To ease the child’s weight, Sarah lifted Sophia up on to the top of the rail, standing with her arms protectively around her.

Briggs patted a supporting stanchion reflectively.

‘Pity there aren’t bulwarks,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Proper bulwarks,’ repeated Briggs. ‘If a sea runs, these open rails can be dangerous for an experienced seaman, let alone a woman and a two-year-old child.’

‘If it’s too bad, we can stay in the cabin, as I have before,’ said Sarah. ‘And when we’re at sea, we’ll have Sophia on a safety line whenever she’s on deck.’

Briggs nodded at the recollection of his wife’s previous trips with him. Ten years before they had spent their honeymoon on a Mediterranean voyage, when he had commanded the schooner Forest King. She had enjoyed it so much that there had been other voyages during his captaincy of the Arthur and the Sea Foam. There was no danger in having a woman like Sarah aboard ship; rather, it was almost like having an extra crew member.

‘I must work,’ he said, excusing himself and moving forward to where the chief mate was supervising the loading.

Briggs felt the greatest satisfaction at the crew he had assembled, at signing Albert Richardson as first mate. They had sailed together before and Richardson was as complete a seaman as any Briggs had ever encountered: indeed, he had been surprised that Richardson had taken the voyage, qualified as he now was to be master of his own vessel. Briggs regarded it as a compliment, aware without conceit that Richardson thought of him as a good master and seaman and saw the trip as a qualification voyage, the last he would undergo before applying for his own command. And that was in little doubt, newly married as he was to Captain Winchester’s niece, Frances Spates.

Nearer the cargo, Briggs could detect the odour of the commercial alcohol and brought his hand to his face in an instinctive gesture of revulsion.