What about other creatures? Were there people here? He scanned the beaches around the lagoon, and the undergrowth beyond, looking for any sign of habitation. He saw no one.

  But that did not mean that they were not there.

  A heavy clap on his shoulder almost knocked him to the ground. It was Marius. His eyes were wide.

  ‘This is the place, hey? You were right. We got here.’

  ‘But can we leave it again?’ Jobe asked. He gestured to the ship, sprawled over near the mouth of the bay, and then to the crew spread out on the beach among the flotsam. Now that the initial joy of survival had passed, anger had begun to dawn on their faces as they considered the extent of their disaster.

  Without a word, they drew together and fell in behind Ratray. Ralph, Marius and Jobe turned to face them, while Ann and Harry sheltered behind the three men. Even in the tumult of the shipwreck, several of the sailors had kept hold of their knives. Others carried pieces of driftwood or stones that they had picked up.

  We have not been here a quarter of an hour, and already we are nearly at war, Ralph thought to himself.

  Ralph had wanted this to be a new beginning, a blank slate where he could make himself anew, where he could begin to build the glorious future that he had always imagined. Instead, the violence that had cursed his life had followed him again.

  One day, he thought, there will be no more violence.

  But not today, he admitted.

  He turned to face Ratray and the remnants of the Farewell’s crew.

  ‘We must gather up everything we can,’ he said, before Ratray could speak. ‘Any tools or provisions that can be salvaged. I will need a crew to take the longboat back to the ship and see what is left in her hold.’

  The crew stared at him incredulously.

  ‘Who said you would give the orders?’ Ratray asked.

  ‘I am the man who saved your lives.’

  ‘You killed Captain Conway and you damn near done for the rest of us, too.’ Ratray’s voice rose with anger. ‘I say you’re the last man to be in command.’

  ‘I am sorry about Conway,’ said Ralph. ‘He deserved a better fate. It was no one’s fault that the ship dragged her anchor. Once we were trapped on a lee shore, our only chance of survival was to run aground in sheltered water. Otherwise, we would have been dashed to pieces.’

  He looked past Ratray, fixing his gaze on the men behind him. They were a mixed crew: English, Irish, Dutch, Portuguese; lascars from the Malabar coast of India and black Swahili-speakers from East Africa. But across thirteen different faces, the look in their eyes was the same. They were weary, hungry, and frightened. They did not have the energy to fight.

  ‘You know I did the best that could have been done,’ said Ralph. ‘You may judge my character from my actions.’

  He saw some of the men back off. They were sailors; they understood the treacherous nature of the sea. In Ralph they recognised someone with the strength that was needed to fight it.

  Ratray felt the mood shift, too. He changed his angle of attack. ‘Who says we should have a leader anyways? Ship’s gone, and for sure we’ll never see another penny in wages. I say we go our own ways, each man as he pleases.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Ralph. ‘I cannot compel any man to follow me. But you know how serious our position is.’ He pointed to the wreck of the Farewell. ‘She is almost beyond repair. No one knows where we were bound – no one knows that this place even exists. Overland, Cape Colony is five hundred miles away through an inhospitable country filled with dangerous tribes.’

  He paused, letting the men think on what he had said.

  ‘Our only hope is to build a ship from the remnants of the Farewell. We will launch her and sail her back to Port Elizabeth.’ He saw some of the men staring at the wreckage on the beach, wondering how they could ever piece it together. Better not to let them dwell on that now, Ralph thought as he pressed ahead with his speech: ‘And when we go, it will not be with an empty hold.’

  He raised his voice. ‘I came here to make my fortune. I have not changed my plan. By all reports, the country is virgin land, ripe for the taking. If I can salvage powder and shot from the ship, I will do what I intended and bring back enough ivory to make us all rich men. If you make me a new ship, every man who joins me will take a one twentieth share of our profit.’

  For a moment, greed drove away the aftermath of the tragedy the men had suffered just a few hours earlier. On a normal voyage, a sailor would be lucky to get a fraction of one per cent. Even a captain would earn little more than a tenth of the profits.

  ‘That’s a pirate’s share,’ a voice called.

  The men laughed; Ralph joined in, though his humour was forced. If he honoured his word, he had just promised away more than half his profits. The happy future that had been almost within his grasp had now receded.

  I need them to build a new boat. There will be nothing at all if we do not escape from here.

  Only one man stayed stony-faced. Ratray had listened to Ralph in silence. He took a step forward. His fingers touched the haft of his knife.

  ‘You may gull some of us with your talk of riches,’ he said. ‘But even if every word you say is true, how long will it be before you have your new ship? Six months?’

  ‘More likely a year,’ said Ralph. ‘Maybe more.’

  Ratray spat on the ground. ‘I say we’ll not survive two weeks here. Either we starve, or a troop of blackies will come and slaughter us all.’

  ‘What do you propose instead?’

  ‘Take the longboat. Sail her to the Portuguese at Delagoa Bay.’

  ‘That is almost as far as Port Elizabeth.’

  ‘I will take my chances. And you all’ – he circled round, looking at the crew – ‘would do well to join me if you value your lives.’

  Ralph could see the men were tempted. Again, he felt his fate hanging in the balance. He would not mourn the loss of Ratray, but if too many of the others joined, he would not have the hands he needed to build his ship.

  He picked up a piece of wood and drew a sharp line in the sand between him and Ratray.

  ‘You have a clear choice,’ he told the men. ‘Anyone who wants to take his chances in the longboat, stay where you are. But if you will trust to your wits and courage and throw in your fortune with me, step over the line.’

  Had he misjudged it? He watched the crew’s faces, riven with fear and uncertainty. Some glanced at the longboat, others at the waves breaking over the wreck of the Farewell. It was an impossible choice, likely to end in death either way. Why should they trust him over their own shipmate?

  One of the men came forward. He shuffled past Ratray, scuffing his feet on the sand. Ratray growled as he stepped over the line.

  ‘You always were a sneak, Marsden.’

  The man shrugged. ‘I’d rather die trying to get rich, than starve in an open boat.’

  His words had a motivating effect. Two more men followed him across the line. Ralph saw more wavering. Ratray’s face went deep red.

  ‘This is mutiny,’ he barked.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Ralph. ‘You said it yourself, the ship is lost and the bonds of discipline no longer apply. Every man is free to make up his own mind.’

  Five more men came over. Now that Ralph had the weight of numbers, two others followed.

  Ratray was left with three men. His closest messmates, Ralph guessed. They looked about uncertainly, weighing their choice.

  Loyalty won – or perhaps it was fear. They planted their feet in the sand and folded their arms.

  ‘Very well,’ said Ralph. ‘We will keep the longboats until we have salvaged what we can from the ship. The food we find, we will share equally, but you can take the water casks. There will be plenty of water here.’

  He turned to Marius. ‘Get a party to gather everything that has washed ashore. We will need spars and canvas to make shelters. Jobe, take two men and explore our surroundings. See if we are truly alone.’

  ‘And you?’ Jobe asked.

  ‘I will return to the ship and see what gems can be prised out of her crown.’

  Boarding the Farewell meant entering a world of topsy-turvy. The ship’s side was her roof, and the deck had become an almost vertical wall, with a window where the main hatch led in. Inside, shafts of light shone through the holes that had been smashed in the hull. Waves washed through the wreck, while pieces of flotsam bumped and thudded against the timbers.

  The ladder had been ripped away. Ralph lowered himself slowly through the hatch, feeling his way with his feet. Even when he dangled by his fingertips he did not touch solid wood. He would have to chance it.

  He let go and landed with a splash on the side of the ship, which had now become her bottom. He felt sand under his toes as the water closed back around his chest; the water was deep but not too deep.

  A face appeared in the hatch above. It was Marsden, the seaman who had been the first of the sailors to cross the line and who had come with Ralph in the longboat.

  ‘Throw down a rope,’ Ralph called.

  The line sailed down. Ralph wrapped it around his waist and began breasting through the flooded hold. Much of the cargo had been washed away; some boxes had broken open and scattered their contents on the sea floor. Any food that was left would have been spoiled. The rice they carried had swollen and split the barrels and now floated on the water like a scattering of snow.

  If any cargo had survived intact it could be retrieved later. For the moment, Ralph had a more immediate goal. He worked his way steadily aft, weaving through the debris. Further back, the hold had been divided into a series of tiny storerooms whose bulkheads had mostly survived. Ralph had to tug hard to open the doors in the sodden timbers. He found the sailmaker’s locker, then the rope store. He marked them for later, but they were not what he was looking for.

  A puff of sawdust blew out as he forced open the next door. The carpenter’s store. To his relief the tools were all there. Saws, hammers, chisels, planes and drills. At that moment, they were more valuable than any quantity of food. They were the key to building a new ship that would let them escape with whatever treasures they might find.

  There was one thing more precious still. It was behind the last door in the ship’s stern. A heavy padlock fastened the door, and the timbers were fixed with copper nails that would not strike sparks.

  The key to the lock could be anywhere on the seabed. Ralph took a hammer from the carpenter’s store and pounded the door until it broke off its hinges. Inside were dozens of small casks, and a few large chests. The casks had been stored in racks on the walls; some had broken free and cracked, but several remained in place, held out of the water by the shelving. The acrid smell of sulphur filled the air.

  Ralph waded through the water. He carried the casks of powder back to the hatch one by one, holding them above his head and passing them up to Marsden.

  ‘Do we have guns?’ the boatswain asked.

  The Farewell had carried no cannon, but Ralph found three rifles and a pair of pistols in an iron-bound chest in the magazine. Those went up to Marsden, too, together with a leather bag of birdshot, a quantity of lead, bullet moulds and some damp cartridge paper. Then the carpenter’s tools, some nails and a few scraps of sailcloth. There was a barrel of rum, still sealed, but Ralph left it where it was. He did not want to put temptation in front of the crew.

  He was about to leave the hold when he saw something he had missed. A book, limp with water damage, caught in a nest of splinters on the underside of the deck. He would never have seen it if it had not splayed open, revealing a flash of white paper.

  The Farewell’s crew were not educated men. So far as he knew, there had been only one book aboard, besides the ship’s log: the volume he had seen Ann reading on deck so many times.

  It was out of reach, and there was no pressing reason to salvage it. Yet he had seen the way Ann gripped the book, almost with reverence, the crease of concentration in her brow as she squinted against the bright sunlight, and the smile that curled at the corners of her mouth.

  He jumped for the book. His fingers touched it, but it was caught so tight in the broken wood that it did not move.

  You are wasting your time, he told himself.

  He eyed the thick beams that supported the deck. With the ship on her side, they stood almost upright like tree trunks. The hooks for slinging hammocks protruded, undamaged. He could use them as footholds.

  It was a precarious ladder. The first time he tried it, he slipped off at once. He tried again, hugging the timber as he planted his feet in the curves of the hooks. The water behind him was still clogged with debris. If he fell, he might crack his skull or break his back.

  I must be mad, he told himself, even as he reached to try again.

  The book was almost in his grasp. He had to stretch from his perch, gripping the beam between his knees, so he could lift it carefully away. The splinters scraped his skin, cutting his wrist and drawing blood. His knees began to slip. His hand closed around the book and he removed it from the snag.

  He lost his grip, fell backwards, and landed in the water with a splash, banging his backside on a piece of floating wood. He spluttered to the surface, bruised and bloody, but with the book still in his hand.

  He felt foolish. Then he read the title embossed in gold letters on the spine and laughed heartily. ‘Robinson Crusoe.’

  Perhaps it will teach us how to survive as shipwrecked mariners.

  By the time Ralph returned to shore with Marsden in the longboat, drawing the second – laden with salvage – behind them, a camp was starting to appear near where the river flowed into the bay. The men had found one of the sails washed up on the beach and stretched it over a frame of branches and driftwood to make a tent. They had started a fire, and boiled a pot of water to make a salty stew from salvaged peas and pork.

  Ralph had the powder casks stacked under the awning to stay dry. When Marius came to help him supervise the unloading, Ralph gave him one of the rifles he had taken from the hold.

  ‘Keep this loaded.’ He nodded towards Ratray, who was complaining loudly to his companions as they carried cargo from the longboats. ‘Just because there are no natives here, does not mean we are free from danger.’

  Marius took the rifle. With familiar ease, he scooped a handful of powder out of one of the casks and tipped it down the barrel, loaded a ball and rammed it home. Then he shouldered the weapon.

  ‘I will be ready.’

  Ralph still had the book in his hand, the leather binding spotted with blood from the cuts on his wrist. Harry was playing by the shore, throwing stones into the waves, but his mother was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Where is Ann?’

  Marius pointed inland, into the long grass that grew on the flats around the river. ‘She went up there.’

  There were so many other important matters to oversee, but Ralph was impatient to give Ann the book. He wanted to see the pleasure and gratitude on her face when she saw what he had brought her. Also, he felt a prick of unease for her safety. Who knew what dangers might be hiding in that grass?

  He loaded a rifle and slung it on his back. ‘I will go and find her.’

  Ann stood waist-deep in the river, savouring the cool water over her skin, and murmured a prayer of thanks to God for her deliverance. More than once in the last twenty-four hours, she had been certain she would die or, worse, lose Harry. Now, she allowed herself a few moments to savour her survival. She had stripped off her filthy dress to wash it. Naked, she could see the bruises that covered her body; the grazes and tears that the wreck had left. Some of them had formed in places where she still carried knocks from the flood at Paradise Valley, bruises layered upon bruises.

  She worried about leaving Harry in the sailors’ care. It is only a few minutes, she told herself. She needed the solitude. It was the first time she had been alone since . . . maybe since the morning she found Harry, she realised with a shock. On the farm there had always been Harry, and Frank when he was not away; then the weeks at sea, crammed aboard the Farewell, with Ralph Courtney’s furious gaze making her feel like a bird in a cage. Now she was trapped on this shore, the only woman among a crew of desperate men.

  She sank underwater, rinsing the salt from her long hair and combing it out with her fingers. She must not linger. She had seen fat hippopotamuses wallowing by the river mouth downstream; there might be crocodiles, or snakes. Even so, she gave herself a little longer, luxuriating in the peace.

  The grass rustled. A branch snapped. At once, fear drove out the serenity she had felt. This was not a safe place. She waded to the riverbank and scrambled out, smearing mud on her clean skin. She lunged for her dress, which lay drying on a thorn bush.

  The grass parted. It was Ralph.

  Had he found her by chance? Had he followed her? The fear Ann had felt on the boat rushed back, the awareness of being a lone woman among rough men. Her body clenched; blood pounded in her ears.

  ‘Please go away,’ she said stiffly.

  He did not move. ‘You should not be alone away from the camp.’

  ‘Go!’ she insisted. ‘Or did you come to spy on me while I was bathing?’

  ‘Is that what you think I am doing here?’ Ralph was still holding the book. It filled him with a sudden anger, to think that he had risked his life for such a ridiculous object. Why had he wanted to impress Ann? Why had he thought that she would be grateful? He had made himself look a fool.

  He threw it on the grass and turned away.

  ‘Do not be too long about your business,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘There is work to be done before nightfall.’

  Ann pulled on her damp dress and buttoned it quickly. The solitude that had been a blessing now weighed on her like a crushing burden. Seventeen men and one woman, abandoned on a hostile shore, with no prospect of relief for months. What would they become?