It was pitiful to watch as they floundered in the waterlogged boat, groping for canvas, pannikins, anything which would catch the precious rain. The sick and injured, and the handful of men on the oars, kept their faces turned into the downpour, eyes tightly shut, mouths wide to receive what must seem like a miracle.
Bolitho dashed water from his face and hair and said, “Viola! Your prayer was answered!”
They reached out blindly, their hands meeting and slipping in an onslaught of rain and sea.
If only it had come sooner and had spared them the last agonizing day. They had drained the last of the coconuts and then broken the shells to try and suck moisture from the fruit itself.
In the afternoon, while the boat had drifted beam-on to the sea, their torpor had been broken by an insane yell from Penneck.
He had cried, “Water! In the name of Jesus!”
And before anyone could move he had dragged himself up and over the gunwale, floundering wildly, yelling and weeping, while the boat had drifted away from him.
Where he had gathered the strength, Bolitho had been unable to imagine, but as he had swung the tiller and the blistered oarsmen had come back to life, Orlando had risen in the bows and had dived cleanly overboard.
Penneck had been hauled roughly over the stemhead with little pity for his injury. His thirst-maddened action had cost far more than a loss of strength and progress, for even as Orlando had paddled towards the boat, supporting the raving Penneck, the shark had struck with the speed of a battering-ram.
Helpless, the rest of them had watched the water frothing bright red, and had seen Orlando’s upturned features contorted in agony, his poor mouth open in a silent scream. Then mercifully he had been dragged down even as Blissett had fired a ball at the tell-tale dorsal fin.
Allday called, “Th’ wind’s dropping, Captain!” Like the rest, he was wringing wet, hair plastered across his forehead, his shirt moulded to him like another skin.
“Yes.”
Bolitho came out of his thoughts slowly. Penneck now lay in the bottom of the boat, his arms tied, but his legs jerking in irregular convulsions as he gaped at the clouds and giggled while he let the rain sluice over him.
Orlando was gone. Rather as he had first come amongst them. From the sea and back to it. Nobody knew any more about him than when he had been rescued, only that he was grateful to remain with them.
As his friend Jenner had said brokenly, “At least the poor devil was happy while he was with us, sir. When he was given the job of being your servant he was fair bustin’ with pride, bless him!”
Unconsciously, Bolitho spoke aloud, “Aye, bless him.”
Allday stared at him. “Captain?”
“I was thinking. Adding another name to my list.”
When dawn came up with its breathtaking haste it was as if little had changed during the night. The clouds were gone, and the sea’s face was as before in regular, undulating swells. As the sun rose and felt its way into the boat the woodwork and the dazed occupants steamed as if about to burst into flames. They peered around at their tiny world, examining each other, looking for signs of hope or the opposite.
They had collected over ten gallons of water, and there was still a little rum for those who needed it most. The food was gone, and unless Blissett was able to shoot another bird things would quickly deteriorate.
The only noticeable change from yesterday was that the shark no longer followed them. That too was strange, and to some, chilling. It was as if it had been waiting. To collect Orlando for the ocean he had cheated for just a short while.
Keen joined him during one of the short rests. He looked fitter than most of them, although his arms were burned by the sun and blotchy from salt sores.
He said, “We saved the compass, sir.”
Bolitho kept his voice down. “Have you noticed the driftwood?”
He watched Keen as he shaded his eyes towards the glittering horizon. Little pieces of flotsam floated towards the boat, black in the harsh light. There were birds too, but too far off for even a lucky shot.
Keen looked at him, his face incredulous. “Land, sir?”
Bolitho wanted to contain it, in case he was wrong. But he looked along the boat and knew they could not last another day. With good news they might be able to hang on.
He nodded. “Close. Yes, I believe so.”
Viola stood up and laid her hand on his shoulder, the other on Keen. She did not speak, but looked steadily towards the horizon, her hair lifting and falling over the coat.
Bolitho watched her, loving her, fascinated by her inner strength. Despite the sun, and what she must have endured, she looked pale compared with Keen and the others. He had only seen her break down once since leaving the islands, and that had been when Orlando had been killed.
She had said, “He could not speak. He could not even cry out. And yet I seem to remember his voice.”
She said nothing more until the storm had burst over them.
They were all looking at him now, and even Penneck had fallen silent. He saw that the marine called Billy-boy was sharing an oar with Pyper, his injured leg propped on a musket. The other wounded seaman, Colter, had drawn enough strength from his ration of water to help look after Penneck and the one named Robinson who was in a very low state. But they were not so ill they could not sense something was happening.
Bolitho said, “I believe we are near land. Whether we are close to Rutara Island, I am uncertain, for with storm and drift, and denied even a sextant, it is like groping in the dark. But whatever island we sight, we will land and secure food. After what we have seen and suffered together, I think it will take more than hostility to prevent us.”
Big Tom Frazer, his eyes red with strain, stood up and bellowed, “A cheer for the cap’n, lads! Huzza!”
Bolitho could only stare at them. It was terrible to witness. These gaunt, blistered, unshaven men trying to stand at their oars and cheer.
He raised his voice. “Enough! Save your strength!” He had to turn away. “But I thank you.”
Keen cleared his throat and said, “Out oars!” He met Viola’s gaze and smiled like a conspirator. “Give way all!”
By late afternoon Blissett and then Sergeant Quare were luckier with their marksmanship. One noddy and then a booby fell to their muskets, and although it took longer this time to reach them, they were retrieved and eaten with a full ration of water.
Then, as the sun touched the horizon, Miller shouted, “Land, sir! Fine on th’ starboard bow!”
All thought of order and discipline broke down as they stood in the swaying boat, as if by so doing they might see it more clearly.
Bolitho held her arm and watched with the others. Land it was.
“We will reach it tomorrow.” He nodded firmly. “Then we shall see.”
She answered simply, “I never doubted you could do it.”
While Keen restored the stroke to the oars and the cutter started to move ahead again, Bolitho sat beside her in the sternsheets, as they had done every day since their journey had begun.
She leaned against him, Bolitho’s coat tightly drawn around her. Her own clothing, like most of the articles in the boat, had gone outboard in the storm.
“Hold me. I feel cold, Richard.”
He put his arm round her. It would get even colder during the night, and protest or not, he would force her to take some rum. But when he cradled her against him he could feel the heat from her body like fire.
He said, “Soon now. We’ll build a fire. Then we will find the ship.”
“I know.” She moved closer and rested her head on his chest. “A big fire.”
The boat settled down for another night. Quare and Blissett examined the muskets and powder. Keen made certain Penneck was still secured, in case he should throw himself overboard again.
But there was a different air in the boat. Not the fear and dread of another dawn, but a strange confidence in what it would bring for them.
Lieutenant Thomas Herrick moved restlessly about Tempest’s quarterdeck. At anchor, and despite the spread awnings and windsails, the ship was like a furnace, and only deep below on the orlop deck or in the holds could you find relief.
He had been in charge of the frigate for fifteen days, and should have been satisfied with the way he had handled her, and the fact that nothing untoward had occurred. But being Herrick, he felt like half a man, and even
