ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

Allday saw the captain speaking with Lieutenant Herrick and the boatswain, and watched as Bolitho shook his head at something one of them had said. It might have been anger or disbelief. It was impossible to tell.

Vibart had realised that the search was over, and moved slowly aft, his hands pushing the silent men aside like reeds, his red-rimmed eyes fixed on the little group behind the marines.

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.'