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touched by the euphoria of victory, when the Merchant Navy offered not only a way of life but an alternative to conscription. Rawlings had stayed due to idleness and a liking for a loose, mildly alcoholic life. But he had a formidable asset in his marital connections, for he had married into the hierarchy of Eastern Steam and, though he had missed a command, he remained employed until the end, unassailable and easy-going, cushioned from harsh reality.
    Such a background made his politics comprehensiblewithout making them admirable, for they were the refuge of an expedient, not a convinced, man. Nor did they make Rawlings any the more likable, thought Mackinnon irritably, as he returned to his cabin after lunch.
    Mackinnon woke from his post-prandial nap at precisely 1430, as he had done every day when at sea on passage since he had had command. Excepting, of course, when fog, tempest, Act of God or any other circumstances demanded his presence on the bridge.
    He began undressing, intending to go aft for a swim before having his midafternoon cup of tea, his invariable practice when in the tropics. He was a short, fit, powerfully built man whose weatherbeaten countenance ended at his neck and began again at his elbows. Around his knees he appeared to wear athletic bandages of similarly weathered skin. The rest of his body was pale and covered in dark hair. His crew called him ‘Gorilla’ Mackinnon, a soubriquet which sounded as well as it suited the Captain.
    Grabbing a towel, he padded out into the blinding sunshine on the boat-deck and turned aft. To starboard the fading coast of Sumatra lay like a blue mark along the horizon, crowned by boiling white thunderheads. The ship slipped smoothly through the rippled sea as she made her way into the northern entrance of the long Strait of Malacca. Fanning outwards from her rushing bow and its white bow wave, flying fish lifted and beat their long tail fins against the surface of the water to extend their flight.
    The Captain splashed into the pool with a gusto that would have done credit to a younger man. The old exhilaration flooded through him; he lay on his back and wallowed contentedly. Above him the blue of the sky was contrasted by the random passage of fluffy white fair-weather cumulus. Staring up at the infinite sky he wondered how badly he would miss this life, this pleasant solace of the ship’s routine. It suited a man of his yearsbetter than the young men, with the preoccupations of desire and ambition never out of their minds. Then he thought of the patient waiting of his wife, who had longed for this, his last voyage, for thirty-four years.
    She had such plans for them both; now they had the money to do those things they had always longed to do, and the time in which to indulge themselves. They would visit Florence and Rome, spend night after night after night together in gentle intimacy unshadowed by any approaching departure to what Shelagh Mackinnon jealously called ‘the other woman’. Mackinnon smiled to himself. Eastern Steam had named their ships after masculine explorers, but they were plain bitches to their crews and seductive harpies to their wives!
    Now the other woman was about to relinquish her hold upon him.
This
was the last voyage . . .
    A testy little hope borne of anxiety that nothing should go wrong crossed Mackinnon’s mind, but he dismissed it, allowing his memory to traverse the years, reflecting on his luck, on Shelagh . . .
    He had no idea how many days they spent in the lifeboat, though afterwards they reckoned it to be nine. With so few of them there was adequate water and biscuit, though the ceaseless motion of the boat induced seasickness in men who thought themselves immune. The wind remained west or south-west and when it grew strong they learned to stream a rope astern to hold the boat’s stern to the tumbling wave crests.
    Moreover, Apprentice John Mackinnon was learning lessons of a more