‘There it is again!’ cried Matthew, jubilantly repeating Samuel. ‘To starboard. At least one more out there’s still alive. Someone get me a rope to tie round my waist. I’m going in after him before this lugger is swept too far away from him.’

‘Let me do it, Matthew,’ Samuel said, catching the giant’s arm.

‘Tes someone in my family out there, Samuel,’ Matthew returned solidly, taking the rope held out to him by Christopher. ‘Tes my place to go, and besides, I’m the strongest swimmer here. When you feel me jerking on the rope, pull us back in.’

‘Please, Matthew,’ there was an urgency in Samuel’s voice. ‘I feel partly to blame for what’s happened and as skipper of this lugger I’m the one with the right to say who goes and who stays.’

‘I don’t know about that—’

‘Let Samuel go, Matt,’ Paul broke in, frightened at the prospect of his brother leaving the safety of the boat and becoming lost with the other members of their family.

Matthew King hesitated for a moment but it was long enough for Samuel to snatch the rope from his huge hands and begin tying it in deft knots round his own waist.

Despite the rocking motion of the boat, Bartholomew was quickly at his father’s side. ‘Father, don’t,’ he pleaded, grabbing Samuel’s arm.

‘I’ll be all right, Bartholomew,’ Samuel said, momentarily resting a hand on his son’s broad shoulder. ‘I’m leaving Matthew in charge. Listen out for more survivors.’ Giving Matthew the other end of the rope, Samuel lifted his legs over the gunwale and lowered himself into the cold, hostile sea.

Salty spray washed over Bartholomew’s angry young face as he leaned over the side and watched his father’s tossed-about form becoming rapidly swallowed up in the fog.

‘Don’t ’ee worry now, Bartholomew,’ said Jeremy King, as Bartholomew lifted his dark head and angrily wiped dripping water off his cut chin. ‘Your tas is a good swimmer, he’ll be all right.’

‘Against these waves?’ Bartholomew said harshly. ‘He’d better be all right.’ He was furious with his father. Why did he have to act the hero? The skipper of the Young Maid wasn’t responsible for what had happened, it could just have easily been his boat struck by another vessel. Anything could, and did, happen in seas like this. Perhaps another lugger in the fleet had come to grief as well as theirs and the Lowenek this morning. Bartholomew looked at the almost empty fishroom. The cruel sea had won again; there seemed to be no way a young man could earn a living from it and better himself.