Just below the level of the deck, he stopped and hung there, listening. Once he was over the rim he would be in full view. He was bound to be seen. All he could do was throw himself on the mercy of whoever caught him and beg to be allowed to sign on as one of the crew. There seemed to be no sound of voices close by, so he drew a deep breath and pulled himself onto the deck, keeping flat to make himself less obvious. There was no immediate shout to suggest he had been discovered. No rough hands seized him. He lifted his head cautiously. The stevedores were swinging themselves over the rail, heading for the dock; members of the crew were busy, hauling on ropes, carrying packages. It was still barely light. No one seemed to have noticed a small figure, half hidden by the housing of the hatch cover.

Gus looked around. Not far away was the refuge he had imagined when he first planned to stow away – a lifeboat hanging from its davits. He gathered himself and sprinted across the deck, climbed the rails, and clambered into the boat. He lay flat under the thwarts, panting and shaking, expecting the shout that would tell him he had been seen, but none came.

Slowly his breathing returned to normal and the trembling stopped. He heard orders being shouted, familiar from his training, ‘Cast off aft! Cast off for’ard.’ Then there was a sound like a loud snort and a puff of smoke issued from the funnel, which he could see above him. The whole ship began to shudder and vibrate and he saw the tall masts swing against the lightening sky. They were moving! He had done it! He was going to sea!

When the first sense of triumph had passed he began to consider his next move. It was crucial to remain hidden until the ship was far enough out at sea to make a return out of the question. He must be sure that any accompanying tugs had left and that there were no other vessels heading back into port within hailing distance, to which he could be transferred. That meant lying where he was for several hours, perhaps longer. Probably he should wait until tomorrow. Tied round his waist was a small bundle, wrapped in his only spare shirt. It contained a bottle he had scavenged from the school kitchen and filled with water and a few dried crusts preserved from his last meals. He knew from some of Captain Thomas’s stories that it was possible to survive for many days without food as long as you had water, but already his stomach was growling and the thought of going without eating for a day and a night was daunting. He took a swallow of water and rationed himself to one crust.