloom in a mocking echo. He almost cried out again as a foot rasped on the ladder behind him, but as he groped blindly for his pistol he saw that it was Captain Rennie, his scarlet coat like reflection of the blood on the cabin deck.

Rennie brushed past him and stared fixedly at the corpse. Then he said coldly, `I'll put two of my best men on guard here. The cabin must be sealed until there has been an investigation.' He eyed Herrick meaningly. `You know what this means, don't you?

Herrick felt himself nod. `I do.' He pulled himself together. `I'll go and tell the captain.'

As he climbed up the ladder Rennie called quietly, `Easy, Thomas. There will be at least one guilty man watching your face on deck!'

Herrick glanced back at the open cabin door, making himself form a final picture of the murdered man. `I suppose I was expecting something like this.' He bit his lip. 'But when it comes, it's still a shock.'

Rennie watched him go and then stepped carefully over the glaring corpse. Ignoring the thing by his polished boots he began to search methodically amongst the scattered souvenirs of the purser's life.

Herrick's face was like stone as he crossed to the weather side of the quarterdeck to where Bolitho was still speaking with Vibart. He touched his hat and waited until Bolitho turned to face him.

`Well, Mr. Herrick?' Bolitho's smile of welcome faded. 'Is it more trouble?'

Herrick looked quickly around him. 'Mr. Evans has been murdered, sir.' He spoke in a tight, clipped voice which he no longer recognised. 'Maynard found' him a few minutes ago.' He ran his hand across his face. It was still cold, like the mark of death.

Bolitho said slowly, `What have you done so far, Mr. Herrick?' There was nothing in his 'question to betray what he must be feeling, and his features were composed in an impassive mask. `Take your time. Just tell me whgt you saw.'

Herrick moved closer to the rail, his eyes on the glittering water. In a slow, flat voice he described the events from the moment Maynard had appeared on deck to the actual second of realisation.

Bolitho listened in complete silence, and at Herrick's side Vibart stood swaying with the ship, his hands opening and closing from either anger or shock at Maynard's discovery.

Herrick concluded heavily, `He had not been dead long, sir.' He found himself repeating the midshipman's words. 'He has been cut to pieces!'

Captain Rennie marched across the deck and said crisply, `I have put some men on guard, sir.' He saw Bolitho looking at his boots and bent quickly to wipe a bright stain from the polished leather. He added calmly, `I've had a good look round, sir. Evans' pistols are missing. Stolen most likely.'

Bolitho eyed him thoughtfully. `Thank you, gentlemen. You have both behaved very well.'

Vibart said vehemently, `What did I tell you, sir? Softness with these scum is no use! They only understand a hard hand!'

Bolitho said, `His pistols, you say?'

Rennie nodded. `He had two small weapons. He was very proud of them. Gold-mounted and quite valuable, I believe. He said he got them in Spain.' He fell silent, as if he, like the others, was thinking of the dead man as he had once been. One of the most disliked men in the ship. A man with grudges and hates more than most. It was not difficult to understand that he would have an equal number of enemies.

Proby climbed the ladder and touched his hat. `May I dismiss the watch below, sir?' He seemed to realise that he was intruding and muttered, 'Beggin' your pardon, sir!'

Bolitho said, `Have the hands stay at their stations, Mr. Proby.' They all looked at him. There was a new coldness in Bolitho's voice and an unfamiliar hardness in his eyes. To Rennie he continued, `Post sentries at every hatch. Nobody will go below.'

Vibart murmured, `So you'll see it my way, sir?'

Bolitho swung round. `Someone is guilty, Mr. Vibart But not the whole ship! I don't want this man to escape, or his actions to contaminate the rest of our people!' In a calmer tone he said, 'Mr. Herrick, you will take the berth deck with Mr. Farquhar and the boatswain. Captain Rennie will search the rest of the ship with his own men.' He looked down at the waiting seamen on the decks and gangways. 'Mr. Vibart, you will take the upperdeck yourself with Mr. Brock. Look in every locker and beneath each gun, and be as quick as you can!'

He watched them troop down the ladder and then returned his attention to the crowded maindeck. Every sailor was now fully aware that something was wrong. He saw one nudge his companion, and another fell back fearfully as Vibart and the gunner pushed through the watching men.

Perhaps Vibart was right after all? He gripped his bands together behind him with such force that the pain helped to control his whirling mind. No, he must not think like that. Without faith there was nothing. Nothing at all.

As the minutes dragged on a growing wave of apprehension moved across the crowded maindeck like smoke from an uncontrollable fire. The seamen at the foot of the mainmast parted to allow Vibart and the gunner to move through and then shuffled together as if for mutual support.

Pochin rubbed his tarry hands on his trousers and glared angrily after Vibart's bulky figure. `What the hell's happenin'?' He reached out as a boatswain's mate made to pass him. 'Do you know, Mr. Josling?'

Josling darted a quick glance at the quarterdeck. 'The purser. 'E's dead!'

A new ripple of uneasiness broke over the waiting men, and Pochin stared across at Allday who was leaning watchfully against the mast. 'Did you hear that, man?

Allday nodded and then slowly turned his head to look at Onslow… He was standing a bit apart from the others, his legs relaxed, his brown arms hanging loosely at his sides. But there was an air of animal watchfulness about the man, betrayed in the flat hardness of his eyes and the excited dilation of his nostrils. Allday released his breath very slowly. In his own mind he had no doubt as,to where the finger of accusation would point.

Old Strachan muttered, 'Looks bad, don't it? I got a feelin' that we're in for another squall!'

There was a sudden burst of activity from the quarterdeck, and as every head turned aft Captain Rennie's marines trooped up the ladders and formed a solid scarlet barrier athwart the deck. Sergeant Garwood dressed the ranks and then took his place beside the small drummer. Captain Rennie stood coolly ahead of his men, one hand resting on his sword hilt, his face empty of expression.

From the side of his mouth the sergeant rasped, 'Fix bayonets!' Every hand moved as one, the blades rippling along. the swaying front rank before clicking into place on the long muskets.

On deck the tension was almost unbearable. Every man watched transfixed, afraid to speak or turn his head for fear of missing some part of this new drama. Here and there a hand moved to dash away the sweat, and somewhere in the packed throng a man began to cough nervously.

Allday saw the captain speaking with Lieutenant Herrick and the boatswain, and watched as Bolitho shook his head at something one of them had said. It might have been anger or disbelief. It was impossible to tell.

Vibart had realised that the search was over, and moved slowly aft, his hands pushing the silent men aside like reeds, his red-rimmed eyes fixed on the little group behind the marines.

Pochin whispered, `We'll soon know now!'

Allday darted another glance at Onslow. For a moment he felt something like pity for him. He had been so long penned up in a ship he had known no other life but the ceaseless battle of the lower deck.

Captain Bolitho's voice broke into his thoughts, and when he looked aft again he saw him at the quarterdeck rail, his hands resting on the starboard carronade as he stared down at the assembled seamen.

'As most of you know by now, Mr. Evans the purser is dead. He was killed in his cabin a short while ago, without pity, and without reason.' He broke off as Herrick descended one of the ladders to speak to the first lieutenant. Then he continued in the same even tone, 'Every man will stand fast until the culprit has been taken!'

Pochin's scarred face was streaming with sweat. He said in a hoarse voice, ' 'E's got some 'opes! Every bastard in the ship 'ated the bloody purser!'

But no one responded or even gave him a glance. Every eye was on Vibart as he moved purposefully along the maindeck with Brock at his back.

Even the sound of sea and canvas seemed stilled, and as Vibart halted below the mainyard Allday could hear his heavy breathing and the squeak of his sword belt.

For a few seconds longer the awful suspense continued. Then, as Vibart ran his eye slowly around the watching faces; Brock stepped forward and lifted his cane.

'That's him, sir! That's the murderous curl'

The cane fell in a tight arc, and Allday reeled back, half stunned from the blow.

The weeks and months dropped away, and he was back on the cliff road with Brock lashing out at his face with the same cane while the other members of the press gang crowded round to watch. He could feel the blood stinging the corner of his mouth, and there seemed to be a great roaring in his ears. Voices were calling and shouting all around him, yet he felt unable to move or defend himself as Brock struck him once more across the neck with his cane. Vibart was staring at him, his eyes almost hidden by his brows as he watched Brock pull him from the mast and away from the other men.

Old Strachan croaked, "E was with mel 'E never done it, Mr. Vibart!'

At last Vibart seemed to find his voice. But his words were strangled, as if his body was so taut with insane anger that he could hardly get himself to speak… `Silence, you stupid old fool!' He thrust the man aside. `Or I will take you, tool'

Some of the men had recovered from the first shock and now surged forward, pressed on by those -at the rear. Instantly there was a barked command from the quarterdeck, and a line of muskets rose above the rail. There was no doubting their intent, or the gleam in Sergeant Garwood's eyes.

Bolitho was still at one side of the rail, his figure dark against the pale sky. `Bring that man aft, Mr. Vibart!'

Old Strachan was muttering vaguely, "E was with me, I swear it!'

Brock pushed Allday towards the quarterdeck and snapped, `Were you, Strachan? All the time?'

Strachan was confused. `Well, all but a minute, Mr. Brockr Brock's voice was harsh. `It only takes a minute to kill a man!'

Allday made another effort to clear his dazed mind as he was pushed up a ladder and past the grim-faced marines. He felt like another person, someone on the outside untouched by the cruel reality of events. Even his limbs felt numb and beyond his control, and the cuts from Brock's cane had neither pain nor meaning. He saw Lieutenant Herrick watching him like a stranger, and beyond him Proby, the master, looked away, as if he could not bear to meet his eye.

Captain Bolitho seemed to appear from nowhere, and as they faced each other across three feet of deck Aiday heard him say, `John Allday, do you have anything to say?'

He had to move his numb lips several times before the words would come. `No, sir.' An insane voice seemed to cry from the depths of his soul. Tell himl Tell himl He tried again. `It wasn't me, sir.'

He tried to see beyond the shadow which hid the captain's face. He could see the lines at the comers of his mouth, a bead of sweat running from beneath the dark hair. But there was no reality. It was all a part of the same nightmare.

Bolitho said, `Do you recognise these?'

Someone held out a pair of small pistols, bright and evil looking in the sunlight.

Allday shook his head. `No, sir.'

'Or this?' Bolitho's voice was quite empty of emotion.

This time it was a knife, the tip broken off by the force of savage blows, its worn handle dark with congealed blood.

Allday stared. `It's mine, sir!' He clapped his hand to his belt, his fingers brushing against an empty sheath.

Bolitho said, `The pistols were found amongst your possessions below. Your knife was discovered beneath Mr. Evans' locker.' He paused to let the words sink in. `Where it was dropped after the struggle.'

Allday swayed. `I didn't do it, sir.' The words seemed to hang in his throat. `Why would I do such a thing?'

As if from a long way off he heard Vibart's harsh voice. `Let me run him up to the yard now, sir! It will give others of his sort something to think about with him dancing from a halter!'

Bolitho snapped, `I think you have said enough, Mr. Vibart!' He turned to Allday. `After your behaviour since you first came aboard, I had high hopes for you, Allday. Mr. Herrick has already spoken on your behalf, but on this occasion I can find no reason for leniency.' He paused. `Under the Articles of War I could have you hanged forthwith. As it is, I intend that you should be tried by court martial as soon as the opportunity arises.'

There was a low murmur of despair from the maindeck, and Allday knew that in everyone's eyes he was already a dead man.

Bolitho turned away. `Place him in irons, Mr. Vibart. But any unnecessary brutality will be answerable to me!'

Dazed, and stumbling like a drunken man, Aiday allowed himself to be led below.

Deep below the maindeck there were two tiny cells, each just large enough to contain one man. Allday watched dumbly as the rough manacles were snapped around his wrists and ankles, but only when the door was slammed and bolted behind him and he was left in total darkness did the true realisation close on him like a vice.

By the time the Phalarope returned to port, and a necessary number of officers was available for a court martial, no one would remember or even care if he was guilty or not. He would be used as an example to others. A dancing, kicking puppet on the end of a rope as he was hauled slowly to the mainyard to the accompaniment of a drum's mournful beat.

He smashed his fists against the door, and heard the sound echo and vibrate in the stillness of the hull. Again and again, until he could feel the blood running across his fingers and taste the angry tears on his lips.

But when he fell exhausted and gasping behind the door, there was nothing but silence.

The deep, empty silence of a tomb.

Lieutenant Herrick rested his shoulder against an empty hammock netting and stared moodily along the frigate's deserted decks. An hour of the middle watch had passed, and in the bright moonlight the sails and rigging gave off an eerie glow, like those of some phantom vessel.

Try as he might, he could not put the thought of Allday and the murdered purser from his mind. He should have been able to tell himself that it was over and done with. Just one more item in the log to be talked over for a time and then forgotten. Evans was dead, and his killer was penned. below in irons. That at least should be some small satisfaction to everybody. An undetected murderer, at large to terrorise the lower deck or to strike again, would have been far more to worry about.

He tried to picture Allday standing over that hideous corpse, crazed enough to rip at the man's body until it was hardly human, yet calmly able to steal a pair of pistols and secrete them in his own quarters. It did not make any sense at all, but Herrick knew that had it been anyone else but Allday he would never have questioned such evidence.

Just before coming on watch Herrick had made his way below to the darkened cells, and after sending the marine sentry to the top of the ladder, had opened the door and held a lantern inside.

Allday had crouched against the opposite side, his hands shading his eyes from the light, his feet skidding in his own filth. Any disgust or anger Herrick may have -felt faded in that instant. He had expected loud denials of guilt, or dumb insolence. Instead there was only a pathetic attempt at pride.

He had asked quietly, `Have you anything more to tell me, Allday? I have not forgotten that you saved my life on the cliff. Perhaps if you tell me the full circumstances I will be able to do something to attract clemency on your behalf?'

Allday had made as if to brush his long hair from his eyes, and then looked down at the heavy manacles. In a barely controlled voice he had replied, 'I did not do it, Mr. Herrick. I cannot find a defence for something I did not dol'

'I see.' In the silence Herrick had heard the scampering rats, the strange, unknown creaks of a ship at sea. 'If you change your mind, I…'

Allday had tried to step towards him and had fallen forward on Herrick's arm. For a few seconds Herrick had felt the touch of his bare skin, damp with fear, had smelt his despair, like the odour of death.

Allday had said thickly, `You don't believe me either! So what's the point?' His voice had gained some small inner strength. `Just leave me alone! For God's sake leave me alone!'

But as Herrick had been about to rebolt the door Allday had asked quietly, 'D'you think they'll send me home for court martial, sir?'

Herrick knew that the Navy would have other ideas. Justice was swift and final. But as he had stared at the heavy studded door he had heard himself reply, `Maybe they will. Why do you ask?'

The answer had been muffled, as if Allday had turned his face away. `I would like to see the green hills again. Just once. Even for a few minutes!'

The sadness and despair of those last words had dogged Herrick for the rest of the day, and now during his watch they were with him still.

'Damn!' He spoke aloud with sudden anger, and the two helmsmen jerked upright by the wheel as if he had struck them.

The senior man watched anxiously as Herrick walked towards the wheel and said quickly, `Full an' bye, sirl Course south by east!'

Herrick stared at him, and then at the. gently swinging compass card. Poor devils, he thought vaguely. Scared sick because I swore aloud.

A dark figure moved from the lee rail and walked slowly toward him. It was Proby, his heavy jowls glowing faintly from his short clay pipe.

Herrick said, `Can't you sleep, Mr. Proby? The breeze is slight but steady now. There'll be nothing for, ypy to attend to tonight'

The master sucked noisily at the stem. `It's the best time of the night, Mr. Herrick. You can look into the wind's eye and think about what you've done with your lifel'

Herrick looked sideways at Proby's crumpled features. In the pipe glow his face looked like a piece of weatherworn sculpture, but there was something reassuring about him all the same. Timeless, like the sea itself.

He said at length, 'Do you think we have heard the last of Evans' death?'

'Who can sayT Proby shifted on his flat feet. 'It takes time to clean such -a deed from a man's memory. Aye, it takes a long time.'

The pipe glow suddenly vanished in the palm of Proby's beefy hand, and he said tersely, 'The captain is on deck, Mr. Herrick!' Then in a louder, matter-of-fact tone he said, 'We should make a good landfall tomorrow if this wind holds. So I'll bid you good night, Mr. Herrick!'

Then he was gone, and Herrick moved towards the lee rail. From the comer of his eye he could see Bolitho standing straight against the weather rail, the moonlight sharp across his white shirt as he stared at the glittering reflections beyond the ship.

Bolitho had not left the quarterdeck for more than an hour at a time, and ever since Allday's arrest he had been seen by the taffrail, either pacing the deck or just staring out to sea, as he was now.

Earlier Herrick had overheard the master speaking to Quintal, the boatswain, and now as he watched Bolitho's motionless figure the words came back to him. Quintal had said in a hoarse whisper, 'I didn't know he felt like that about Evans. He seems fair troubled by it all!'

Old Proby had weighed his words before replying. 'It's the deed which bothers the captain, Mr. Quintal. He feels betrayed, that's what is wrong with him!'

Herrick saw Bolitho touch the scar on his forehead and then rub the tiredness from his eyes. Proby was right, he thought. He feels it more than we realise. Whatever any of us does, he shares it like his own burden.

Before he realised what he was doing, Herrick had crossed the deck to Bolitho's side. Instantly he regretted his action. He half expected Bolitho to turn and reprimand him, and even that might have been better than the complete silence. He said, The wind is holding well, sir. The master has prophesied a quick landfall.'

'I think I heard him.' Bolitho seemed to be deep in his own thoughts.

Herrick saw that the captain's shirt was dark with thrown spray and clung close to his body like another skin. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and Herrick could almost feel the inner torment which was keeping Bolitho on deck instead of the privacy of the cabin.

He said, 'Would you like me to call your servant, sir? Per haps a hot drink before you turn in for the night?'

Bolitho twisted round at the rail, his eyes bright in the moonlight. 'Spare me this small talk, Mr. Herrick! What is it which bothers you?'

Herrick swallowed hard and then blurted out, 'I have been speaking with Aliday, sir. I know it was wrong, but I feel partly responsible for him.'

Bolitho was watching him closely. 'Go on'

'He is one of my men, sir, and I think there may be more to what happened than we think.' He finished lamely, 'I know him better than most. He is not the sort to change.

Bolitho sighed. 'Only the stars never change, Mr. Herrick.'

Herrick said stubbornly, 'Even so, he may be innocent!'

'And you think this is important?' Bolitho sounded tired. 'You believe that the life of one man, a man almost certain to be found guilty, is worth consideration?'

'Well, as a matter of fact, I do, sir.' Herrick felt Bolitho's eyes fixed on his face in a cold stare. 'The authorities will not listen to half a story…'

Bolitho shifted with sudden impatience. 'We are the authority out here, Mr. Herrick! And I will decide what is to be done!'

Herrick looked away. 'Yes, sir.'

'As it happens, I entirely agree with you.' Bolitho pushed the lock of hair back from his forehead, ignoring Herrick's open astonishment. 'But I just wanted to hear it from one other person!'

He became suddenly brisk. 'I think I will go below now, Mr. Herrick, without a hot drink. Tomorrow we will search for fresh water and attend to the matter of fighting a war.' He paused momentarily by the rail. 'I will also think about what you have said tonight. It may be important for all of us.'

Without another word he turned on his heel and descended the cabin stairway. Herrick stared after him, his jaw hanging open.

'Well, I'll be damned!' He shook his head and grinned.

'Well, I'll be double-damned!'