“Yes. But think of Olivia. Man. She must go home. You must see that.” “Yes. But she doesn’t. You know how queer women get at these times. She insists on coming with me.” “I don’t know. Go and tell her. Go on and tell her, cost what it may.” “I’ve got to consider her child.” “Captain Cammock, you’ve got a clear head. What do you say?” “You could head me up in a cask,” said Stukeley. “Well,” said Cammock. “I say, go and eat a good big dinner. We shan’t be in till afternoon; till two or three, perhaps, if the wind drops. If there’s to be an arrest, you’ll know of it soon enough. It’ll settle itself. Don’t cross no river till you come to the water. Why? Cos you may get drowned anyway.” “But about my wife?” “Oh, she’ll be well looked after. We’ll look after her.” “Damn you.” “Captain Margaret,” said Cammock, “just come aft with me, while I take some bearings.” When they had walked out of earshot of Stukeley, Cammock added that it would be a good thing to let the man suffer for a spell. “But how about Mrs. Stukeley, captain? And her little one?” “I wasn’t thinking of them, sir. I’m thinking of you and Mr. Perrin. And the ship, too. We may be a political matter, sir. The Lords who fitted us out; they’ve got enemies--political enemies. They may say, ‘Oh, you’ve sent out a gang of pirates, who rescue escaping felons.’ There may be the devil’s own row at home about us. Law is all right and fair. But there’s no law nor right in politics.” “We shall know soon.” “Yes. Very soon now.” “It’s anxious work, waiting.” “Why, yes. Worse than the event.” “It’ll come hard on that poor girl.” “She’s better quit of him, sir. Much better.” “She won’t think that.” “Not at first. But she will.” “I wonder what it’s going to be. Pretty, that little cove there, with the little green boat coming out.” “Very pretty sights at sea, sir. Nice bit of timber yonder. Good spars in them red pine. Don’t borrow trouble, sir. We’ll know soon enough.”