Pochin whispered, `We'll soon know now!'
Allday darted another glance at Onslow. For a moment he felt something like pity for him. He had been so long penned up in a ship he had known no other life but the ceaseless battle of the lower deck.
Captain Bolitho's voice broke into his thoughts, and when he looked aft again he saw him at the quarterdeck rail, his hands resting on the starboard carronade as he stared down at the assembled seamen.
'As most of you know by now, Mr. Evans the purser is dead. He was killed in his cabin a short while ago, without pity, and without reason.' He broke off as Herrick descended one of the ladders to speak to the first lieutenant. Then he continued in the same even tone, 'Every man will stand fast until the culprit has been taken!'
Pochin's scarred face was streaming with sweat. He said in a hoarse voice, ' 'E's got some 'opes! Every bastard in the ship 'ated the bloody purser!'
But no one responded or even gave him a glance. Every eye was on Vibart as he moved purposefully along the maindeck with Brock at his back.
Even the sound of sea and canvas seemed stilled, and as Vibart halted below the mainyard Allday could hear his heavy breathing and the squeak of his sword belt.
For a few seconds longer the awful suspense continued. Then, as Vibart ran his eye slowly around the watching faces; Brock stepped forward and lifted his cane.
'That's him, sir! That's the murderous curl'
The cane fell in a tight arc, and Allday reeled back, half stunned from the blow.
The weeks and months dropped away, and he was back on the cliff road with Brock lashing out at his face with the same cane while the other members of the press gang crowded round to watch. He could feel the blood stinging the corner of his mouth, and there seemed to be a great roaring in his ears. Voices were calling and shouting all around him, yet he felt unable to move or defend himself as Brock struck him once more across the neck with his cane. Vibart was staring at him, his eyes almost hidden by his brows as he watched Brock pull him from the mast and away from the other men.
Old Strachan croaked, "E was with mel 'E never done it, Mr. Vibart!'
At last Vibart seemed to find his voice. But his words were strangled, as if his body was so taut with insane anger that he could hardly get himself to speak.. `Silence, you stupid old fool!' He thrust the man aside. `Or I will take you, tool'
Some of the men had recovered from the first shock and now surged forward, pressed on by those -at the rear. Instantly there was a barked command from the quarterdeck, and a line of muskets rose above the rail. There was no doubting their intent, or the gleam in Sergeant Garwood's eyes.
Bolitho was still at one side of the rail, his figure dark against the pale sky. `Bring that man aft, Mr. Vibart!'
Old Strachan was muttering vaguely, "E was with me, I swear it!'
Brock pushed Allday towards the quarterdeck and snapped, `Were you, Strachan? All the time?'
Strachan was confused. `Well, all but a minute, Mr. Brockr Brock's voice was harsh. `It only takes a minute to kill a man!'
Allday made another effort to clear his dazed mind as he was pushed up a ladder and past the grim-faced marines. He felt like another person, someone on the outside untouched by the cruel reality of events. Even his limbs felt numb and beyond his control, and the cuts from Brock's cane had neither pain nor meaning. He saw Lieutenant Herrick watching him like a stranger, and beyond him Proby, the master, looked away, as if he could not bear to meet his eye.
Captain Bolitho seemed to appear from nowhere, and as they faced each other across three feet of deck Aiday heard him say, `John Allday, do you have anything to say?'
He had to move his numb lips several times before the words would come. `No, sir.' An insane voice seemed to cry from the depths of his soul. Tell himl Tell himl He tried again. `It wasn't me, sir.'
He tried to see beyond the shadow which hid the captain's face. He could see the lines at the comers of his mouth, a bead of sweat running from beneath the dark hair. But there was no reality. It was all a part of the same nightmare.
Bolitho said, `Do you recognise these?'
Someone held out a pair of small pistols, bright and evil looking in the sunlight.
Allday shook his head. `No, sir.'
'Or this?' Bolitho's voice was quite empty of emotion.
This time it was a knife, the tip broken off by the force of savage blows, its worn handle dark with congealed blood.
Allday stared. `It's mine, sir!' He clapped his hand to his belt, his fingers brushing against an empty sheath.
Bolitho said, `The pistols were found amongst your possessions below. Your knife was discovered beneath Mr. Evans' locker.' He paused to let the words sink in. `Where it was dropped after the struggle.'
Allday swayed. `I didn't do it, sir.' The words seemed to hang in his throat. `Why would I do such a thing?'
As if from a long way off he heard Vibart's harsh voice. `Let me run him up to the yard now, sir! It will give others of his sort something to think about with him dancing from a halter!'
Bolitho snapped, `I think you have said enough, Mr. Vibart!' He turned to Allday. `After your behaviour since you first came aboard, I had high hopes for you, Allday. Mr. Herrick has already spoken on your behalf, but on this occasion I can find no reason for leniency.' He paused. `Under the Articles of War I could have you hanged forthwith. As it is, I intend that you should be tried by court martial as soon as the opportunity arises.'
There was a low murmur of despair from the maindeck, and Allday knew that in everyone's eyes he was already a dead man.
Bolitho turned away. `Place him in irons, Mr. Vibart. But any unnecessary brutality will be answerable to me!'
Dazed, and stumbling like a drunken man, Aiday allowed himself to be led below.
Deep below the maindeck there were two tiny cells, each just large enough to contain one man. Allday watched dumbly as the rough manacles were snapped around his wrists and ankles, but only when the door was slammed and bolted behind him and he was left in total darkness did the true realisation close on him like a vice.
By the time the Phalarope returned to port, and a necessary number of officers was available for a court martial, no one would remember or even care if he was guilty or not. He would be used as an example to others. A dancing, kicking puppet on the end of a rope as he was hauled slowly to the mainyard to the accompaniment of a drum's mournful beat.
He smashed his fists against the door, and heard the sound echo and vibrate in the stillness of the hull. Again and again, until he could feel the blood running across his fingers and taste the angry tears on his lips.
But when he fell exhausted and gasping behind the door, there was nothing but silence.
The deep, empty silence of a tomb.
Lieutenant Herrick rested his shoulder against an empty hammock netting and stared moodily along the frigate's deserted decks. An hour of the middle watch had passed, and in the bright moonlight the sails and rigging gave off an eerie glow, like those of some phantom vessel.
Try as he might, he could not put the thought of Allday and the murdered purser from his mind. He should have been able to tell himself that it was over and done with. Just one more item in the log to be talked over for a time and then forgotten. Evans was dead, and his killer was penned. below in irons. That at least should be some small satisfaction to everybody. An undetected murderer, at large to terrorise the lower deck or to strike again, would have been far more to worry about.
He tried to picture Allday standing over that hideous corpse, crazed enough to rip at the man's body until it was hardly human, yet calmly able to steal a pair of pistols and secrete them in his own quarters. It did not make any sense at all, but Herrick knew that had it been anyone else but Allday he would never have questioned such evidence.
Just before coming on watch Herrick had made his way below to the darkened cells, and after sending the marine sentry to the top of the ladder, had opened the door and held a lantern
inside.
Allday had crouched against the opposite side, his hands shading his eyes from the light, his feet skidding in his own filth. Any disgust or anger Herrick may have -felt faded in that instant. He had expected loud denials of guilt, or dumb insolence. Instead there was only a pathetic attempt at pride.
He had asked quietly, `Have you anything more to tell me, Allday? I have not forgotten that you saved my life on the cliff. Perhaps if you tell me the full circumstances I will be able to do something to attract clemency on your behalf?'
Allday had made as if to brush his long hair from his eyes, and then looked down at the heavy manacles. In a barely controlled voice he had replied, 'I did not do it, Mr. Herrick. I cannot find a defence for something I did not dol'
'I see.' In the silence Herrick had heard the scampering rats, the strange, unknown creaks of a ship at sea. 'If you change your mind, I ...'
Allday had tried to step towards him and had fallen forward on Herrick's arm. For a few seconds Herrick had felt the touch of his bare skin, damp with fear, had smelt his despair, like the odour of death.
Allday had said thickly, `You don't believe me either! So what's the point?' His voice had gained some small inner strength. `Just leave me alone! For God's sake leave me alone!'
But as Herrick had been about to rebolt the door Allday had asked quietly, 'D'you think they'll send me home for court martial, sir?'
Herrick knew that the Navy would have other ideas. Justice was swift and final. But as he had stared at the heavy studded door he had heard himself reply, `Maybe they will. Why do you ask?'
The answer had been muffled, as if Allday had turned his face away. `I would like to see the green hills again. Just once. Even for a few minutes!'
The sadness and despair of those last words had dogged Herrick for the rest of the day, and now during his watch they were with him still.
'Damn!' He spoke aloud with sudden anger, and the two helmsmen jerked upright by the wheel as if he had struck them.
The senior man watched anxiously as Herrick walked towards the wheel and said quickly, `Full an' bye, sirl Course south by east!'
Herrick stared at him, and then at the. gently swinging compass card. Poor devils, he thought vaguely. Scared sick because I swore aloud.
A dark figure moved from the lee rail and walked slowly toward him. It was Proby, his heavy jowls glowing faintly from his short clay pipe.
Herrick said, `Can't you sleep, Mr. Proby? The breeze is slight but steady now. There'll be nothing for, ypy to attend to tonight'
The master sucked noisily at the stem. `It's the best time of the night, Mr. Herrick. You can look into the wind's eye and think about what you've done with your lifel'
Herrick looked sideways at Proby's crumpled features. In the pipe glow his face looked like a piece of weatherworn sculpture, but there was something reassuring about him all the same. Timeless, like the sea itself.
He said at length, 'Do you think we have heard the last of Evans' death?'
'Who can sayT Proby shifted on his flat feet. 'It takes time to clean such -a deed from a man's memory. Aye, it takes a long time.'
The pipe glow suddenly vanished in the palm of Proby's beefy hand, and he said tersely, 'The captain is on deck, Mr. Herrick!' Then in a louder, matter-of-fact tone he said, 'We should make a good landfall tomorrow if this wind holds. So I'll bid you good night, Mr. Herrick!'
Then he was gone, and Herrick moved towards the lee rail. From the comer of his eye he could see Bolitho standing straight against the weather rail, the moonlight sharp across his white shirt as he stared at the glittering reflections beyond the ship.
Bolitho had not left the quarterdeck for more than an hour at a time, and ever since Allday's arrest he had been seen by the taffrail, either pacing the deck or just staring out to sea, as he was now.
Earlier Herrick had overheard the master speaking to Quintal, the boatswain, and now as he watched Bolitho's motionless figure the words came back to him. Quintal had said in a hoarse whisper, 'I didn't know he felt like that about Evans. He seems fair troubled by it all!'
Old Proby had weighed his words before replying. 'It's the deed which bothers the captain, Mr. Quintal. He feels betrayed, that's what is wrong with him!'
Herrick saw Bolitho touch the scar on his forehead and then rub the tiredness from his eyes. Proby was right, he thought. He feels it more than we realise. Whatever any of us does, he shares it like his own burden.
Before he realised what he was doing, Herrick had crossed the deck to Bolitho's side. Instantly he regretted his action. He half expected Bolitho to turn and reprimand him, and even that might have been better than the complete silence. He said, The wind is holding well, sir. The master has prophesied a quick landfall.'
'I think I heard him.' Bolitho seemed to be deep in his own thoughts.
Herrick saw that the captain's shirt was dark with thrown spray and clung close to his body like another skin. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes, and Herrick could almost feel the inner torment which was keeping Bolitho on deck instead of the privacy of the cabin.
He said, 'Would you like me to call your servant, sir? Per haps a hot drink before you turn in for the night?'
Bolitho twisted round at the rail, his eyes bright in the moonlight. 'Spare me this small talk, Mr. Herrick! What is it which bothers you?'
Herrick swallowed hard and then blurted out, 'I have been speaking with Aliday, sir. I know it was wrong, but I feel partly responsible for him.'
Bolitho was watching him closely. 'Go on'
'He is one of my men, sir, and I think there may be more to what happened than we think.' He finished lamely, 'I know him better than most. He is not the sort to change.
Bolitho sighed. 'Only the stars never change, Mr. Herrick.'
Herrick said stubbornly, 'Even so, he may be innocent!'
'And you think this is important?' Bolitho sounded tired. 'You believe that the life of one man, a man almost certain to be found guilty, is worth consideration?'
'Well, as a matter of fact, I do, sir.' Herrick felt Bolitho's eyes fixed on his face in a cold stare. 'The authorities will not listen to half a story ..'
Bolitho shifted with sudden impatience. 'We are the authority out here, Mr. Herrick! And I will decide what is to be done!'
Herrick looked away. 'Yes, sir.'
'As it happens, I entirely agree with you.' Bolitho pushed the lock of hair back from his forehead, ignoring Herrick's open astonishment. 'But I just wanted to hear it from one other person!'
He became suddenly brisk. 'I think I will go below now, Mr. Herrick, without a hot drink. Tomorrow we will search for fresh water and attend to the matter of fighting a war.' He paused momentarily by the rail. 'I will also think about what you have said tonight. It may be important for all of us.'
Without another word he turned on his heel and descended the cabin stairway. Herrick stared after him, his jaw hanging open.
'Well, I'll be damned!' He shook his head and grinned.
'Well, I'll be double-damned!'
15
THE STORM BREAKS
Surprisingly the wind did hold, and twenty hours after Proby's prophecy the Phalarope's anchor splashed down into deep, clear water amidst a huddle of low, desolate islets.
Apart from lowering boats and filling them with water casks in readiness for the following morning, it was pointless to attempt a landing with night so close at hand, but at the first hint of daylight, long before the sun was able to burnish an edge to the horizon, the first boatloads of men grated up the narrow shelving beach of the nearest islet.
Bolitho climbed through the tangle of dark scrub at the top of the beach and stared round at the busy preparations behind him. The boats had already shoved off to collect more men, and the ones already landed were standing huddled together, as if conscious of the island's bleak inhospitality. One or two of the sailors were staggering like drunken revellers, their legs so used to the pitch and toss of a ship's deck
that the unfamiliar land destroyed their sense of balance.
Petty officers bawled orders and checked their lists of names, and as the next batch of men arrived to join the swelling mass of sailors at the water's edge the first parties picked up their casks and tools and began to stumble inland.
Lieutenant Okes appeared on the ridge and touched his hat. `All working parties ready, sir.' He looked harassed.
Bolitho nodded. `You have your orders, Mr. Okes. Just follow the rough map I made for you and you should find fresh water without difficulty. Keep the men moving fast before the sun comes up. You'll need every available man to carry the full casks down to the beach, so see they don't wander off.'
He saw Trevenen, the cooper, scurrying ahead of another party accompanied by Ledward, the carpenter, the latter ever hopeful of replenishing his stock of spare timber. He'd not find much here, Bolitho thought grimly. These islets were useless and left well alone, but for occasional fresh-water parties. Underfoot the ground was hidden by layer upon layer of rotten vegetation, its heavy stench well mixed with seagull droppings and small bright patches of fungus. Further inland there were a few hump-backed hills, from the top of which a man could see the sea in every direction.
Okes walked off after his men, and Bolitho caught sight of Farquhar's slim figure outlined against the green scrub, before he too vanished over the far side of the ridge. Bolitho had deliberately ordered the midshipman to join Okes in command of the main party. It would do them both good to work together, if only to break down the strange air of watchful tension between them. It seemed as if Farquhar was playing some sort of game with Okes. Ever since his escape from the Andiron Farquhar had made a point of not speaking to Okes, but his presence alone seemed more than enough to reduce the lieutenant to a state of permanent agitation.
Okes had acted hastily during the retreat from Mola Island, but unless he made an open admission there was. little point in pursuing the matter, Bolitho thought. He could sympathise with Farquhar, and wondered what he himself might have done under the same set of circumstances. Farquhar's built-in sense of caution had obviously taught him that there was more to a career than gaining petty triumphs. Also his breeding, the security of a powerful family, as well as his own selfconfidence, gave him the ability to bide his time.
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