Allday hissed, “You’re not going down there, Captain?”

Bolitho ignored him. “Open it.”

He cocked his head to listen to Meheux shouting orders, the answering patter of bare feet on the deck above. Another crisis, but Meheux would have to manage on his own. Right now he had to see the passengers, for down there below the waterline he was sure he might find the answer to one of his questions, and there was no time left for delay.

At first Bolitho could see nothing. But when the seamen flung back the hatch cover and Ashton held his lantern directly above the ladder he felt the sudden tension and fear rising to greet him like something physical.

He climbed down two of the steps, and as the lantern light fell across his body he was almost deafened by a violent chorus of cries and shouts, and saw what appeared to be hundreds of eyes shining in the yellow beam, swaying about in the pitching hull as if detached from anything human. But the voices were real enough. Rising together in shock and terror, the shriller cries of women or children making him halt on the ladder, suddenly aware that many of these people were probably quite ignorant of what had happened in the world above them.

He shouted, “Be silent, all of you! I will see that no harm comes . . .”

It was hopeless. Hands were already reaching from the gloom, clawing at the ladder and his legs, while the mass of glittering eyes swayed forward, pushed on by the press of figures at the rear.

Ashton said breathlessly, “Let me, sir! I speak a little Spanish.”

Bolitho pulled him down to the ladder and shouted, “Just tell them to keep quiet!”

As Ashton tried to make himself heard above the clamour Bolitho called to the two seamen, “Get some more hands down here! Lively, or you’ll be trampled to pulp!”

Ashton was tugging at his sleeve and pointing below him. “Sir! There’s someone trying to say something!”

It was in fact a plump, frightened-looking man, whose bald head shone in the lantern like a piece of smooth marble as he cried, “I speak the English, Captain! I will tell them to obey you if you only get me out of this terrible place!” He was almost weeping with fear and exhaustion, but was managing to keep a grip on something which Bolitho now recognised as a wig.

“I’ll have you all out of there in a moment. Stay on the ladder and tell them.” He felt suddenly sorry for the unknown man, who was neither young nor very firm on his feet. But right now he was his most valuable asset, one he could not afford to lose from view.

The bald man had a surprisingly carrying voice, although he had to break off several times to regain his breath. Some of the noises had died, and the crush of figures beneath the ladder eased back in response to his pleas.