With the drop in the wind, which had been on their backs and driving them into Mount’s Bay, the boats were becoming increasingly difficult to navigate as they were tossed about on the heavy swell. The fishermen held on to masts and gunwales as the open vessels were swept up to the crests of high waves and bounced down seconds later only to repeat the stomach-churning motion. The sea smelled strong and salty. The malevolent fog swirled about the men as if it sought to cut off their air supply.

Uncertainty at setting foot safely on land again filtered into the minds of some of the younger, less experienced fishermen. Thoughts of the girl waiting on shore to welcome them home, a satisfying meal served on a table, or the night’s drinking ahead were all pushed aside. Their breathing grew heavier, sounding strangely inside their own heads. They relaxed slightly when they recognised the unique sound of the iron mooring rings on the short pier of the village being clanged by their womenfolk to guide them away from the dangerous cliffs. The wives, mothers, daughters and sisters of the Kings, the Drannocks, the Laitys and the others, all clanging the rings in turn.

Two of the fog-bound luggers riding out the heavy sea were the Lowenek and the Young Maid. The Young Maid was skippered by Samuel Drannock and crewed by his seventeen-year-old son Bartholomew, his close neighbour Jonathan King, and Jonathan’s three sons, Jeremy, Christopher and Josh. They could just make out the fuzzy outline of the boat in front of them, but they were unable to identify it as the Lowenek, manned entirely by more Kings.

Samuel Drannock watched the other lugger with anxious eyes. He hoped it would draw further away but did not attempt to alter the course of his own boat for fear of colliding with an unseen vessel to his port or starboard.

‘Damn this fog, why now?’ he muttered to himself, irritably pushing a lock of greying hair away from his colourless eyes.

The Young Maid was a brand-new lugger, expertly crafted in Mount’s Bay, working her first week at sea. Even though the lugger was owned by a wealthy man at Marazion who took the greater share of the boat’s profits, it was the consummation of the dreams Samuel had held all his working life. The last thing he wanted now was to have the craft damaged by ramming the boat ahead. When a few seconds later the hazy outline in front of him disappeared, his hard face relaxed a little.

‘Thank the Lord,’ he breathed, and Bartholomew, who had been watching his father intently, nodded his dark head in agreement.