X

The Bishops and Clerks

JULIET FELT LIKE crying. She had not greatly enjoyed her week at Fishguard: the hotel was nice, and it was fun to have all these newspaper people around, but she missed Marryat more than she liked to admit, even to herself. She had been interviewed twice for the CBS network at home, and the thought of all the folks back at Milman gathered round their television sets to watch her was exciting, but where was Tony, and why wasn’t he here? He’d said he was sailing his boat up to Fishguard, and that he’d be around to see her off, but he wasn’t. She’d got up that morning with the wonderful feeling that something really nice was going to happen, and now she was on board Lady Penelope waiting to sail off, and it hadn’t happened. There was a fleet of small boats milling around the bay, assembled to see the start of Lady Penelope’s voyage – one of them must be Tony’s. But which? And why didn’t he sail near and wave, as everybody else seemed to be doing? She stood at the rail, feeling more and more unhappy.

There was nothing in particular for her to do. The sailing crew were running around, tying and untying ropes and looking busy, but the archaeologists were passengers. True, at a briefing earlier in the week they’d all been allotted tasks – hers was to be nursing orderly in charge of the First Aid Box. She’d checked and rechecked the box, but nobody had so much as a cut finger, and nobody seemed to want her, anyway.

George Armitage came and stood beside her. ‘Good moment, isn’t it?’ he said. Juliet did not agree but she didn’t want to be a spoilsport, so she nodded as brightly as she could. But where was Tony?

After the good weather they’d had all through the week, it wasn’t nearly such a nice day. There’d been a little rain earlier in the morning, and it was still grey. The sailing crew didn’t seem to mind. ‘Maybe up to Force 5 when we get outside, but she’ll go better with a bit of wind,’ she’d heard that nice Roger Freemantle say. Now they really did seem getting ready to leave harbour. They were due to leave at 11.00, and it was getting on for that. Dr Arbolent was standing on the steering platform, being photographed with one hand on the steering oar. He was waving his other hand at the crowd lining the quays. Four of the sailing crew were getting up the sail. Roger Freemantle was shouting something. The rope that had held them to a buoy went slack, and one of the girl sailors was hauling it on board. Juliet noticed suddenly that the gap between them and the harbour was widening. The big ships in port let off sirens, people in the little boats blew foghorns and shouted good wishes through loud hailers. They were off.

The wind was still in the south-west, but there was more of it than there’d been on the day of Lady Penelope’s one experimental sail. Freemantle was not exactly worried, but he wished that he knew more of what Lady Penelope was likely to do. The big sail seemed setting well for the moment, and Freemantle decided to harden the sheets a little as they got out into the bay. Dr Arbolent had insisted on being at the steering oar as they went out, but Freemantle had persuaded him to have an experienced helmsman beside him. Freemantle was relieved to see that this man was actually doing the work.

They were not allowed chart or compass, but Freemantle had taken the precaution of memorising the chart as far as he could. He’d had a navigational session with Dr Arbolent the night before, and the archaeologist had explained his plans. He had a board with a circle with nine radii drawn on it. The board was fastened to the deck, beside the steering oar, aligned so that one of the nine radii pointed straight ahead over the bow. Dr Arbolent proposed to stand out to sea from Fishguard Bay until what he called the seventh radius was in line with Strumble Head. Then he proposed to turn west to round the Head, and to continue west until one of the other radii (precisely which would depend on the time of day) was in line with the sun, or a particular star at night. When the sky was overcast, the position of sun or star would have to be estimated. ‘These people knew the heavens, they were wonderful practical astronomers – far better than we are, with none of their incentive. Also, they had a remarkable facility for estimating time. I have practised, and I can estimate elapsed time with an error of no more than two minutes in the hour – just over three per cent. With more practice I could do better still. In antiquity, there were specialists in time-keeping – probably a class of priest. Every ship’s crew would have its time-keeper, but I shall not do badly.’ Freemantle was so impressed by Dr Arbolent’s reputation that it never occurred to him to ask what evidence there might be for all these statements. He did not begin to understand the navigation, which, he felt, was far beyond him. But that didn’t matter – his job was merely to sail the ship. Privately, he did not rate high anybody’s chance of estimating the position of the sun in fog without a compass, and he was comforted to know that he was permitted to have a compass in his box.

He was impressed by Lady Penelope’s sailing qualities as they stood across the bay. She went better with twelve tons of rock on board; it gave her a better grip of the water. He was not looking forward to going on the wind when they turned south-west after clearing Strumble Head. His own view was that they’d do better to stand on until they were about halfway across to Ireland, and then try to make a course a little east of south. But for the moment that was not his business: all he had to do was to get the best he could out of the boat.

*

Marryat was as unhappy as Juliet. He enjoyed his first night in hospital: he’d had no sleep the night before, and it was delicious to lie between clean sheets and to feel that there was no need to be on watch. He felt less pleasure in the morning, when the hospital doctor told him that he would have to stay in bed for at least two more days. That meant that he couldn’t leave Wexford until Friday – and he wanted to be in Fishguard on Friday. The passage from Wexford to Fishguard was only about sixty miles but he couldn’t safely reckon on much less than twelve hours sailing. However he looked at it, he’d have to enter at night, he didn’t know the place, and it would almost certainly be too late to try to see Juliet. He’d heard on the radio that Lady Penelope was due to sail at 11.00, so there’d be precious little time on Saturday morning.

As things turned out, it was even worse than he’d feared. He had not broken anything again, but there was severe bruising and inflammation around the old break. The doctor talked gloomily about the risk of infection round the scarcely-healed bone, and really wanted to keep him in hospital over the weekend. Marryat revolted. He explained that it was imperative for him to be in England on Saturday morning, that he took full responsibility for his own condition, and that if anything went wrong it would be the English health service and not an Irish hospital which would have to put it right. If the worst came to the worst and he died, at least it would be the English who would have the trouble of burying him.

The Irish doctor had a sense of humour. He was also a good doctor, and a kindly man. He gave Marryat some massive doses of antibiotics, and saw that his shoulder was padded and well-bandaged against further possible damage. Even so, it was late on Friday afternoon before Marryat managed to get free. Then the tides were wrong, and it was getting on for 02.00 on Saturday morning before he motored Clio out of her berth.

The night passage was sheer hell. The wind was all right, but there was a lot of shipping about, and with his unreliable left arm he couldn’t risk having to take in sail in a hurry. He’d taken on fuel before leaving Wexford, but there wasn’t any point in using the engine: Clio could do rather better under sail, and also she rode more easily, and threw him about less. But he just couldn’t do it in the time. At 11.00 he was still a mile or so off Strumble Head, and as Lady Penelope used the south-west wind to run out of the bay on the Dinas Head side of it, he missed her altogether.

It was well after midday before he found a mooring and tied up. By the time he had inflated his dinghy with one arm and rowed ashore using his left arm as little as he could, it was getting on for one o’clock. The crowds had gone, and he was wondering disconsolately where to look for lunch, when a police car that seemed familiar drove up to the quay. To his astonishment, who should get out but Inspector Revers!

‘Good Lord!’ said Marryat.

‘I suppose I should say good afternoon,’ said Revers.

‘I’ve only just got in. Have you any idea where Dr Arbolent might be?’

Marryat waved his good arm towards the bay. ‘Somewhere at sea,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed him, too.’

‘Hell,’ said Revers, and added, ‘I have a warrant for his arrest.’

*

Everything had gone wrong for Revers, as it had for Marryat. Superintendent Macleod had duly got him his warrant on Friday night, but then Diana had put her foot down. There was no earthly point, she said, in rushing off at once. Using the motorway and Severn Bridge to Newport, it couldn’t take much more than six hours to get to Fishguard. He simply must get some sleep. Sergeant Grey was going to do the driving, was he? Well, he needed sleep, too. If they left at 4 a.m. they would be in ample time.

But they weren’t. All had gone well as far as Newport, but an attempted shortcut on mountain roads after that had led to disaster. Not only did they get lost, but they had a puncture. Revers cursed himself for not having telephoned Fishguard police and asked them to detain Dr Arbolent until he arrived. He had the slightly reasonable excuse that there didn’t seem to be any telephones, but he knew in his heart that the real reason was that he wanted to make the arrest himself. Well, what was done, was done. What was to be done now?

‘We can go to Bristol and get him when he comes in,’ said Sergeant Grey, adding ‘if we do that we can have a couple of nights at home first.’

‘I don’t like it. He’s on a boat, and the Lord knows where he’ll go, or what he’ll try to do.’

‘Go after him in a boat, then,’ said Marryat.

‘But I haven’t got a boat. Oh, I suppose I could get hold of the Navy, but it’s Saturday afternoon, and by the time we got a boat out of them he could be in Spain.’

‘I’ve got a boat,’ said Marryat. ‘I’ve just come ashore, but I’m quite game to put to sea again.’

‘What sort of a boat?’

‘A damned good boat. I’ll take you round the world, if necessary. I’ve just come over from Ireland, but it’s a long story and I don’t want to go into it all now. If you want to pursue Arbolent, my boat’s there. We can be under way in half an hour. And I reckon I’m a good deal faster than his weird tub can be.’

‘Do you want me?’ asked Sergeant Grey. ‘I’m not much of a sailor. And what about the car?’

Revers considered. ‘I’m not at all sure what we do,’ he said. ‘My instinct is to go after Dr Arbolent’s boat, but whether we shadow him wherever he’s going, or try to get on board and take him off, I don’t know. I’m sure it’s all highly irregular, anyway, though I suppose Dr Marryat’s offer of a boat comes under the heading of the citizen’s obligation to help the police. If I can flag down a car, I don’t see why I can’t borrow a boat. OK Grey – you go home and explain what’s happened. Ask the Super to get a couple of men to Bristol, anyway. Right, Dr Marryat. If you’re still game, I’ll go with you.’

‘If we’re going to be shipmates,’ Marryat observed, ‘it might be easier to say Tony.’

*

Revers had brought no luggage, so there was nothing to take on board. Marryat reckoned that he had more than enough food and water for the two of them: he had stocked Clio amply before leaving Plymouth, and he had taken nothing from her stores while in hospital ashore. But he thought they’d better get some newspapers, to learn what they could of Dr Arbolent’s latest plans. This turned out more of a problem than he’d thought. It had been a circulation manager’s field day, and the crowds had bought practically every paper in the town. They did manage to get one popular paper, and Revers picked up another, thrown away in the street and left lying in the gutter. They were full of Dr Arbolent and descriptions of his boat, but otherwise not much help. One did print a drawing of his Nine-Spoked Wheel, and a map to illustrate his proposed course, but the scale was so small, and the account of his navigational methods so bewildering, that it was useless for practical purposes. ‘Well, we know from his earlier statements that he’s got to round the Pembrokeshire coast, and if we go in the same general direction we may be able to find him. He’s got about two hours’ start, but we are likely to be a good deal faster than he is, so I don’t doubt that we can catch him up. The problem is going to be to see him, but we can but try. He’s supposed to be reporting by radio, so we may get something from one of the news programmes. Let’s go, anyway.’

Marryat climbed down into the rubber dinghy first and steadied it with his good arm against the quay for Revers. ‘I’ve only got half a left arm,’ he said, ‘so it will be a help if you can row. There’s my boat – the white yacht lying to that buoy.’ Revers had done some dinghy sailing, though mostly on reservoirs and inland waters, so although he had little experience at sea, he was not wholly unfamiliar with small boats. Noting the competent way in which he rowed over to Clio, Marryat felt glad to have him.

On board the yacht, he took Revers below, showed him his berth in the small cabin forward of the saloon, and said ‘You are much too respectable in those clothes. And if you want to keep them respectable, you better put them away. We’re much of a size, so here are some trousers and a couple of pullovers; and I’ve got some spare oilies if you need them. You can’t wear those shoes. I’m not so sure if you can manage mine, but this old pair is pretty roomy, so see what you can do. When you’ve changed, we’ll get the dinghy on board and cast off.’

Revers did manage to get into Marryat’s old yachting shoes, and when he came on deck he both looked and felt more comfortable. ‘We won’t deflate the dinghy,’ Marryat said. ‘We’ll turn her over and lash her down just aft of the mast. She fits well there and then she’s ready if we need her. It’s a godsend to have your two arms!’

*

Lady Penelope ran well across the bay. Freemantle left the great sail fairly free. He needed to experiment with her, and he reckoned that it did not matter much if he let the wind take her out of the eastern arm of the bay, by Dinas Head. It would mean having to make good two or three miles of easting when they turned, but it was worth it for the sake of letting Lady Penelope settle down – she was still horribly untried.

As they left the shelter of the bay to meet the Irish Sea things became much less comfortable. The day was worsening, and the waves were beginning to show white horses. Lady Penelope seemed to ride quite well, but she began to be thrown about a bit. Dr Arbolent had retired to his cabin under the steering platform, and Freemantle took the steering oar himself for a time. He was relieved to find that in spite of the chop she still responded well, but he did not like the way the heavy oar worked in its fastenings. Calling another man to take the helm, he had a close look at them. They would be all right, he thought, as long as the oar stayed fairly close to the hull, but what would happen if Lady Penelope heeled sharply and the big oar swung outwards? The leverage on the fastenings would be immense, and he doubted if they could stand up to it. He put an extra lashing round the oar, and decided to have two men permanently at the helm, one to steer, and one to watch the oar. If it did start to lift dangerously, the steersmen would just have to use their combined strength to check it.

By mid-afternoon they were well clear of the headlands, and Freemantle considered that it was time to turn west. He could make neither head nor tail of the nine-point circle on the deck, and he couldn’t see any conceivable use for it, but presumably Dr Arbolent knew what he was doing. He waited another half hour – still the archaeologist did not appear. Fearing that if they stood on much farther they’d end up somewhere on the Caernarvon peninsula, he went to Dr Arbolent’s cabin to ask for orders. Dr Arbolent was being violently seasick.

Freemantle decided to act on his own and let the archaeologist sort out things later. Taking the steering oar again himself, and keeping one man by him to watch it and be ready to try to hold it down, he called all the rest of the sailing crew to man the sail. As far as he could tell without a compass, they were heading about due north, and he had to turn through ninety degrees to make a new course due west. He was not at all clear how the sail would behave. It was acting almost as a square sail at the moment, and he wanted to haul it round to try to set it almost fore-and-aft. That, at least, was the theory he had worked out: what would happen in practice was far from clear.

There was nothing to do but try. Waiting for what seemed a slightly smoother patch in the rather broken sea, he judged his moment nicely, and brought her head round. She lost way rapidly as she came more nearly on the wind, but yelling to the crew to sheet in hard he got the sail into its new position without stopping her. It was desperately hard work for the crew – Freemantle would have given anything for some winches, which, alas, had not been invented in 2000 BC.

Still, Lady Penelope seemed to settle down on her new course, and with the land still in sight astern Freemantle reckoned that it would carry her well clear of Strumble Head. Without a compass he couldn’t do more than guess at her actual heading: probably, he thought, it was fairly considerably north of west, but they were going more or less in the right direction, and not standing into any particular danger.

At five o’clock Dr Arbolent was scheduled to make a R/T call to The Sunday Examiner. Two of the sailing crew were skilled radio operators, and they got through to the marine wireless station at Portishead without difficulty. Dr Arbolent just managed to get to the radio, when he was again seasick, so Freemantle took over. ‘The doctor’s checking up on navigation,’ he said loyally. ‘We’re having a bit of a blow, but the boat seems to be going fine. I can’t give an exact position because, as you know, we aren’t using instruments, but Strumble Head is in view astern. I reckon we’re well clear of it, going slightly north of west.’

*

This was the news, relayed by the newspaper to the BBC, that Marryat and Revers picked up on the radio news bulletin at six o’clock. They were then about eight miles south-west of Strumble Head, beating into a sea that was growing more and more unpleasant. ‘They don’t seem to have got far,’ Marryat said. ‘We’ve not only caught them up, we’re well ahead of them. Why on earth did they go so far north after leaving Fishguard Bay? If they were still going north of west an hour ago, they’ll be farther out to sea than we are when they come down to clear St David’s Head. Wise, no doubt. I hope Roger Freemantle’s supervising Arbolent’s absurd navigation. Juliet’s on board, and I wish she wasn’t. I think the best thing for us to do is to stand out to sea ourselves until we pick up the light on South Bishop. That’s one of a horrible group of islets and rocks off Ramsey Island, two or three miles south-west of St David’s Head. They have the jolly name of The Bishops and Clerks. We’ll give ourselves plenty of sea-room, and trust that they will, too. When we’ve identified South Bishop Light, we can keep a safe distance, and stand around. With luck, we shall be able to see Arbolent’s boat as she comes down. They didn’t have navigation lights in the second millennium, but I hope Board of Trade regulations override at least some of his absurdities. At their present rate of progress, though, it may be dawn before they get here.’

Marryat was profoundly worried. He had had nothing to do with the marine side of Dr Arbolent’s work, and what he knew of it seemed to him preposterous. It made a marvellous newspaper stunt, no doubt, but to risk lives in a vessel of untried design, off an extremely dangerous coast, was going much too far. (Had he known just how untried Lady Penelope was, he would have been frantic with anxiety.)

Revers took the helm while Marryat lay down for an hour or so: he had had no sleep at all the previous night and he needed what rest he could get. He was not, however, permitted to rest long. He had not been lying down for more than half an hour when the sense of kinship between man and boat that develops in all good seamen told him that Clio was beginning to feel unhappy. He went on deck to find that the wind was backing: it was now about west-south-west, and in gusts was coming nearly from the west. That put them hard on the wind, and the wind was undoubtedly increasing. With Revers to help him, he put a reef in the mainsail and changed Clio’s working jib for a storm jib. He’d put a reef in the mizzen a bit earlier, and he decided to leave that as it was for the present.

Clio was now more comfortable in herself, but far from comfortable to be on board. She was lying hard over, beating into a horribly broken sea. ‘This bloody wind is going to back still more,’ Marryat said. ‘It will be coming from the north before we’re through the night. God help Arbolent’s boat if we get a north-westerly gale.’

*

The same thought was in Freemantle’s mind on board Lady Penelope. Conditions on her were becoming exceedingly unpleasant. All the archaeologists and even some of the sailing crew were seasick. Freemantle badly wanted to serve out hot drinks – he badly wanted one himself – but it proved impossible to get the brazier going. It should not have been dark yet, but the low cloud was blotting out the last of the daylight, and visibility dimmed rapidly. He was not at all sure where he was. Even if Dr Arbolent possessed any real skill in estimating the positions of stars, he showed no sign of trying to use it. Freemantle was a loyal soul, and having agreed to take part in Dr Arbolent’s experiment, he didn’t want to let him down. But instinct told him that things were going badly wrong. He decided that the time had come to break out his compass, and to try to get a radio-fix. But he felt it only fair to Dr Arbolent to ask him first. The doctor, however, was sitting slumped over his table in his quarters, and did not even look up as Freemantle came in. So Freemantle got out the compass and the chart, and told the man on duty at the radio to see if he could get some sort of fix.

Lady Penelope was wallowing sadly. The wind had backed to the west, and headed her. With so little practice in handling her rig they could not get the sail to set properly to give her any drive into the wind. Also they were having trouble with the blocks. They had seemed tough enough, but either the yew wood was not properly seasoned, or the bronze work of the fastenings was not up to the job. One had broken away altogether, so that one end of the spar on which the sail was set was sagging dangerously, and another, partly broken, was jamming one of the sheets.

Freemantle cut away the half-broken block and freed the sheet, but with no block to run through it became viciously hard to control. The sagging spar was much more serious. One of the crew volunteered to climb the mast. The alternative would have been to lower the sail, but Freemantle was scared of the huge open hold amidships: with the sail off her she would wallow still more, and perhaps start rolling tons of water inside her. Feeling miserably responsible he let the volunteer go up. He could not replace the block, but he managed to bend a flag-halliard round the spar itself. Here Dr Arbolent’s conception of primitive seafaring helped a little, for the flag-halliard was of good stout hemp, not the sort of light line in use for such things nowadays. The lift was not where it should have been, and the repair made it harder than ever to reset the sail, but at least the spar no longer sagged so badly, and it looked considerably safer. There was a spontaneous cheer, combining applause and a collective sigh of relief, for the volunteer as he regained the deck. He had done a damned good job.

The immediate emergency dealt with, Freemantle turned his mind to navigation. Their radio was primarily for R/T and not equipped for direction-finding – Dr Arbolent had accepted the sealed compass but he did not want anyone to be able to suggest that he had used radio assistance for his navigation. But, given a chart of radio beacons, a skilled operator can get an idea of his position by assessing the relative strength of the signal from different beacons received on a constant bearing. It may give only a rough idea, but it is a great deal better than nothing. When Freemantle had packed chart and compass, he had put in a radio chart as well, feeling that if they needed one they might as well have the other.

He tried the radio now, and did not like the result though he accepted that it was probably not very accurate. They were well clear of Strumble Head, though still to the north of it, but they were not properly clear of Cardigan Bay, and still to the east of St David’s Head, and the harsh coast surrounding it. But they still had – or he hoped they had – a fair bit of sea-room, and if the wind stayed where it was, and he could persuade Lady Penelope to head south-west, they ought to be all right. He considered trying to get back to Fishguard, but that would mean closing the coast with what was now a strong onshore wind, and he rejected the idea: with a good seaman’s instinct, he felt safer at sea.

But could Lady Penelope be made to head south-west? She was now going about north-north-east, and they just hadn’t managed the technique of turning her into the wind. He decided to try to wear her round: it would be a difficult manoeuvre, and possibly rather dangerous – he was horribly aware of her great open hold if a heavy sea came on board – but she could take her time, and it seemed about the only thing to do.

Armitage, who had been seasick, was feeling slightly better, and he asked Freemantle for a job. Freemantle, who was at the steering oar himself, told him to stand by as second man – his weight would be as good as anyone else’s if the oar started to lift. This enabled the second helmsman to join the rest of the crew at the sail. Juliet was gallantly trying to get the brazier to burn. She abandoned her efforts while they were trying to turn the ship, and joined one of the sailing girls at one of the guy-ropes from the sail. ‘Tell me when to pull, and I’ll pull,’ she said. The girl smiled at her. ‘OK,’ she replied.

Freemantle ran Lady Penelope off a bit, and then began edging her round. All went well, and he’d just about got her to head south on a kind of beam-reach, when the wind suddenly gusted and backed still more. Now they were practically running again, with the wind almost in the north. There was no difficulty in going south, or south-west, but the sail was becoming more than she could carry. It had got to be reefed. They had never had a chance to practice reefing, but Freemantle had studied the system of brailing-ties provided by the designer and he knew, at least in theory, what to do. Calling one of the sail-hands to take the helm, he went forward to the sail.

It was a diabolical job in the darkness. Everything was still unfamiliar, and whenever he pulled or released something he was not at all sure what would happen. But the crew was magnificent. No one lost his head, and gradually they got two folds in the big sail. It was a clumsy job, but it held, and Lady Penelope rode more easily. She was holding a course south-west and Freemantle began to breathe again. They would damned well get this extraordinary ship and her cargo of great stones to Bristol.

After running for about two hours he picked up a light, fine on the port bow. It would be, he reckoned, the light on South Bishop. It was still several miles away, but he was relieved to see it, for it told him where it was, and also warned him to keep well away from it. As they were going now, they ought to be all right.

Suddenly an appalling shudder went through Lady Penelope – the heavier of the two great stones she carried had shifted. It was followed by the other. She listed through about forty-five degrees and the sea began pouring over her port gunwale. The steering oar swung wildly out of control; there was a sharp crack, and the whole fastening that held it to the vessel carried away. Lady Penelope heeled still more, a large area of sail hit the water, and the enormous drag on it brought the huge spar crashing from the mast. With the weight of the sail released, she righted a little, and lay helpless. She had still some buoyancy forward and aft of the hold, and might float for a while longer, but she was clearly doomed. The northerly wind was now taking her straight to the rocky archipelago of The Bishops and Clerks. The one remaining question was whether she would sink before she got there.

It was a minute or two before Freemantle took in what had happened. With the steering oar gone he could do nothing aft, and as the greatest buoyancy was forward, over the decked sleeping accommodation, he yelled to everyone to go to the foredeck. Then he went forward himself. There were no steel axes in the second millennium, and Dr Arbolent had not thought to include even bronze axes in the ship’s stores, so they had nothing much with which to cut away the wreckage of the sail. Freemantle and the sailing crew had pocket knives, but the wreckage didn’t seem worth bothering about – and the huge spar, lying across the ship, might even act as a kind of outrigger for a bit. The important thing was to find out who was still on board. Freemantle mustered the little party. Three men and one of the girls from the sailing crew were missing, and so was Armitage and one of the archaeological students. It was hopeless to attempt to look for them. Dr Arbolent was also missing – but he had been in his cabin, and was probably still there. Freemantle went back to find out. Dr Arbolent was on the floor, with his table lying on top of him. He was dazed, but did not seem greatly hurt. Freemantle got him to his feet and led him forward along the side deck, now steep as a pitched roof. The hold was already more than half-full. She couldn’t last much longer.

They had two ten-man inflatable life-rafts on board, one secured forward, one aft. With Dr Arbolent there were seven survivors, so they needed only one raft, and it would be better to stick together. Freemantle decided to use the forward raft. It inflated from a CO₂ cylinder, and was soon ready. Lady Penelope was so near gone that water was lapping over the foredeck, and it was a simple job to float off the raft. Freemantle and two of the surviving crewmen held it while the others got in – Juliet and the one surviving girl from the crew were pushed in first, a piece of instinctive collective chivalry. Dr Arbolent had to be lifted in. Freemantle waited until the others were settled, then he climbed in, freed the painter holding them to the vessel, and pushed off. There were some wooden paddles in the raft, and they paddled clear as quickly as they could. They didn’t have much time. They had barely gone 100 yards when Lady Penelope heeled right over and disappeared.

Freemantle thought it just possible that one or other of the missing people might still be swimming, so for half an hour he kept men at the paddles to try to hold the raft against the wind, while they shouted and called. It wasn’t any good. Paddling made next to no difference, and they were blown steadily towards the surf breaking on the rocks. They were about half a mile from the rocks at first light, when they saw a yacht standing in towards them. Marryat had seen them a few minutes earlier.

*

Marryat had the sails down except for the steadying mizzen, and kept Clio under power while he closed the raft: he needed the foredeck clear to see what was happening, and under power he could manoeuvre more easily. The raft was being blown towards the central group of The Bishops and Clerks rocks, called Careg Rhoson. These rocks are high and steep, and there would be little chance for the occupants of the raft if they were swept on to them. Clio caught up with the raft when it was still a couple of cables off the rocks. Revers threw across a line, which Freemantle caught. Marryat, at Clio’s helm shouted, ‘Make fast to the line. I’m going to tow you clear before taking you on board.’ Freemantle saw the point of this, and raised his arm in acknowledgement. Giving Clio full power, Marryat turned and stood out to sea. The laden raft was a heavy drag, but Clio’s diesel could pull it, and slowly the gap between them and the rocks widened. When Marryat reckoned that they were clear enough to have time to tranship, he slowed down Clio until she just had steerage way, and Revers hauled the raft alongside. ‘Why it’s – Tony!’ Juliet cried.

‘I told you I’d see you before you got to Bristol,’ Marryat said.

*

Clio had a good freeboard and the raft was low on the water, so the survivors could not just step on board. Freemantle caught one of Clio’s shrouds and hauled himself up, to give a hand with the others. ‘Roger Freemantle, late of Lady Penelope,’ he said. ‘Thanks very much.’

‘Tony Marryat and John Revers,’ Marryat replied, thinking how valuable such apparently absurd formalities are at the tenser moments of life. Freemantle was reaching down to try to get an arm round one of his mates who had been hurt when the spar fell, but Marryat stopped him. ‘I’ve only got half a left arm, so it’s a bit difficult for me – in any case I want to stay at the tiller. But just inside the companionway, to port, you’ll find a boarding ladder. Fix that, and it will be much easier.’

Freemantle got the ladder, and he and Revers fixed it. Revers went down and helped the hurt man up, then he steadied the raft against the ladder while the two girls and two of the men boarded the yacht. One figure lay still on the rubber floor of the raft. It was Dr Arbolent, and he was dead.

They got a line round his shoulders, and with Revers lifting his feet they got his body on board, and laid it down on the deck.

‘Poor old boy,’ said Freemantle. ‘I’ve never known anyone die of seasickness before.’

Revers, kneeling on the deck, sniffed at his lips. ‘People die not infrequently from cyanide poisoning,’ he reflected. He kept his thoughts to himself.

*

Marryat decided to make for Milford Haven. ‘It’s not much more than thirty miles,’ he said. ‘With this wind we can average at least six knots, and we should be there by midday.’ He worked out a course and asked Freemantle to take the tiller. To Revers he said, ‘John, you know where the slop chest is. Take everyone below and see if they can find some dry clothes – there won’t be enough to go round, but take the blankets from the bunks. Whisky for all hands, and don’t forget the helmsman. When you’ve done that, hot soup as quickly as you can make it. I’ve got to do some radio work. I must call up Portishead to report what’s happened, and I want the names of all survivors – written down, please.’

Marryat got through on his R/T quickly, and as soon as he said it was an emergency the operator stopped working other traffic and cleared everything for Clio’s call. Marryat reported the foundering of Lady Penelope, and gave her position as she went down, as estimated by Freemantle. There seemed no hope of survivors, but the sea-rescue services were at once alerted. The St David’s lifeboat went out, and so did an RAF helicopter.

Marryat read out the names of those picked up by Clio, said that he required no assistance, and that he was making for Milford Haven, expecting to get there about midday. Portishead radio promised to inform the authorities at Milford Haven and to ask for a doctor and ambulance to meet the yacht.