He said, "I have a plan, Winstanley." He shut his ears to the sudden shrill scream at his back. It was like a tortured woman. "I will do what I can for your ship." He tried to smile. "For all of us."
Bolitho felt someone brush his shoulder and looked up to see the surgeon and his assistants standing beside him.
Winstanley said quietly, "It seems I cannot be moved, Bolitho."
The surgeon muttered impatiently, "I am sorry, Captain
Bolitho, you will have to leave now."
Bolitho recoiled as the canvas was dragged aside. Even the attempt at bandaging could not hide the horror of Winstanley's leg and thigh.
He said tightly, "I'll not wait, Winstanley. I will visit you later to explain my plan, eh?"
The other man nodded and let his hand drop beside him. He knew as well as Bolitho there would be no other meeting on earth. And something in the single eye seemed to pass a message of thanks as Bolitho stepped back into the shadows. Thanks for a promise of a plan that even he did not truly understand. Thanks for not staying to watch his final misery and degradation under the knife, which even now gleamed beneath the lowhung lanterns.
On the quarterdeck the sun was hotter and brighter than ever, but the sickness in Bolitho's stomach remained, leaving him cold, like Winstanley's hand.
Some of the seamen watched him pass, their expressions guarded but in some ways defenceless. They had been fond of their captain,, and he had served them well, whereas Bolitho was a stranger.
In the stern cabin he found Fitzmaurice and Mulder waiting with the commodore, their faces towards the door, as if they had all been watching it for some time.
Bolitho said quietly, "I am ready, sir."
Pelham-Martin looked around their faces. "Then I think we shall discuss…"
He glanced up as Fitzmaurice said harshly, "Lequiller's other ships are on the high seas somewhere while we stand here talking! We cannot leave Las Mercedes without destroying those we have just fought." He watched the commodore without emotion. "Yet if we attack again we face the same treatment now that the balance has shifted against us."
The commodore dabbed his forehead automatically. "We tried, gentlemen. No one can say we did not do our best."
Bolitho tugged at his neckcloth. The words, the heat of the cabin were making his head swim.
He said, "There is still a way in which we might surprise the enemy." He watched narrowly as PelhamMartin's features endeavoured to cover his inner confusion. "Time is not on our side and this plan, any plan may prove better than total failure."
The others were watching him, but he did not drop his eyes from the commodore's face. It was like a line stretched between them, and one sign of faltering or uncertainty could finish everything.
As if from far away he heard Pelham-Martin -say, "Very well. Then be so good as to explain it." As he lowered himself into a chair his hands were shaking badly, but there was no hiding the hatred in his eyes.
Bolitho saw the expression and rejected it. He was thinking of Winstanley down there on the orlop. Amongst his men, and suffering the agonising torment of the surgeon's saw.
10. CODE OF CONDUCT
The Hyperion's lieutenants and senior warrant officers stood shoulder to shoulder around Bolitho's desk, their faces set in various attitudes of concentration as they watched their captain's chart and listened to the quiet insistence of his voice.
Beyond the stem windows the sea was in total darkness, and while the ship still tugged at her anchor the deck and gangways were alive with busy feet and the creak of tackles as a boat was hoisted outboard to the accompaniment of orders and muffled curses.
Bolitho sat down on the bench seat so that he could see the faces below the lanterns, to try to estimate how much or how little they understood and accepted his plan.
When he had described it earlier before Pel.ham-Martin and the other captains he had been surprised just how clearly the words had come to him. His anger and contempt, as well as his sorrow for Winstanley, had perhaps made his mind extra clear, so that the plan, vague and hazy when he had climbed from the misery of the Indomitable's orlop, had unfolded in time with his words, had hardened into possibility with each passing second.
He said, "We will take four cutters. Two will be ours and the others will come from Hermes. Captain Pitzmaurice will be supplying the bulk of the landing party, as his ship is best supplied with men at present. The importance of timing and discipline are paramount, gentlemen. Also I shall expect every man and each boat to be checked before we leave. Just enough beef and biscuit and no more. Fresh water barricoes for the same period of time, but no extra allowance for accident or mistiming." He looked at each face in turn. "It is going to be a very hard task, and to complete it with any hope of success we must travel light, no matter what the discomfort."
Captain Dawson said gruffly, "I'd be happier if you were taking my marines, sir.
Bolitho smiled. "You will have your chance later." He cocked his head to listen as more thuds and shouts announced the arrival of boats alongside. The rest of his landing party must be here already.
He said quickly, "The Hermes' first lieutenant will be my second in command. That is only fair as his ship is supplying the major part of the force." He saw Inch nod, accepting the sense of the argument, but no doubt realising at the same time that his own prospect of advancement or sudden death had retreated accordingly. Bolitho added, "Mr. Lang will go with us as the other officer."
Lang was the third lieutenant, and had been slightly wounded during the battle at St. Kruis. His wound had healed well enough, but he had seemingly been left with badly stretched nerves, so that his round, open face was now almost permanently set in a puzzled frown.
He bobbed his head. "Thank you, sir." He was still frowning.
Stepkyne said abruptly, "As second lieutenant I think it is my right to take part, sir."
Bolitho had been expecting the protest, and could hardly blame him for making it. Promotion was hard to win at any time, and for a man like him it was doubly difficui.
He said, "This ship is under strength, Mr. Stepkyne. You are very experienced and cannot be spared."
"It is my right, sir!" Stepkyne seemed oblivious to those around him.
Bolitho pushed Stepkyne's problems to the back of his mind. "There is more at stake here than your promotion or my funeral! And I would remind you that what you tend to regard as a right is in fact aa privilege. So let that be an end to it!"
The cabin door opened and Captain Fitzmaurice walked into the lamplight, his first lieutenant at his heels.
He held up his hand. "Forgive the intrusion, Bolitho. I thought I would speak with you before you leave." He nodded curtly to the others. "This is Mr. Quince, my senior."
Quince was a tall, lean lieutenant with a hard mouth and extremely bright eyes. Bolitho had already learned from Fitzmaurice that Quince was ripe for advancement and more than capable should the chance come his way.
Bolitho said, "For the benefit of our guests, gentlemen, I will go over it briefly once again." He straightened the chart across his desk. "The landing party will consist of four cutters and eighty officers and seamen. They will be tightly packed, but to use more boats would deprive the squadron of the ability to provide a diversion elsewhere."
It was not merely for Fitzmaurice's entertainment that he was repeating his instructions. It took time for words to set in men's minds, to translate into probability or solid fact. As he glanced quickly at the men around him he knew he had been right. They were looking at the chart, but the eyes were more relaxed, more thoughtful, as each saw the scene from his own point of vew.
"As you have seen, the mouth of the river which protects the rear of Las Mercedes is about a mile wide. You may also have observed it is little more than a swamp, filled with rushes and sandbars, and for that reason is not suitable for large craft. Deeper inland it gets much worse, which is why our four boats must be as light as possible." He let his words sink in. "The landing party has to cover thirty miles in three days. Little enough when walking across Bodmin Moor to visit your mistress." Several smiled, in spite of his words. "But the swamp is uncharted and dangerous. Some might say it is impassable. But we will do it."