I flattened down the clothes, dropped Bouncer in, then put the letters, silhouette and boat back in too. If the chest did reach the shore, maybe someone would return these possessions to Ben’s family?

  We lowered the chest into the sea and watched the waves carry it away.

  ‘Let’s be away ourselves,’ said Silas. By now the Miranda was listing badly, and the larboard side of the quarterdeck was almost level with the sea. All three of us dragged over our piece of yardarm, and prepared to launch ourselves into the chilly water. Then, among the few frantic souls still aboard the ship, I noticed Robert Neville, standing as best he could on the sloping quarterdeck.

  ‘Mr Neville, are you not leaving the ship?’ I yelled in astonishment.

  ‘Never was a great one for the water, Witchall,’ he replied. Then his composure cracked a little. ‘Sam, I can’t swim. I’m going to stay here until the storm abates, and take my chances then.’

  Silas joined us. ‘Bollocks to that,’ he said. ‘This ship is breaking up. You’re coming with us.’ With that, he frogmarched the young midshipman down the sloping deck and over to the side of the ship.

  And so all four of us slid into the sea and began kicking our legs in the water for all we were worth. I expected it to be extremely chilly, but we were so cold already, it made little difference to us. The last thing I saw on deck was Lieutenant Middlewych trying to persuade some drunken sailors to take their chances in the water. My heart went out to him. He was doing his duty to the end, and I was sure he would not leave the ship until the last man had gone. I hoped in my heart we would see him again, safe on land.

  Through driving rain, the silhouette of the rocky shore bobbed in and out of view. Our clothes weighed heavy on our weary limbs, and each exertion required considerable effort. Robert was close to panic. His grip kept slipping from the rope wrapped around the yard. Richard and I did our best to grab hold of him and return him, coughing and spluttering, to the surface.

  As we drifted in the waves, hurled high and low in great troughs of water, a strong current picked us up and carried us along the coast. Silas shouted, ‘Just hold on for dear life, lads. Maybe this will carry us to a more friendly-looking shore?’

  Then a huge wave crashed down upon us, and I was snatched away from the yardarm and swept beneath the water . . . As I sank deeper my ears began to ache and I was gripped by a fierce terror. The wave had caught me so completely by surprise, I had not even filled my lungs before I went under. Now my chest was aching desperately for air. Almost by instinct, I found myself gulping down great lungfuls of water. So was this what it was like to drown? I flailed beneath the sea, trying to move my legs and arms hard enough to propel me to the surface. But in those dark waters I did not even know which way was up and which was down.

  The strength was fast leaving my limbs. Panic subsided and a strange stillness overtook me. I surrendered myself to death and felt at peace with the world. In my mind’s eye I saw myself as a young child, snug with my brother between my mother and father, safe and sound in my parents’ bed.

  Then, an undercurrent thrust me unexpectedly to the surface, and there I was again, back in the world of the living – spluttering for air and coughing up huge salty globs of mucus and sea water. Ahead of me was a broken rail from the Miranda’s quarterdeck, and I grabbed at it, clinging on for dear life. My head spun as I felt sick and dizzy. Maybe twenty yards in front of me, I could glimpse Silas and the two boys still clinging on to their yardarm. Richard was shouting, almost in a frenzy, and looking around desperately. His shrieks carried across the waves. ‘SAAAMM!!!! SAAAAMMM!!!’ When I reached the crest of a wave I shouted and shouted, and waved one hand until they spotted me. I kicked my legs hard in the water until I managed to rejoin them.

  By now we had been in the water perhaps twenty minutes, and I was so cold I could barely manage to maintain my grip on the wooden rail. But the shore was looming out of the darkness, and salvation was at hand.

  ‘Come on, you bastards!’ said Silas. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  Spluttering through the spray, we gained strength as the shore grew closer. Then, all of a sudden, I felt rough pebbles beneath my feet. It was my first touch of solid ground in six months.

  ‘We’re almost there!’ I shouted. Then a large wave crashed into my back and threw me face down into the water. I struggled to my feet and broke surface, gasping for air. Just at that moment the backwash caught me and carried me out to sea. As I was thrown back I caught a glimpse of the dark outlines of the other three, now only waist deep in the water and wading towards the beach. Again, panic seized me. Don’t let me die now, please, God. Not when I’m so near to the shore.

  Before I was swept under I cried out, and one of the silhouettes turned and began to swim back towards me. ‘Hold on, Sam! Hold on!’ a voice called urgently. It was Richard. As he half-swam, half-waded out to me, another wave picked me up and thrust me nearer to the shore. Now I was so weak I could barely force my frozen limbs to fight against the motion of the tide. Richard grabbed my arm and held me firm as the outgoing water tried to tug me back into the dark sea and certain death.

  We staggered out of the water, plodding through the surf, wet clothes dragging us down, and on to the soft wet sand of the beach. We lay there panting for five minutes or more, like gasping fish flailing on the deck of a fishing vessel. But, far from writhing in our death throes, we rolled around in triumph.

  ‘We did it!’ we shrieked, scarcely believing we had reached dry land.

  Up from the beach we could see the lights of a village. We stumbled up the cliff path to the church and banged on the door of the vicarage. A small man wearing spectacles opened the door. He stared in mute astonishment at the four bedraggled figures standing before him. Robert Neville reasserted his authority.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said with ridiculous formality for a boy who looked like a drowned rat. ‘I am the Honourable Robert Neville, and these are my shipmates from His Majesty’s ship Miranda – shipwrecked just now close to Lizard Point. Would you be so kind as to take us in and provide a little warmth and a change of clothing?’

  The parson raised his eyebrows. ‘This is the village of Pentherick, young sir. It is in fact some thirty miles further east of Lizard Point.’ We were all astounded by how much further the storm had swept us up the coast.

  Our parson was a helpful fellow – or rather, he knew just the people who would help us. I stared past his shoulder with some longing at the blazing fire inside his house, but rather than ask us in he took us at once to the local inn. It was called the Royal Oak. The landlord, he explained on the way, was an old sea salt, who would be pleased to provide for us. Sure enough, our clothes were taken off to dry, and fresh ones provided. They were ill-fitting, but who could possibly grumble? The landlord told us he would gladly provide food, lodging and ale, but would most certainly prevail upon us to tell our extraordinary tale. It seemed a fair exchange.

  Chapter 14

  Uncertain Future

  Later that evening, when the crowd of excited listeners had drifted away to their homes or other corners and rooms, we sat around the tavern fire. The landlord brought Silas, Robert, Richard and me thick roast beef sandwiches covered with horseradish sauce, and tankards of ale. In that moment I felt a rush of pure joy. I had gone away to sea, faced terrible perils, and survived. Here I was now, with fine food and drink, surrounded by my friends.

  Silas turned and spoke directly to me. ‘What now, Sam? You could just vanish into the night with me, and never set foot on a Navy ship again. The storm’s blown itself out now, so let’s make hay . . . the Navy wouldn’t come looking for us – they’d assume we were drowned.’

  Robert looked embarrassed, and took a great interest in the darkened view out of the window. We all knew he would not be reporting this conversation to anyone – he owed us all too much.

  I pictured the scene in my head. News of the shipwreck would reach my parents. My mother would be consumed with grief. My father would burn with anger. Then – what an entrance – a few days later I would return up the garden path, rattle the knocker, and they would think they were seeing a ghost. It would be a blissful moment!

  I looked at Richard and Robert. They would certainly be returning to the nearest Royal Dockyard, which would be Plymouth, a day or so’s coachride from here.

  Silas broke into my chain of thought. ‘Well, Sam? Are you coming?’

  ‘I don’t know, Silas. Don’t think I haven’t considered it . . .’ I replied. ‘But I need to sleep on it.’

  Silas was determined to make the best of his opportunity. This was as good a time as any. He had dry clothes, and a full belly. ‘Word will have reached Plymouth that the Miranda’s been wrecked. The telegraph stations will convey the news to Portsmouth and the Admiralty by the end of the day . . . I’ll be off before any pressmen or marines come snooping. I bid you all farewell.’

  Robert chipped in, wary but resigned. ‘I shall report you swept away to sea during the shipwreck. Mind that you change your name though, Mr Warandel. I wish you good luck.’

  As Silas rose from his seat I rushed forward to hug him. I felt a great rush of affection for this weather-beaten sea dog. We were all survivors and now he was going to take back the life he’d had snatched away from him.

  ‘You’re a good lad, Sam,’ he said as he hugged me back, then he was gone.

  After Silas left, Richard went to the bar to fetch the three of us another round of ale. The drink was much stronger than the watered-down beer we were given on the Miranda. I began to feel quite woozy, and stared into the fire. While Richard and Robert talked, I thought of my family and Rosie, and wondered when I would ever see them again.

  A sharp rapping made me look away from the fire, and up to the tavern window. Maybe Bouncer was out there – unaccustomed to solid earth and vegetation – making his way towards lights, human conversation and the smell of roasting meat. Perhaps, any minute, he would leap up to the sill, and begin scratching at the window.

  * * *

  The next morning I rose early. The sensation of being alone in a room was foreign to me. Although I had slept solidly, it was an odd feeling to be in a bed that did not roll with the swell of the sea. Downstairs I found Richard and Robert sitting around a table in the bar, eating eggs and bacon.

  A plate arrived for me, along with a mug of tea. A piping hot egg with a runny yolk. Crispy rind on salty bacon. A slice of fresh bread with fresh butter. After months of rancid butter on hard biscuit, lukewarm slop and brackish water, it tasted so marvellous that I doubted that King George himself were eating a better breakfast.

  Robert spoke first. ‘We didn’t really expect to see you this morning.’

  Then Richard. ‘So, Sam, are you heading for the hills? Is it the outlaw life for you?’

  He made it sound like a great adventure.

  Robert said, ‘You could still get away, if you go this morning. But news of a shipwreck travels quickly. Wait until this afternoon, and you’re asking for trouble.’

  I was touched that he was urging me to go. I was still undecided.

  Then Richard spoke up. ‘After breakfast, let’s walk down to the coast, and see if we can spot what’s left of the Miranda. Come on, Sam. Come and bid a final farewell to your ship.’

  The idea appealed to me. ‘Yes, I’ll do that. And maybe we can look for Ben’s sea chest along the shoreline?’

  Our generous landlord provided us with three warm coats, and we ventured out into a stark February morning. We wandered a half mile along the coastal path before the Miranda came into view. From where we stood on a cliff top, which sloped down to a drab pebble beach, we could see the pitiful state the ship was in. The masts and bowsprit were gone, and the wreck of the ship lay floundering in the low tide, with only the bow still well clear of the water.

  Robert put a hand around my shoulder and spoke. ‘Sam, you and Mr Warandel were right to drag me away. I shall always be grateful to you . . .’

  I felt embarrassed by this unaccustomed show of affection. I could not think of anything appropriate to say.

  ‘Well, Mr Neville – I’m sure we’d have attempted to rescue anyone we saw on the deck.’

  ‘Even Lewis Tuck?’ said Richard.

  We all laughed.

  ‘No, not him. Do either of you know whether he survived the battle?’ I asked.

  Richard spoke up. ‘I saw him impaled with a boarding pike, just as the Spanish swept on to our deck. He was right there on the rail – balanced on the edge of the ship. As he fell into the sea, a shark popped its head out of the water and made off with him tight between its jaws.’

  I was astounded. What a fate!

  ‘No?’ I gasped.

  ‘No, Sam. I’m afraid not. Tuck was taken off to the Gerona.’

  I didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed.

  We walked on. Soon we came to a stretch of beach where debris from the shipwreck had been brought in by the tide. Here was the tangled mess of the mizzen-mast, there was the bowsprit. Bits and pieces of the ship lay scattered all around. A few bodies too lay bobbing in the surf at the water’s edge.

  We made our way down the cliff and wandered among the wreckage. Amid this destruction, I began to feel guilty wishing my enemy Lewis Tuck dead. Whenever we came to a body we would drag it out of the water by the arms and turn it over away from the water line. We recognised them all of course, apart from a couple of the Spanish prisoners, but none were men I knew well.

  ‘No sign of Ben’s chest here, Sam,’ said Richard. ‘D’you want to look over at the next cove? There’s bound to be some more debris there.’

  I wasn’t so sure. I did not want to waste precious time in Pentherick if I was going to vanish into the countryside and hope the naval authorities took me for dead. I hesitated.

  ‘Let’s get back, then,’ said Richard. ‘Come on, Sam. If you’re going, you better go soon before a squad of marines turns up in the village looking for those Spanish sailors.’

  I thought of Bouncer, trapped in that tea chest, his pathetic mewing lost in the wind of an empty beach. The tide was out sufficiently far for it to be possible to reach the next cove without returning up the cliffs.

  ‘I’ll just have a look over here,’ I shouted, and ran quickly round the jagged rocks at the edge of the shoreline and on to the next beach.

  It was a forlorn place, a great expanse of grey sand, grey sea and grey sky, deserted save for a few remnants washed ashore from the ship, and a scattering of bodies on the shoreline. I hurriedly began to search among the objects on the beach. But several I thought that might be boxes turned out to be rocks.

  After a while, Richard appeared at the edge of the cove, and attracted my attention by whistling. His voice drifted across the empty beach, half-drowned by the crashing of the waves.

  ‘Here, come on, Sam. We’re going back to the Royal Oak.’

  I waved and yelled, ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  Fighting back my fear that I was running out of time, I began to search more desperately. Perhaps I should try further up the coast? But then the low sun poked out from the clouds and a watery light spread over the sand. At that moment my eye alighted on a sharp, dark shape in the middle distance that I had hitherto thought to be a rock. In the sunlight I could see its texture more clearly. It was a small wooden chest. I ran closer. It had been tipped on one edge and was half buried in the wet sand. There on its side in fading black ink were the words ‘Benjamin Lovett’. I pulled it out and placed it upright. An agitated mewl came from within. I flipped back the latch and there was Bouncer, shivering in three or four inches of water, drenched and miserable, but still alive. He sprang out, ran three or four times round in a circle, shook his fur, then padded back to me. He looked up with what I took to be some indignation. ‘Meoowwww?’ he complained. I picked him up and nestled him inside my coat.

  Inside the chest, Ben’s letters and the silhouette of his wife were a soggy, waterlogged mess. But his model boat was still intact. I picked it up and ran back to the neighbouring beach.

  ‘Hey! Come and look at this!’ I shouted to Richard and Robert – now receding figures in the distance. My voice carried in the wind, and they stopped and turned round.

  I ran towards them, gripping Bouncer tightly in my coat. When I reached my friends he poked his head out of my coat and gave another meow. Robert grinned.

  ‘Well done, Sam. Perseverance wins the day.’

  Then I held up Ben’s boat. ‘This was for his son,’ I said.

  Robert took it from me. ‘Let me pay to have it delivered to him,’ he said firmly. ‘Perhaps you could write a letter for the lad and Mr Lovett’s wife, to go with the parcel?’

  Before we turned back from the beach I took a long final look at the wreck of the Miranda. I thought especially of my Sea Daddy Ben, lying on the ocean floor five miles off the coast of Spain. I couldn’t bear to think of him at the bottom of the sea, his bones picked clean by scavenging sea creatures. Instead I tried to picture him there with a tankard of fine ale, a garland of seaweed and a brace of bonny mermaids for company.

  By now it was mid-morning. I had still not decided what to do. Should I stay or should I go?

  ‘We’re heading for Plymouth,’ said Robert. ‘From there, they’ll probably send us back to Portsmouth and a new ship.’

  If I was going to escape, I had to go now. The prospect of returning to the comforts of my home and family, wooing Rosie, and escaping from the tyranny of the Navy all filled my imagination like a wondrous vision. But even if I did get away, what then? First of all, I had to get myself home. I was wearing clothes kindly lent to me by the Royal Oak landlord, and I couldn’t bring myself to steal them. And I had a rich brown skin that marked me out at once as a sailor away from the sea. That would fade soon enough, but then what? I would live the rest of my life as a fugitive and an impostor. If I returned home, news would surely get back to the authorities. But it was not just the threat of capture and a certain flogging that held me back. The loss of my ship grieved me and I knew now that the sea was in my bones. Aboard the Miranda, I had found friends and comrades for whom I felt a fierce loyalty. Two of them were with me now.