Jeremy watched Bartholomew nervously for a moment, guessing what was going on inside his head. Jeremy feared an outburst of the temper Bartholomew was liable to display when his father was not about. But he remained still, glaring down into the fishroom. Jeremy sighed deeply and moved away to stand beside Christopher. They linked arms across their shoulders and looked out to sea. If all went well, who would Samuel bring in? Their grandfather, father or uncle? Their brother Josh who had mysteriously disappeared from the boat? Or one of their cousins, Mark or John?

At regular intervals Samuel stopped his laboured swimming strokes to listen for the cries of the survivor, which were weakening. He was bumped and jarred by waves and wreckage and once a dead fish slapped against his face. His mind was half on reaching the survivor and half on the plight of the Young Maid. Would its owner blame him for the accident? Would he lose his precious rented boat after all these years of longing to skipper a brand-new one? Then there was the question of the damage caused to the boat. Samuel’s family was poor; if he was forced to pay for the repairs, where would the money come from? His wife Jenifer had been so happy for him when he’d secured tenure of the boat, it would be as much of a blow to her as to him if the worst happened.

Samuel’s limbs were aching unmercifully and his lungs were near to bursting at the end of the thirteen arduous minutes it took him to reach the survivor. He saw a pitiful small figure clinging desperately to one floating battered half of the Lowenek.

As he closed in on the figure, salt water stinging his half-closed eyes, Samuel called out loudly, ‘Who are ’ee?’ although there was no need to raise his voice now he was this close; it was something the fog made him do.

‘J… John King…’ came the feeble reply. ‘C… can’t… hold on…’

Samuel trod water for a moment and wiped water from his eyes. ‘Now don’t ’ee take on so, John,’ he called to encourage the boy. ‘I’ll soon have ’ee away to safety.’

He reached John and slid an arm under his armpits and over his narrow chest. Samuel held on to the wreckage for a short time to regain his breath.

‘I… I can’t… s-swim… very well,’ John stuttered in fear and cold.

Samuel said into his ear, ‘Tes all right, boy. You can leave go now. When I tug on the rope round my waist they back on the Young Maid will pull us in. Your brothers are waiting for ’ee on board. You’re safe now, the fog’s thinning out and we’ll soon see to put ashore.’

‘I’m scared, S… Sam…’