Ralph’s immediate concern was not that of his shipmates. In that moment of disaster, when the world had stood on its end and he had been caught in mid-air, he had glimpsed the landscape beyond the whitecaps. He had seen the point where the mangroves ended, the channel leading in and open water beyond.

  ‘There is a way in,’ he murmured to himself.

  Could the Farewell make it over the bar? Possibly, he thought. He knew his father’s ship had entered the bay, years earlier. But Conway would never risk his vessel, certainly not as deeply laden as she was.

  ‘We will wait for the wind to drop and try again,’ Ralph told Jobe as the sailors settled themselves back at their benches, the topman still cursing. ‘We will have to load up the whaleboat with enough supplies to last us for a couple of weeks.’

  Jobe gave a grim smile. ‘If Conway has not left us already.’

  It was not an idle joke. Ralph could not tell how much time had passed. As he steered the whaleboat out of the channel, past the promontory and into the open sea, he expected to see the Farewell’s stern disappearing off into the horizon. But she was still there. Even Conway would not want to lose a boat and six of his crew.

  The whaleboat heeled as she caught the full force of the ocean breeze blowing them back towards the shore. Ralph let out the main sheet a little. To reach the Farewell, it would be a long, arduous sail, beating into the wind.

  Or maybe not so long. Ralph noticed that the Farewell was closer inshore than when they had left her. Perhaps Conway wanted to get the whaleboat inboard as quickly as possible so he could put out to deeper water again.

  ‘Why does she sail without sails?’ Jobe asked.

  Ralph looked again. In the turbulent sea it was difficult to guess at distance and direction, yet he could see now that the Farewell was moving, without a scrap of canvas on her yards.

  ‘She has dragged her anchor,’ Ralph realised.

  ‘That is bad?’ said Jobe. For the first time since he had met him, he saw real fear written on Ralph’s face.

  ‘To be caught on a lee shore, loose from your moorings . . .’ Ralph shook his head. ‘I have done it once before.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We lost the ship and half our crew. We were all below decks. By the time we noticed that we were being blown to shore it was too late.’

  The Farewell’s crew were racing aloft, trying to put on sail so they could gain steerage way and bring the ship about. Ralph nudged the whaleboat’s tiller, coming up as close to the wind as he dared. The boat heeled over; the men hung out off the side to keep her steady. A single wave could have flipped them over, but no one complained. Conway would need all hands to save the ship from the angry sea.

  The whaleboat bumped against the Farewell’s hull. With the sea running high, Ralph had to scramble up the wet and slippery side, clinging to a rope, while water poured out of the scuppers into his face. Struggling to his feet, he saw Ann cowering by the mainmast with Harry and Marius, trying to keep out of the way. The crew had managed to set the topsails and braced them, while two men heaved on the wheel. They had to bring the ship around, away from the land and on to a tack that would take her out to sea. They had very little time. The shore rushed closer every minute.

  The Farewell’s bow began to turn. The braces creaked; the sails stretched taut. Still the bow kept moving, ever so slowly.

  And then stopped. Stopped dead.

  Men hauled on ropes like the devil had come for them. The steersmen held the wheel as far over as it would go. It was not enough – the ship had lost steerage way. The bow began to slip back downwind, turning once more towards the shore.

  ‘Put on more sail,’ shouted Conway. ‘We must gather speed and try again.’

  ‘It is too late for that.’ Ralph pointed to the line of rocks extending from the promontory. ‘You cannot weather those.’

  ‘You have left me no other choice, you madman!’ Conway was screaming now. He knew he would lose his ship, yet he could not admit it. Instead, he turned all his rage on the man who should take the blame. He pulled back his fist to strike Ralph.

  The blow would have laid Ralph flat if it had hit him. But Ralph pirouetted aside, so that Conway’s fist sailed past his head. In the same movement, Ralph brought up his knee into Conway’s stomach, doubling the captain over. Before he could recover, Ralph grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away. Conway stumbled across the deck, into Marius’s waiting arms. He struggled to tear free, but Marius held him fast.

  The crew had abandoned their efforts to save the ship and had turned towards Ralph. Did they mean to overpower him and throw him overboard? Some of them were certainly thinking of doing so. For the most, though, Ralph saw only fear and uncertainty on their faces. They needed leadership.

  ‘There is one hope,’ he said. ‘We must make the channel and try our luck over the bar.’

  ‘That’s certain death.’ It was the topman who had spoken, the hatchet-faced man from the whaleboat: Ratray. ‘I seen it. She’ll never clear the bar.’

  Ralph pointed towards the rocks on shore. ‘That is certain death. If we go my way, we have a chance.’ They were close enough now to hear the breaking waves. ‘But only if we act at once.’

  Even then, he thought they might rather fight him than obey. But every man aboard could see that Ralph’s plan was their only hope. Recriminations could come afterwards – if they survived. They ran to obey Ralph’s orders, even the topman, while Conway spluttered, helpless in Marius’s grip.

  The ship gathered pace as the bow turned forward again. The rolling eased, though it was a temporary reprieve. They were driving straight towards the coast.

  A drop of rain stung Ralph’s cheek. The storm was breaking, and the ship was moving too fast. Even with topsails reefed, he was carrying too much canvas for the delicate manoeuvre he meant to make.

  ‘Ready a sea anchor,’ he called.

  Two of the men fetched up a long canvas cone. They fastened it to ropes and held it over the stern rail.

  ‘On my command . . .’

  Ann did not understood what was happening. A lee shore, a sea anchor, wearing ship – the expressions were gibberish to her. But watching in terror from the main deck, she could see a change in Ralph. It was as if the storm had transformed him into something more than a man. He stood with his legs planted by the wheel, riding the ship’s bucking deck with confidence. The wind whipped his hair and rain poured down his cheeks, yet a strange stillness seemed to possess him. The light in his eyes was bright. His demeanour was that of a man who was, at that moment, exactly where he was supposed to be, doing exactly what he was born to do. Though he was fighting for his life, he seemed . . . happy.

  Ann hugged Harry to her, folding him into her skirts, but to her astonishment her boy did not seem frightened at all. Instead, he tugged away from her, staring at the frantic activity in fascination.

  ‘I want to help!’ Harry demanded.

  ‘No,’ she told him. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘Now!’ said Ralph.

  The sailors cast the sea anchor over the port side. The canvas filled with water, instantly helping to slow the ship’s progress. She slewed around. Her spars shivered; her rigging groaned under the pressure, while her canvas bulged.

  If it split, they would lose all power and be smashed against the shore.

  ‘Braces,’ Ralph ordered.

  The crew hauled on the ropes; the yards swung around and the sails stretched tighter as the wind took them again.

  A shudder went through the hull. From aloft came a crack like lightning. A piece of tackle tumbled to the deck and struck one of the chests, splitting it open. Loose canvas flapped above.

  ‘We’ve lost the fore topsail,’ came a cry.

  Every man on deck held his breath. If they lost another sail now, they were doomed.

  The sails flapped and crackled. Ann thought they would tear away – but they held. The ship gathered speed on her new course. Through extraordinary seamanship, Ralph had brought the Farewell straight into the narrow channel between the promontory and the land that he had scouted with the whaleboat. As they came into the lee of the hill, the shriek of the wind in the rigging dropped.

  Ahead churned the line of white water where the whaleboat had turned back. The crew could see it now and every man knew what it meant.

  ‘What will you do now?’ shouted Conway. ‘We have lost our anchor.’

  ‘I do not mean to anchor,’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘I mean to go over the bar.’

  There was no alternative. The channel was too narrow to let them come about, even if the ship could have endured such a manoeuvre. Unable to stop, unable to turn, they could only wait as the ship plunged headlong forwards.

  ‘Ready on the braces,’ Ralph commanded with new power in his voice. ‘As soon as we cross the bar, we will need to turn to starboard.’

  ‘Shall I put a leadsman in the bows?’ the mate asked. ‘To sound the depths?’

  Ralph gave a grim laugh. ‘If the water is shallow, we will know of it soon enough.’

  Ann could not bring herself to look ahead. She called Harry to her from where he had been peering over the side at the landscape sliding past, the gnarled mangroves and white sand. ‘Look, Mummy . . .’ he said. A flash of grey moved in the trees. Across the water, she saw a wizened face watching her curiously. A monkey.

  Then she was knocked off her feet. She fell, slamming her shoulder into the deck, grabbing frantically for Harry as the deck tilted over towards the foaming water below.

  The ebbing tide had dropped too low for the heavily laden ship: she had driven onto the sand bar. The current turned her bow, so that the incoming waves hit her amidships and rolled her over. Boxes and barrels slid down the slope, knocking the men off their feet. The cow plunged into the water and vanished. A chest of tobacco hit Conway and carried him over the side into the sea. Others grabbed on to loose ropes or pieces of the ship, dangling like men hanging from a cliff face.

  There was nothing for Ann to hold. The masts and ship’s side were out of reach. She began to slide down the deck, towards the roiling surf, Harry tangled in her skirts. She threw out her hands.

  Her fingers skidded over the planking, then caught the coaming around the main hatch, a wooden lip maybe two inches wide. The wood was wet, her soaked dress weighed on her like a coffin, but she clenched her fingers and gripped for her life.

  Above the din of smashing wood and roaring sea, Ann heard a scream. She looked down. Harry was clinging on to her ankle, his mouth open in a terrified cry.

  How long could he hold on? How long could she? Her fingers were slipping. She dug them into the wet wood, but her nails tore painfully away. She could feel herself sliding backwards.

  Ann did not fear for herself. All her thoughts were for Harry. If she could not save herself, he would fall too.

  Then a hand fastened around her wrist. She cried out, though whether with pain or relief, she didn’t know. Ralph loomed over her. He stood balanced on the coaming like a cat, one arm gripping the torn rigging that now hung across the deck, the other reaching down to hold her.

  She could not imagine how much strength it took. One-handed, he lifted her and Harry as if they weighed no more than a slip of paper, pulling them up to the ledge on which he balanced.

  Before she could grab him, the weight that dragged on her leg suddenly broke free. Harry had lost his grip. He tumbled down the sloping deck like a loose cannonball.

  ‘Harry!’

  A scream rose in her chest as she watched him fall. If he hit the bulwark, he would break his neck. She wanted to dive after him, but Ralph held her arm fast, his fingers digging into her flesh.

  Harry landed in the netting at the far side of the deck. It cushioned the impact, but the relief that Ann felt was short-lived. Water bubbled up around her boy.

  ‘He will drown,’ she cried hysterically.

  For a split second, she saw Ralph hesitate. Did he really question whether or not to save a drowning child?

  ‘I will go,’ he said.

  Ann’s fingers were so sore that she could not hold on to the rope that Ralph handed her so she wrapped it around her arm.

  Ralph let go of his handhold and slid down the sloping deck. He came to a stop against the far gunwale, knee-deep in water.

  A knife appeared in his hand. With a few deft strokes, he cut Harry free from the tangle of netting. He lifted the boy out of the water by the scruff of his neck and grabbed on to a rope that hung down across the deck, one of the stays that had snapped when the ship went over. One-handed, he threw Harry over his shoulder, then turned the rope around his waist to belay himself. He began walking up the slanted deck, making it seem effortless. Ann felt her heart hammer in her chest as she watched Ralph rescue Harry – one false move and she would lose the one good thing in her life.

  Reaching the gunwale, Ralph picked Harry off his shoulder and put him on the hull. Ann saw others scrambling to join him, hauling themselves onto the ship’s broadside, which now faced the sky. Marius’s face appeared above her.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  She slithered over the edge of the ship and joined the others. Ralph passed Harry to her. The boy was soaked and shivering, yet even that could not keep the smile from his face. A part of him, Ann realised, thrilled at the adventure. He was not old enough to understand the danger, how close he had come to dying.

  Ann looked down. The ship had rolled over so far you could see the barnacles and weed that crusted her bottom. Water surged through the holes that had opened in her planking, where her masts had torn free. The marooned crew clustered on the side like birds on a log, clinging to the channels and dead-eyes that covered the outside of the hull. The coast was only a few dozen yards distant, but the surf churned so high that there was no thought of trying to swim to shore.

  The ship moved. Only a little, but it almost dislodged Ann. She started to slip but Marius, perched beside her, put out his hand and held her. The night before, she had cringed at his touch. Now, it was her best hope of survival.

  She held Harry close. It was as if the ship was alive, shifting constantly with every ebb and surge of the sea. What if it righted itself? They would all be tipped into the water and crushed as it rolled over on them.

  ‘Will we drown?’ she asked Marius nervously.

  He shrugged and pointed to Ralph. ‘He is the sailor.’

  Ralph sat with his legs drawn up to his chest, staring at the mainland. In the chaos of surviving, Ann had not looked beyond the water’s edge. Now, she followed his gaze and saw green, densely forested hills. The trees came right down to the shore, their thick foliage dancing in the wind.

  ‘We are safe enough,’ Ralph said, the relief in his voice evident.

  As if to show them that the gods of this place were not yet finished with them, a huge roller crashed against the hull. A wall of white foam sprayed up and drenched them. The ship moved again.

  Ralph seemed unconcerned. ‘The waves have carried us beyond the bar. We are on the sandbanks now. All this battering’ – another breaking wave interrupted him – ‘will only dig us in deeper. When the wind drops, we should have no difficulty getting ashore.’

  Marius stared at him as if he were a lunatic. ‘No difficulty, you say? And even if we do reach land, what then? Shipwrecked – no food, no supplies, no guns, and no way to leave?’

  Ralph gave no answer. Ann remembered how she had found him, half-dead from weeks in an open boat. After that, maybe this was only a small setback.

  ‘You have survived worse, too,’ she reminded herself, squeezing Harry tight against her.

  Even after the sun set, the storm did not abate. The barrage of waves continued all night, soaking and deafening the huddled survivors. For Ann it brought back memories of being trapped in the fig tree in the flood, certain she would die. Marius remained close by, always ready with a firm hand if she slipped. Jobe recited psalms. Ralph stayed so still, he might have been asleep – though surely no man could have slept that night.

  Ralph had never before been a soothing presence to Ann. He was the opposite of reassuring, radiating danger and unpredictability from his core. Yet in the depths of the night, every time Ann felt panic begin to overtake her, she found her eyes turning to Ralph. His stillness gave her a strange calm, an anchor she could cling to.

  By early morning the sea had calmed, though the surf still ran high. The beach around the bay was strewn with wreckage.

  ‘Are you still so certain that we can go ashore?’ Jobe asked, eyeing the breakers.

  ‘I am.’ Ralph pointed down.

  The Farewell’s boats had broken free of their lashings in the wreck and fallen into the sea, but they had not gone far. Nestled in the lee of the Farewell’s hulk, they had been protected from the current and become tangled up in the shredded rigging. The whaleboat had been stove in but the two longboats bobbed beside the wreckage of the foremast just a few feet away.

  Ralph stood, balanced on the edge of the Farewell’s hull, and dived into the water. Three strong strokes took him to the nearest longboat. He pulled it back to the ship, while the crew rigged ropes down the slanted deck so they could descend safely, and found pieces of wood to serve as oars.

  The moment they emerged from the shelter of the wreck, they felt the force of the sea again. The boat wallowed over every wave; more than once, it seemed she would go over. The crew paddled with every fragment of strength left in their exhausted bodies.

  But as they went further into the lagoon the waves calmed, until – with the grate of sand and a soft bump – the longboat ran up onto the beach. Men leaped out, almost capsizing her again in their eagerness to be ashore. They splashed through the shallows, staggered a few paces, then dropped to their knees, like the conquistadors of old landing in the New World.

  Ralph stayed on his feet. He felt giddy, but neither from sea legs nor the elation of survival. This was the place. It was as if the lines on his father’s map had risen off the page and become real. Brightly coloured birds called from the tall trees on the point, and were answered by chattering monkeys in the bush. Huge hippopotamuses wallowed in the mud near the water’s edge.