They had made no noise. Maybe it was the light of the lantern... whatever it was the prisoners were awake; still in their uniforms. Matthew recognised his dining companions of just a short week or so ago.
"Admiral Sir, Captain: Do not be startled, we are British sailors come to free you, I am a Commander in the King's Navy sir."
"The devil you say," said the familiar voice of Admiral Rockwell, "You look more like a couple of wraiths in that 'get-up'."
The Admiral moved closer and looked at his rescuers, suddenly giving a deep throaty chuckle.
"Right son, tell me what the set-up is?"
"You recognise me sir, dressed as I am?"
"Mr Morgan, I would recognise you if you wore pigtails and gingham dress. Dammit man we sat opposite each other across a dinner table not many nights ago, have you forgotten? And if I had any doubts, that big ox stood behind you would have dispelled them. You might be impossible to recognise: but him... never!"
Matthew turned around and looked at Finn, a monstrous black figure, his shoulders bent over under the low deck head, arms swinging forward, carrying a knife in one hand, the bloodied-edge gleaming in the poor light. He could see where there might be a problem disguising his identity.