guns and prepare to make the biggest capture of his life.” He glanced at the stern windows, seeing the purple shadows feeling out from the land. He made up his mind. “Damn it, Captain Prideaux, we’ll weigh tomorrow and return to the settlement. I daren’t up-anchor now and work through these reefs in the dark. It was bad enough getting into the place.”
“An’ us, sir?”
Herrick studied Latimer for several seconds. “Your companion will hang, though not at my hands. I’ll see what I can do for you. You may have saved many lives. It could help.”
He turned away as the man was bustled weeping from the cabin.
Prideaux said bitterly, “Save lives, by God! We’re incapable of being anywhere in time now! I think we should return to Sydney. Let the commodore take the responsibility.”
Herrick felt better now he had made a decision. Without the schooner Bolitho could not get word to him. It was up to Tempest to rejoin her proper commander, no matter at what risk from fever.
He said, “Pass the word for Mr Lakey. I wish to discuss tomorrow’s sailing plans. After that we will hold a conference in here.”
Alone in the cabin Herrick walked to the windows and stared out at the restless water. A light wind, but there had been quite a storm the previous night, a long way off, but the sea had been choppy even here. You could never be certain of weather.
Lakey stepped into the cabin.
Herrick said, “We’re going for the captain, Mr Lakey.”
The sailing master regarded him and answered dryly, “About time.”
Blissett half-stood and half-crouched right in the cutter’s bows, gripping the stemhead with his hands to retain his balance. He was desperately tired, and his stomach ached so much from hunger he felt sick and lightheaded. At his back the oars rose and fell, very slowly, the stroke ragged and uncertain.
He gritted his teeth against the bitter cold. In a matter of an hour of so it would be sun-up, and after that… he tried not to think of it, to concentrate on anything to stop his head from lolling. He heard the occasional squeak of the tiller and pictured Lieutenant Keen sitting there, using the stars to hold the boat roughly on course. The violent storm had swept away the lamp for the compass, and it took every ounce of skill to keep the boat from veering away, the oarsmen too fatigued to notice.
Which was why Blissett was posted in the bows. Apart from being one of the strongest men in the boat, his past life as a gamekeeper, used to peering over long distances of his master’s estate, had blessed him with excellent eyesight. He had no idea if the island they had sighted before nightfall was the one they wanted, nor did he much care. But it was more than possible, worn out as they were, that they might pull right past it in the darkness. He yawned and tried to stop his shivering.
He could feel Penneck watching him from the bottom of the boat. Wild, crazy eyes. You start your raving again and I’ll drive my musket into your mouth. He stiffened as something white moved in the darkness. But it was not a bird. Just a dart of spindrift whipped from the crest of a wave.
The sea already seemed brighter, he thought anxiously. The sun would come soon. The suffering.
Someone climbed over the thwart behind him and asked huskily, “Nothing?” It was the sergeant. Getting ready to do his stint on an oar.
Blissett shook his head. “Dawn coming up.”
“Aye.” Quare sounded very low.
“Never mind, Sergeant.” Blissett suddenly needed Quare to be the same as he always was. Confident. Hard. “We’ll manage.”
Quare smiled wearily, grimacing at the pain in his sore lips. “If you say so.”
Blissett turned from him. If Quare really thought… He froze, blinking rapidly as something upset the sea’s regular pattern.
In a small voice he said, “Sergeant, up ahead! It’s land!” He gripped Quare’s arm. “Please God, tell me I’m right!”
Quare swallowed hard and nodded. “You’re right, lad. I see it.” He swivelled round towards the stern. “Land ho!”
Oars went momentarily out of control as men struggled to their feet or fumbled blindly across the thwarts.
Bolitho could not move, as he had been drowsing, one arm around Viola’s shoulders.
He said, “Mr Keen! What d’you see?”
But it was Allday who replied, “It’s the one, Captain! I’m sure!” He looked around the boat. “All those bloody islands, but we found it!”
Several of them tried to cheer, others wanted to weep, but were too parched even for that.
Bolitho said quietly, “Wake, Viola. You were right. It must be Rutara, although it has to be some form of magic!”
Allday heard him and gave a great sigh, rubbing his sore palms on his trousers. He wanted to say something special at this moment. To hold them all together long after the boat and the misery of their endurance would be faded in memory.
He stared at Bolitho and then at Viola Raymond. He had been holding her against him, as he had for most of the night. But now as he tried to rouse her, her arm slipped from his grasp and hung down to sway with the boat’s unsteady motion.
Then Allday was on his feet, his voice harsh as he called, “Mr Keen! See to the captain!” He scrambled aft, knocking men aside, ignoring all of them as he added, “Just do as I ask, sir!” Then he was by the tiller, his arms around both of them as he exclaimed, “Here, Captain! It’s no use! Let me take her,please! ” And as Bolitho started to struggle he called, “Hold him!” He turned his head, his voice breaking, “For God’s sake, Mr Keen!”
Only then did Keen understand. He gripped Bolitho around the shoulders while Jenner seized him from the opposite side. All he could say was, “I must do it, sir. I must. I can’t let you go.”
Allday gathered her up in his arms, feeling her hair blowing across his face as he carried her to the middle of the boat. Her body was still warm, but against his neck her face felt like ice.
He murmured to Miller, “The anchor, Jack.”
Miller nodded, as if like the rest he was struck dumb by what was happening. Their suffering, the discovery of land, it all meant nothing.
Bolitho shouted, “No!” And Allday heard his shoes slipping on the wet boards as the others held him there.
Gently, Allday slipped Bolitho’s coat from her body and held her above the gunwale, while Miller passed a bowline around her and attached it to the cutter’s anchor. No shark or scavenger would disturb her now.
She was so light she barely made a ripple as he slipped her into the water, and even as he watched he saw her pale shape fading into the depths, until it was gone altogether.
Then Allday went aft and stood in front of Bolitho, powerful against the paling sky.
He said wretchedly, “Use me as you will, Captain. But it was for the best.” He laid the coat beside him. “She’ll rest easy now.”
Bolitho reached out and gripped his hand. “I know.” He could barely see. “I know.”
Keen said heavily, “Man your oars.”
The boat began to move again, and as the frail daylight felt its way across the water Bolitho looked astern and said, “But for me she would not have been here.”
Keen replied quietly, “But for her, sir, none of us would have survived.”
Half an hour later the light laid bare the island, and close inshore, her awnings and sails very clear against the land, they sighted the Tempest.
But this time there was no cheering, and as they moved nearer, hearing the sudden excitement on board, the trill of calls and the sounds of a boat being lowered, they were cruelly aware of loss rather than survival.
A boat from Tempest reached them in minutes and took them in tow, her crew suddenly aware of the silence.
As Bolitho pulled himself up and through the entry port he was only dimly conscious of the pressing figures around and above him.
Only one face stood out, and as he gripped Herrick’s hand he was unable to speak, or to let go.
Herrick watched him anxiously. “You came all that way, sir? What…”
