Bolitho came aft and touched his hat. 'The people are mustered and armed, sir.'

Sparke handed him a scribbled note. 'Estimated course to steer. Mr Bunce has allowed for the schooner's drift and the strength of the current.' He looked at the captain. 'I'll be away, sir.'

Pears said, 'Carry on, Mr Sparke.' He was going to add good luck, but set against Sparke's severe features it- seemed superfluous.

He did say to Bolitho, however, 'Do not get lost, sir. I'll not

hunt around Massachusetts Bay for a year?'

Bolitho smiled. 'I will do my best, sir.'

As he ran down to the entry port, Pears said to Cairns,

'Young rascal.'

But Cairns was watching the pitching boats alongside, already filled with men and waiting for Sparke and Bolitho to take them clear of their ship. His heart was with them. It did him no good to realize that the captain's decision had probably been the right one.

Pears watched the black hulls turning end on, the confused

splash and thud of oars suddenly picking up the stroke and

taking them deeper into the wet, enveloping mist.

'Double the watch on deck, Mr Cairns. Have swivels loaded

and set to withstand any boarding attempt on ourselves.' 'What will you do now, sir?'

Pears looked up at his ship's strength. Each sail was either furled or motionless, and Trojan herself was paying off to the current, rolling deeply on a steady swell.

'Do?' He yawned. 'I am going to eat.'

Bolitho stood up in the sternsheets and gripped Stockdale's shoulder while he found his balance. Through the man's checkered shirt his muscles felt like warm timber.

The mist swirled into the boat, clinging to their arms and face, making their hair glisten as if with frost.

Bolitho listened to the steady, unhurried pull of the oars. No sense in urgency. Save the strength for later.