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    With weapons concealed and papers made ready, the
Maid Honour
swept into the seemingly idyllic harbour, which lies at the southern end of the island. The distinctive white steeple of Santa Clara church seemed to keep watch over the harbour’s breakwater, which reaches like a crooked arm far into the bay. But it was other watchful eyes that March-Phillipps feared. Madeira had attracted the unwanted attention of the Germans during the First World War, and she was bound to have done so again now.
    In December 1916 the German submarine U-38 had sailed undetected into Funchal Harbour and torpedoed and sunk three British and French ships. She’d then bombarded the town with her gun, before shore batteries had forced her to withdraw. In that war Portugal had fought alongside the British, and the German enemy had been unwelcome in all Portuguese territories. But right now, in August 1941, Portugal remained neutral. As with many neutral nations, its capital, Lisbon, was known to be crawling with German spies. Likewise, Funchal, this strategically placed mid-Atlantic harbour was bound to have its own complement of enemy agents.
    If the
Maid Honour
’s true nature and purpose were discovered, a British Q Ship bristling with concealed weaponry wouldbe far from welcome here. The vessel would be impounded; her crew seized, imprisoned and left bereft of any hope that the British government would come to their rescue. But without replenishing their fresh water and food supplies, the crew wouldn’t last the two thousand miles of their epic journey to come.
    It was Funchal Harbour or bust.
    On March-Phillipps’ order the vessel drifted to a halt, and dropped anchor in the lee of the breakwater.
Now the wait.
    The first vessels to appear on the water were the traditional ‘bum-boats’, crewed by locals and carrying fresh provisions – fruit, eggs and vegetables – to sell to the visiting seamen. But among their number the crew could make out the sleek form of a Portuguese coastguard launch, complete with her uniformed officials.
    The launch bore down on them fast. Playing his part to perfection, Lassen welcomed the Portuguese captain aboard, deliberately adopting a thick accent and faltering English, which seemingly convinced the man that this was indeed a Swedish vessel. For a long and tense moment the captain seemed to linger by the fake wheelhouse – the 40mm QF Vickers cannon just one pull of a lever away from erupting into view. In spite of its fake door, the ‘wheelhouse’ could only be entered from below, and if the Captain asked to see inside Lassen would have to come up with some cock and bull story as to why it couldn’t be opened.
    As luck would have it, Lassen – with Hayes and Buzz Perkins in support – managed to steer the coastguard party past the main danger points. By the time the inspection was over the Funchal authorities seemed happy that this vessel was whatthe crew claimed her to be – an innocent pleasure yacht, one crewed by fellows from a sister neutral country, Sweden. The coastguard captain urged the crew to take on-board whatever supplies they required for the journey ahead, stamped their – entirely false – documents and wished them ‘bon voyage’.
    The
Maid Honour
had passed her first real test – the deception had held good. Hastily re-provisioned, the crew wasted no time in setting sail once more, heading south towards the coast of West Africa. Fresh trade winds whisked the ship along at a spanking pace, and the crew was more than a little relieved to leave Portuguese waters behind them. By the time she was two days out from Funchal the
Maid Honour
was making seven or eight knots. A day later she topped ten knots, and the crew were able to indulge in a meal of fresh flying fish, which had made the mistake of blundering into the ship’s rigging.
    Averaging 146 miles a day the
Maid Honour
swept further southwards. As she approached the Cape Verde islands she was forced to turn west, to