Ferguson seemed to realise something was happening. “What is it?”

Allday sat down on the rock at his side and stared at him thoughtfully. “There are two frigates out yonder, Bryan. Big ones, probably Frogs by the look of ’em.” He let the words sink in and then asked quietly, “Tell me about your wife back at Falmouth. Grace, isn’t that her name?”

Ferguson nodded dumbly, still not understanding.

Allday reached out and took his hand firmly in his own. “She’ll not want to remember you as a mutineer, Bryan?” He saw the quick shake of the head, the unheeded tears on his sunburned cheeks. Then he continued, “Nor will she want to remember you as the man who let his ship fall to the enemy without lifting a finger to help her.” He stood up slowly and pulled Ferguson to his feet. “Take a look at those ships, Bryan, and then tell me what to do. You saved my life. I owe you that at least!”

Ferguson stared at the dancing reflections, too blinded with tears to see beyond Allday’s quiet words. “You want me to go back with you?” He spoke in a small voice, yet unable to stop himself. “To go back?”

Allday nodded, still keeping his eyes on Ferguson’s agonised face. “We have to, Bryan. You can see that, can’t you?”

He touched Ferguson’s arm, and after a momentary hesitation began to walk down the side of the hill. He did not have to look back to know that Ferguson was following him.

* * *

Bolitho felt the hair stirring against the nape of his neck, and stood up to face the small vent hole. After a moment he said, “Do you feel it? The wind is returning!”

Herrick replied uneasily, “Okes will never be back in time. And even if he is . . .”

Bolitho touched his lips. “Quiet! Someone’s coming!” He bent down and with a quick jerk thrust Neale’s clothes out through the vent hole.

The door grated back and Pook peered in at them. He gestured with a heavy pistol. “On deck! All of you!” His eyes were very bright, and his shirt was well stained with neat rum. Then he stared past Bolitho and shouted, “Where’s that brat gone, for Christ’s sake?”

Bolitho said calmly, “Out through the port. He swam ashore.”

Pook muttered, “It’ll do ’im no good! ’E can stay with the others to starve!”

Cursing and muttering to himself he drove the three officers on deck, where Onslow and some of his trusted men were assembled beside the wheel.

Bolitho whispered to Herrick, “Don’t provoke him. He looks too dangerous to trifle with!”

Onslow was certainly showing signs of strain, and as Bolitho and the others reached the quarterdeck rail he snapped, “Right then! You can get the ship under way!” He levelled his pistol at Herrick’s stomach and added meaningly. “I shall shoot him if you try and trick me!”

Bolitho glanced along the main deck, feeling his spirits sinking. There were some twenty men staring up at him. All the ones who had been sent from the Cassius and some others he recognised as old and trusted men of the original Phalarope crew. As he had remarked to the unhappy Neale, it was just bad luck that all these men had stayed together aboard the frigate while other, more reliable elements had been sent ashore with the water casks. Normally it would not have mattered. He bit his lip and stared beyond the bowsprit where a small islet seemed to be swinging on its own momentum as the wind tugged at the anchored ship. Now it made the difference between life and death to all of them.