For a moment it seemed as though the First Mate was about to strike him down, and Halfhyde clenched his fists in readiness for a fight. He would give as good as he got; Bullock knew this—he’d not forgotten the damaged hand he’d collected when Halfhyde had first reported aboard in Liverpool. Scowling, the First Mate handed over the watch and then, after a long look aloft at the set of the canvas, went down the ladder to the saloon. Halfhyde could hear his harsh voice coming up through the skylight as he greeted Miss McRafferty. Halfhyde turned away and began pacing the poop, hands behind his back, aware of the surly manner of the man at the wheel. That man would have overheard all that had been said, and it would go back to the fo’c’sle the moment he was relieved that the First Mate had no more time for the Second than the crew had. Nevertheless, it was pleasant enough to be once again in charge of a watch, to feel that all depended on himself, his eye and his quick judgement. Pacing, Halfhyde’s mind went back to his days in the Queen’s service—his active days: he was not forgetful of the fact that he was still on the half-pay list as a lieutenant and that one day he might be recalled to serve again on full pay afloat in a man-of-war, though the chances of another command might now be much less. Their Lordships of the Admiralty tended to have long memories, and if they had not, then they would quickly be reminded by senior officers of the fleet that Lieutenant Halfhyde had in his past cocked a snook or two at higher authorities.
THE AYSGARTH FALLS backed her tops’ls to lie off the port of Iquique shortly after dawn on a brilliant, clear morning. McRafferty was on the poop with Bullock and Halfhyde as the flag signal for a pilot was hoisted. McRafferty was looking thoughtful and anxious; Bullock’s face had a half smile on it and once again there was the strong impression that to some extent McRafferty was in pawn to his First Mate. One of McRafferty’s problems was, it appeared, the disposal of the man Float. McRafferty was disinclined to hand over any British subject, murderer or not, to what he called dagoes, a word that brought back to Halfhyde many memories of Captain Watkiss, Royal Navy, who had referred to all foreigners of whatever complexion as dagoes—even the Chinese had been dagoes to the strutting pomposity of Captain Watkiss. Bullock’s view was that McRafferty should be guided by the advice of his agent in Iquique, a Scot by the name of Mackinnon, who would come off with the pilot and the representatives of the Chilean port authorities.
“The dagoes’ll demand my log, Mr Bullock. Then it’ll be out of Mackinnon’s hands.”
Bullock shrugged. “We should wait and see, sir. We must take what comes on that point. Float’s scum. We have other concerns that must not be forgotten.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right.” Captain McRafferty walked to the fore rail of the poop, gesturing the other two to follow him out of earshot of the helmsman. Then he addressed Halfhyde, sounding formal. “I am taking a passenger on to Sydney, Mr Halfhyde.” He didn’t want Bullock to know he had already spoken of this to Halfhyde. “This is not being arranged through my agent. No mention of a passenger is to be made in Mr Mackinnon’s hearing, do you understand?”
Halfhyde nodded. “Yes, sir. You may depend upon my discretion.”
“And your obedience,” Bullock said before McRafferty could speak again. “Do you understand that as well, eh?”
Halfhyde glanced at McRafferty; the Captain seemed ill-at-ease and muttered that Bullock need not concern himself about Halfhyde’s obedience. Bullock disagreed. He said roughly, “That’s all very well, Captain. He must be warned, now he’s been told—”
“He had to know, Mr Bullock, he had to know.”
“Well, that’s as maybe and you could be right, I’ll agree. But he’ll have to toe the line when we make Sydney. If he doesn’t, he’ll have me to reckon with. I just wanted him to know that for sure. I’m not an easy man. Got that, Mister Halfhyde?”
Halfhyde answered coolly. “I shall, of course, obey any order from the Captain, Mr Bullock.”
“And from me.” There was steel in Bullock’s voice and as his hand moved inside his pea-jacket Halfhyde saw the muzzle of a small revolver staring him in the face.
THE PILOT and a number of officials came off with a smoke-belching steam tug and the Aysgarth Falls, with her sails furled, was taken inwards to the anchorage, where under Bullock’s directions an anchor was let go in a cloud of reddish dust from the windlass. Mackinnon, the agent, a small sandy man with a freckled face, chatted with McRafferty on the poop and when the ship had got her cable the two men went below to the saloon accompanied by Bullock to deal with the port officials. Halfhyde was left to see to the clearing up of the decks and the overhauling of the running gear; and to deal with the bumboats that came off from the shore and clustered around the accommodation-ladder and below the bulwarks, offering wares of all kinds from fruit and articles of clothing to the services of women who for a price would be made available to the crew the moment they were permitted shore leave.
“Bloody likely,” old Finney called down. “There won’t be no shore leave, not if I knows the Old Man. ’Arf of us’d desert, or so ’e thinks, then ’e’d ’ave to ’ang around till ’e could get a new crew shanghaied aboard.” Finney spat into the water. “Why I ever went to sea, Gawd knows.”
Halfhyde happened to be alongside him. “You know very well
