He looked down at Pascoe's limp body. Was he dreaming, tog? Of his father whom he had never seen? Of a memory which had turned his mind to hate and shame?
Then he rested his forehead on his folded arms and was instantly asleep.
11. DAWN ATTACK
Throughout the following day the nightmare passage across the swamp continued with the sun always there to add to the slow torture. Poling from the boats, or wading through shallows to pull them bodily from the clinging mud, it now made little difference to anyone. They had lost count of time, or the number of occasions- they had left or re-entered the boats, and their bodies and tom clothes were thick with filth, their faces cracked from fatigue and strain.
They had now found a more open stretch of swamp where there was no apparent current at all to break the surface. It was covered in a thick layer of green slime, while the rushes were in separate, isolated clumps, like strange creatures from another planet.
In the late afternoon, when it had become necessary to tow the boats across a half-submerged island of soft sand, one of the men had let go the line and had fallen thrashing and screaming, and because of the mud and slime on his body it was difficult at first to see what had happened. While the others had clustered apprehensively around the boat Bolitho and Allday had hoisted the writhing man aboard, and using a shirt dipped in fresh water Bolitho had cleaned away some of the mud from around a small droplet of blood deep in the man's groin. He must have trodden on some sort of snake, for the bright punctures were easy to see. While Allday had stayed with the seaman Bolitho had ordered the rest back to the towing lines, knowing that the snake's poison was already beyond cure, and to let his men stand by and watch their companion's wretched end would do nothing but harm.
As they had struggled on through the swamp they had been followed by the man's awful cries, and once when Bolitho had glanced across his shoulder he had seen the other seamen watching him, their eyes red-rimmed through the filth on their stubbled faces, their expressions filled with more hatred than pity.
Mercifully the poison took little more than an hour to complete its work, and the lifeless body had been pushed clear of the boat, a grim warning to the others who were following close behind.
Most of the men could no longer face their rations of beef and hard biscuit, and lived rather than waited for the meagre issue of water from the barricoes. Bolitho had watched them during the brief rests, conscious of their jerky movements and dull-eyed faces. Of the way they watched each pannikin of water, with expressions more of animals than men.
Yet in spite of everything they had managed to keep moving. Bolitho knew their forbearance had changed to hatred towards him, that it only needed some small spark to turn the mission into a bloody mutiny.
During the night he let all the men sleep, taking turns to keep watch with Allday and Shambler alone. But in the second boat the vigilance was not enough. Or perhaps Lieutenant Lang had misjudged his own ability to control his men.
As Bolitho awoke from a restless doze he felt Allday tugging his shoulder and the touch of cold metal in his hand as the coxswain thrust a pistol towards him.
"What is it?" For a second longer he thought he had overslept, but when he peered over the gunwale he saw that there was only a hint of light in the eastern sky, and along the boat the men still lay entwined like crude statuary.
"Mr. Lang's sent word that the water's been broached in his boat, Captain! The news'll be badly received when his people awake."
Bolitho lurched to his feet. "Here, keep the pistol." He climbed over the gunwale and felt the slime pressing against his legs in a cool embrace, his feet sinking with each step that he took towards the other boat.
Lang was waiting for him, his face screwed into a frown.
"How bad is it?"
Lang shrugged. "Hardly a drop left, sir. I've only one barricoe for the rest of the journey and the return passage."
A voice echoed across the swamp from another boat. "Time to call the hands, sir!"
Bolitho hauled himself into the boat. "Go to Mr. Quince and wam him at once, and then pass the word to Mr. Canyon." He gripped the lieutenant's wrist. "And no pistols, d'you understand?"
When the men of the second cutter dragged themselves from their sleep they stared blearily at Bolitho and then at each other as he said, "During the night someone aboard this boat broached the barricoe. He took a goodly helping, and in his guilty haste allowed the rest of its contents to run through the bottom boards." He gestured towards their feet, to the.glint of water amidst the caked mud and slime brought inboard during the previous day. He added slowly, "I think you know what this will mean!"
Someone near the bows yelled, "Mr. Lang must'a done it, lads. 'E 'ad the watch hisself!" There was an answering growl as he persisted, "The officers 'ave bin 'elping theirselves!"
Bolitho stood quite still in the sternsheets, his hands on his hips. He was aware of the sudden desperate anger, of the fact he was alone and unarmed. But more than this he was conscious of something akin to shame, as if he was indeed responsible.
He said quietly, "You are wrong, but I did not come to plead with you or to make my case for your understanding. You have done well so far, better than anyone could expect. You have attained already what some thought impossible, and if necessary you will do better, even if there is no water at all and I have to drive you with my bare hands!"
A probing shaft of early sunlight played down on the piled weapons, and he saw more than one man glance meaningly towards them.
He snapped, "If you think that by killing me your thirst will be relieved, then you had better make a move! But otherwise I intend to raise the grapnels and get under way again."
The voice yelled, "Don't listen, lads! 'E's tryin' to protect 'is lieutenant!"
Bolitho stepped down and walked slowly towards the nearest men. Across the swamp he could see the others watching in silence, and Allday poised with one foot on the gunwale as if to hurl himself bodily to his captain's aid. He would be too late. Before he could even reach the boat's side any man could snatch a cutlass and cut him down.
He said evenly, "I have sometimes found that the louder the voice, the greater the guilt." He stopped on one thwart, his back to more than six of the men as he stared down at a heavily built sailor by his feet.
"Yesterday I had to use fresh water to clean a man's wound. To try and find where the snake had bitten him."
There was not a sound in the boat, and those near him were staring at his face as if he -had gone quietly mad.
He continued in the same even tone, "I did not even know that man, as I do not not know any of you. But he did his duty, and he did his best." He was conscious of the sun's frail warmth against his cheek, of his heart's savage pounding as he stared fixedly at the man by his feet. If he had made a mistake he was done for. More to the point, there would be a senseless and bloody slaughter, with no victors at the end of it, just some lost and thirst-maddened wretches left to wander in the swamp until they too died, or killed each other.
He said, "When I.cleaned the mud from that seaman his skin seemed white against the filth he had gathered in his efforts to help me, and you, to achieve our objective." His hand shot out and gripped the man's hair before he could move clear. "Look at his chest! See where the water, your water, spilled down it as he drank his fill and let the rest run to waste!"
The man shouted hoarsely, "It's a lie, lads! Don't listen to 'im!"
Bolitho released the man's hair and said, "Stand up and open your shirt."
"I'll see you damned first!" The seaman crouched back against the gunwale, his teeth bared.
"I think not." Bolitho walked aft to the sternsheets adding, "You have one minute!"
The man looked round at the others. "What d'you say, eh? Shall we do for the buggers now?"