Onslow added, “As soon as the wind gets up, we’re off, lads! You can leave the rest to Harry Onslow!”

Herrick and Bolitho were pushed along the deck and down into the dark confines of a small storeroom. A moment later Midshipman Neale and Proby, the master, were thrust in with them and the door slammed shut.

High up the side of the cabin was a small circular port, used to ventilate the compartment and the stores it normally contained. Bolitho guessed that the mutineers had already dragged the contents elsewhere for their own uses.

In the darkness Neale sobbed, “I—I’m sorry, sir! I let you down! I was on watch when it all happened!”

Bolitho said quietly, “It was not your fault, boy. The odds were against you this time. It was just ironic that Onslow stayed aboard because he could not be trusted off the ship!”

Neale said brokenly, “Mr Vibart was in his cabin. They seized him and nearly killed him! Onslow stopped them just in time!”

Herrick said bleakly, “Not for long!” Then with sudden fury, “The fools! The French or the Spanish will never bargain with Onslow! They won’t have to. They’ll seize the Phalarope and take the whole lot prisoners!”

Bolitho said, “I know that, Herrick. But if the mutineers began to think as you do, they’d have no reason for sparing our lives!”

“I see, sir.” Herrick was peering at him in the gloom. “And I thought . . .”

“You imagined that I had given up hope?” Bolitho breathed out slowly. “Not yet. Not without a fight!”

He stood up on an empty box and peered through the small vent hole. The ship had swung slightly at her cable and he could see the far end of the little beach and a low hill beyond. There was no sign of life. Nor had he expected any.

Proby muttered, “Two of the mutineers I know well. Good men, with no cause to follow scum like Onslow and Pook!” He added thickly, “It’ll do ’em no good. They’ll be caught and hanged with the rest!”

Herrick slipped and cursed in the darkness. “Damn!” He groped with his fingers. “Some old butter! Rancid as bilge water!”

Bolitho cocked his head to listen to the sudden stamp of feet and a wave of laughter. “They’ve taken more than butter, Mr Herrick. They’ll be too drunk to control soon!” He thought of the knife’s glitter across Neale’s throat. Soon the second phase would be enacted. The mutineers would get bored with merely drinking. They would have to prove themselves. To kill.

He said, “Can you come up here beside me, Neale?” he felt the midshipman struggling on to the box. “Now, do you think you could get through that vent?”

Neale’s eyes flickered in the shaft of sunlight. He replied doubtfully, “It’s very small, sir.” Then more firmly, “I’ll try.”

Proby asked, “What do you have in mind, sir?”

Bolitho ran his hands around the circular hole. It was barely ten inches across. He controlled the rising excitement in his heart. It had to be tried.