Ferguson said quickly, “He’s different. He stopped Betts being flogged.” He tried to smile. “You’ll be all right aboard this ship, Onslow!”

Onslow looked him over without expression. “Who asked you?”

“All captains are swine!” Pook was tugging on his trousers, and then strapped a wicked-looking knife around his waist. “We’ve had a bellyful in the Cassius!”

Onslow said, “Betts, did you say? What happened to him?”

“He attacked the purser.” Pochin looked thoughtful. “Cap’n Bolitho refused to ’ave ’im flogged.”

“Where is he now?” The man’s eyes were dark and unwinking.

“Dead. Went over the side with a main-t’gallant!”

“Well, then.” Onslow pushed Ferguson off the bench and squatted in his place. “It didn’t do him much good, did it?”

Old Strachan folded his carving in a piece of sailcloth and said vaguely, “But the lad’s right. Cap’n Bolitho promised that he’d see us fair if we pulled our weight. We’ll be taking a run ashore soon.” He squinted towards the hatch. “Just think of it! A walk through them hills, and maybe a drop o’ somethin’ from a friendly native!”

Ferguson tried again. As if he had to believe in somebody to retain his own sanity. “And Mr Herrick said he would try and get a letter put aboard the next homebound ship for me. Just to tell my wife I’m alive and well.” His expression was pitiful.

“You can read and write, can you, little man?” Onslow studied him calmly. “You could be very useful to me.”

Allday smiled to himself. Already the noise and rumble of voices was returning to the messes. Maybe Ferguson was right. Things might be better from now on. He hoped so, if only for Ferguson’s peace of mind.

Pochin asked sourly, “How did you get the lash, Onslow?”

“Oh, the usual.” Onslow was still watching Ferguson, his face deep in thought.

Pook said ingratiatingly, “ ’E kicked a bosun’s mate! An’ afore that he . . .”

Onslow’s mouth opened and shut like a trap. “Stow it! It’s what happens from now on that counts!” Then he became calm again. “I was a boy when I came out here ten years back. For years I’ve been waiting for that last voyage home, but it never comes. I’ve been shipped from one captain to the next. I’ve stood my watches, and I’ve faced broadsides more times than I can remember. No, mates, there’s no let-up for our sort. The only way out is sewn up in a hammock, or take our own course like the lads in the Andiron.”

He had every man’s attention now. He stood up, his face set and brooding. “They chose to leave the King’s service. To make a new life for themselves out here, or in the Americas!”

Strachan shook his grey head. “That’s piracy!”

“You’re too old to matter!” There was a bite in Onslow’s voice. “I’ve yet to find a fair captain, or one who thought beyond prize-money and glory for himself!”

At that moment shadows darted across the hatches and the air was filled with twittering pipes.