I bailed rainwater from the bottom of the boat, but it poured in almost as fast as I could throw it out. I slid Scratch round to my back, glad I had sealed the case with wax. Each wave was a galloping hillock of water for us to climb and it seemed impossible we were still afloat, but the sailors rowed on and I tried to tell myself that it was harder to sink a boat than it looked.

Mr. Darwin’s linen shirt was plastered to his skin, his face as white as the foaming waves. He reached out to me, then scrambled across the bench and threw himself to the side of the boat to void his guts. He clung to the edge, his back heaving, and I moved over to help—but just as I did, we climbed a mountain of a wave and the master pitched forward, his hands slipping. Before I even had time to call out, he flipped over … into the sea.

“Man overboard!” Robbins yelled.

I snatched up the rope curled in the bottom of the rowboat, coiling it round my hand. Then another shout as I threw the other end of the rope behind me.

I leaped into the raging sea after my master.

The waves hauled me under and then threw me up, gasping, and I realized too late that I was a fool because I’d likely not be able to save myself, let alone Mr. Darwin.

“Robbins!” I yelled. “Robbins!” I felt the fiddle case rise at my back, still strapped tight across my chest. Everything was a blur of gray and white—was this the end?—then the line pulled taut in my hand. I collected my senses and kicked hard, trying to make out the silhouette of Robbins and the boat. And there … Mr. Darwin’s white shirt!

He wasn’t lost, not yet. We had a chance. I must not let go.

Both our lives depended upon it.

I struck out with my free hand. Mr. Darwin spotted me and floundered in my direction, tossed on the chop and foam like a cork, until by some force of luck the swell clashed us into each other. I clung to him fiercely with my legs, and we were dragged under. We whirled and tumbled underwater before being flung to the surface again. By some miracle we were still together.

“Hold on to the rope, sir!” I shouted. He didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes were almost closed, and he hadn’t so much as coughed since the last ducking. I held us both to the rope with one hand and slapped his waxy cheek, hard.

“The rope, sir! Mr. Darwin!”

His eyes opened, but they were wide and glazed. I couldn’t hold on to him for much longer.

“Charles Darwin!” I yelled in his face with all my strength. The master seemed to awaken then, spluttering out water, and his eyes sprang to life and met mine. He reached out and I snatched his hand and wrapped his stiff fingers around the rope, then his other hand next to it. I jerked hard and Robbins tugged back, then we were being hauled one way, but the sea was sucking at us the other, trying to keep us for itself. But we were moving. All we had to do was hold on and we’d make it.