'Now, now, Mr. Roskilly! What would you do then? Lay your little rope's. end on me?' He laughed again and then pulled out the knife. 'Come along then, matey! I'm awaitin' you, you goddamned lickspittle!'
Bolitho called, 'Come down, Roskilly! You'll do no good by getting killed!'
Sullivan craned under the vibrating yard. 'Well, blow me down, mates, an' who 'ave we 'ere? Our gallant captain, no less!' He rocked with laughter. 'An' 'e's all aback 'cause poor old Tom Sullivan's spoiled the water for him!'
Some of the watching seamen had been grinning at the spectacle on the quarterdeck. The mention of water soon altered that.
Bolitho looked at the upturned faces, feeling the spreading alarm like the edge of a fire.
He walked aft, his shoes loud in the sudden hush around him. Below the yard he stopped and looked up.
'Come along, Sullivan.' He was in the sunlight and with no shade from the bellying sail above. He felt the sweat pouring down his chest and thighs, just as he could sense the other man's hatred. 'You have done enough today!'
Sullivan cackled. 'Did you hear that, lads? Done enough!' He twisted on the yard, the glare playing across the scars on his back, pale against the tanned skin. 'You've done enough to me, Cap'n bloody Bolitho!'
Herrick snapped, 'Sergeant Coaker! Have one of your marksmen brought aft! That man is a damned danger up there!'
'Belay that!' Bolitho kept his eyes on the crossjack yard. 'He is past reason. I'll not have him shot down like some mad dog.'
He sensed Puigserver was watching him and not the man on the yard, and that Allday was close by, a cutlass in his hand. But they were all excluded. It was between him and Sullivan.
He called, 'I am asking you, Sullivan!' He recalled the woman's face in the cabin. I did not ask.
'You go to hell, Captain!' Sullivan was screaming now, his naked body twisting on the yard as if in torment. 'An' I'll take you there now!'
Bolitho hardly saw his hand move, just the brief flash of sunlight on the blade, and then gasped as the knife cut through his sleeve before embedding itself in the deck by his right shoe. So great was the force that nearly an inch of blade was driven into the planking.
Sullivan was transfixed, a long streamer of spittle trailing to the wind as he stared down at Bolitho at the foot of the mast.
Bolitho remained motionless, feeling the blood running down his elbow and forearm and on to the deck. He did not take his eyes off Sullivan, and the concentration helped to overcome the searing pain left by the blade.
Sullivan stood up wildly and began to scramble outboard along the yard. Everybody began to yell at once, and Bolitho felt Herrick gripping his arm, another wrapping a cloth around it, deadening the pain.
Whitmarsh had appeared below the nettings, and he, too, was shouting at the man framed against the clear sky.
Sullivan turned and spoke in a level voice for the first time. 'And you, too, Doctor! God damn you to hell!' Then he jumped out and down, his body hitting the water with a violent splash.
For a moment he floated past the quarter, and as the spanker's great shadow passed over him he clasped his hands above his head and vanished.
Herrick said, 'We could never pick him up. If we tried to heave-to under this canvas, we'd tear the sticks out of her.'
Bolitho did not know to whom he was speaking. Perhaps to himself.
He walked to the hatch, holding his torn and bloodied sleeve with one hand. He saw the bosun's mate, Roskilly, pulling the knife out of the deck. He was a strong man, but it took him two attempts to tug it clear.
Puigserver followed him below and then stepped in front of him.
'That was a brave thing you did, Capilan.' He sighed. 'But he could have killed you.'
Bolitho nodded. The pain was getting worse. 'We have some hard times ahead, Senor. We must find water, and soon.' He tightened his jaw. 'But I am not turning back.'
Puigserver eyed him sadly. 'You made a gesture. One which might have ended your life. And all for a madman.'
Bolitho walked to the cabin. 'Maybe we were both mad.'
Herrick hurried after him, and as they entered the cabin Bolitho saw there was a chair directly under the skylight. Raymond must have been standing on it to watch the drama overhead.
Mrs. Raymond was aft by the windows. She looked very pale, but came towards him saying, 'Your arm, Captain.' She shouted to her maid, 'Bandages!'
Bolitho realised that Herrick was in the cabin. 'Well?'
Herrick watched him worriedly. 'What you did-'
'It could have killed me. I know.' Bolitho forced a smile. 'I have already been told.'
Herrick breathed out slowly. 'And I believed I knew you, sir.'
'And now?' He looked at him steadily. 'Thomas?'
Herrick grinned. 'I only know that you never cease to surprise me. And others.' He gestured to the deckhead. 'A seaman who has been cursing and complaining for near on a month was just heard to damn Sullivan's soul for threatening the life of his captain.' His grin faded. 'But I'd rather you rallied our people in some other way, sir.'
Bolitho held out his arm as the maid carried a basin to the desk.
'If you know of any way to keep up their spirits, Thomas, I'd be obliged to hear it. In the meantime, call the hands and get the royals on her. I want every stitch she can carry.' He checked him as he made for the door. 'And pass the word. One pint of water per day.' He glanced around the cabin, 'Officers and passengers included,' Herrick hesitated. 'And the surgeon, sir?'
Bolitho looked down at the maid as she cleaned the deep cut on his arm. She returned his glance boldly.
He said, 'I am in good hands, it seems. I will think about Mr. Whitmarsh when I have more time.' He added grimly, 'And at this moment, time is of the greatest value in the world.'
Bolitho waited by the open stern windows and watched the moon making a fine path across the water. The sea looked unusually choppy, but he knew it was from a steep undertow which explored the depths many miles from the African coast. At his back he heard the others moving into the cabin and finding somewhere to sit, the sounds of goblets and wine as Noddall went about his business. Despite the cool air after the day's blazing sunlight his body felt drained and stiff, and about him the ship creaked and groaned, her timbers so dried-out that it was a wonder she was not leaking like an old bucket.
A week since Sullivan had jumped to his death, Seven long days while he had taken his ship inshore time and time again, only to stand off at the report of some sail, or an unexplained sighting of a native craft.
Now, he could delay no longer. He had been visited by Whitmarsh that afternoon, a man so tormented by his own worries that it had been a difficult interview. Whitmarsh had made it quite definite that he could no longer be held responsible if Bolitho persisted in staying clear of land. The two remaining casks of water were almost empty, and what remained was little better than scum. More men were lying ill on the orlop deck, and those fit enough to work ship had to be watched by the minute. Tempers flared, and petty officers went about their duties with an eye on their backs for a knifethrust in a momentary display of madness.
Herrick reported, 'All ready, sir.' Like the others. Tense. Watchful.
Bolitho turned and looked around his officers. All but Soames, who was on duty, were present. Even the three midshipmen. He watched them gravely. It might teach them something, he thought.
'I intend to close the land again tomorrow.'
He saw Don Puigserver by the bulkhead with his lieutenant. Raymond a few feet away from him, rubbing his face in sharp, agitated movements.
Davy said, 'Makes fine sense, sir.' He swallowed some wine. 'If we give our people more rum to drink as we cut down the water, we'll be too tipsy to do anything!' He forced a smile. 'A fine situation it would be!'
Bolitho turned to Mudge. He was in the largest chair, still wearing his thick coat, and staring up at the open skylight as a moth darted into the lantern's beam. He saw Bolitho's expression and sighed.
'I called at this place just the once, sir. When I was master's mate in the Windsor, Indiaman. We was in much the same trouble ourselves then. No water, becalmed for weeks on end, an' with 'alf the people goin' wild with thirst.'
Bolitho asked, 'But there is water available?'
