equipment and weapons which would be required for the landing-parties, he felt his nerves stretching to breaking- point. Whenever he looked up from his work, or came on deck from the cool darkness of one of the holds, the bare, hostile island was always there. Although his knowledge and training told him that Destiny covered and re-covered her track again and again during the day, it seemed as if they had never moved, that the island, with its fortress-like hill, was waiting, just for him.
Towards dusk, Gulliver laid the ship on a new tack to take her well clear of the island. The masthead lookouts had been unable to sight any sort of activity, so well sheltered was the lagoon, but Dumaresq had no doubts. Garrick would have watched their every move, and the fact Destiny had never tacked closer inshore might have helped to shake his confidence, to make him believe that help was already on the way for that solitary frigate.
Eventually, Dumaresq called his officers aft to the cabin. It was much as before, hot and clammy, the air penned in by the shutters so that they were all soon sweating freely.
They had gone over it again and again. Surely nothing on their part could go wrong? Even the wind favoured them. It remained from the south-west, and although slightly fresher than before, gave no hint that it might turn against them.
Dumaresq leaned on his table and said gravely, “It is time, gentlemen. You will leave here to prepare your boats. All I can do is wish you well. To ask for luck would be an insult to each of you.”
Bolitho tried to relax his body, limb by limb. He could not begin the action like this. Any one fault would break him in pieces, and he knew it.
He plucked the shirt away from his stomach and thought of the time he had purposefully donned a clean one, just to meet her on deck. Perhaps this was the same hopeless gesture. Unlike changing into clean clothing before a battle at sea to avoid infecting a wound, this was something personal. There would be no Bulkleys on that evil island, no one to see the purpose of his reasoning, or to care.
Dumaresq said, “I intend to lower the cutter and jolly-boat in an hour. We should be in position to drop the launch and pinnace by midnight.” His gaze moved to Bolitho. “Although it will be a harder pull for your people, your cover will be better.” He checked off the points on his strong fingers. “Make certain your muskets and pistols remain unloaded until you are sure there will be no accidents. Examine all the gear and tackle you need before you enter the boats. Talk to your people.” He spoke gently, almost caressingly. “Talk to them. They are your strength, and will be watching you to see how you measure up.”
Feet padded across the deck above and tackle scraped noisily along the planking. Destiny was heaving to.
Dumaresq added, “Tomorrow is your worst day. You will lie in hiding and do nothing. If an alarm is raised, I cannot save you.”
Midshipman Merrett tapped at the door and then called, “Mr Yeames’ respects, sir, and we are hove to.”
With the cabin pitching unsteadily from side to side, it was rather unnecessary, and Bolitho was amazed to see several of those present grinning and nudging each other.
Even Rhodes, whom he knew to be worried sick about the coming action, was smiling broadly. It was that same madness returning. Perhaps it was better this way.
They moved out of the cabin and were soon swallowed up by their own groups of men.
Mr Timbrell’s hoisting-party had already swayed out the jolly-boat, and the cutter followed shortly over the nettings and then into the slapping water alongside. There was suddenly no time for anything. In the enclosing darkness a few hands darted out for brief clasps, voices murmured to friends and companions, a “good luck,” or “we’ll show ’em.” And then it was done, the boats wallowing round in the swell before heading away towards the island.
“Get the ship under way, Mr Gulliver.” Dumaresq turned his back on the sea, as if he had already dismissed Palliser and the two boats.
Bolitho saw Jury talking with young Merrett, and wondered if the latter was glad he was staying aboard. It was incredible to consider how much had happened in so few months since they had all come together as one company.
Dumaresq moved silently to his side. “More waiting, Mr Bolitho. I wish I could make her fly for you.” He gave a deep chuckle. “But there never was an easy way.”
Bolitho touched his scar with one finger. Bulkley had removed the stitches, and yet he always expected to feel the same agony, the same sense of despair as when he had been cut down.
Dumaresq said suddenly, “Mr Palliser and his brave fellows will be well under way by now. But I must not think of them any more. Not as people or friends, until it is over.” He turned away, adding briefly, “One day you will understand.”
14. A Moment’s Courage
BOLITHO attempted to rise to his feet, gripping Stockdale’s shoulder for support as the Destiny’s pinnace lifted and plunged across a succession of violent breakers. In spite of the night air and the spray which continually dashed over the gunwale, Bolitho felt feverishly hot. The closer the boat drew to the hidden island the more dangerous it became. And most of his men had thought the first part had been the worst. Being cast adrift by their parent ship and left to pull with all their might for the shore. Now they knew differently, not least their third lieutenant.
Occasionally, and now more frequently, jagged fangs of rock and coral surged past, the white water foaming amongst them to give the impression they and not the boat were moving.
Gasping and cursing, the oarsmen tried to maintain the stroke, but even that was broken every now and then as one of them had to lever his loom from its rowlock to save the blade from being splintered on a tooth of rock.
The yawing motion made thinking difficult, and Bolitho had to strain his mind to recall Dumaresq’s instructions and Gulliver’s gloomy predictions about their final approach. No wonder Garrick felt secure. No vessel of any size could work inshore amongst this strewn carpet of broken coral. It was bad enough for the pinnace.
Bolitho tried not to think about Destiny’s thirty-four-foot launch which was following them somewhere astern. Or he hoped it was. The extra boat was carrying Colpoys and his marksmen, as well as additional charges of gunpowder. What with Palliser’s large party which had already been put ashore on the south-west of the island, and Bolitho’s own men, Dumaresq was short-handed indeed. If he had to fight, he would also need to run. The idea of Dumaresq fleeing in retreat was so absurd that it helped to sustain Bolitho in some way.
“Watch out, forrard!” That was the boatswain’s mate Ellis Pearse up in the bows. A very experienced seaman, he had been sounding with a boat’s lead-and-line for part of the way, but was now acting as a lookout as one more rock loomed out of the darkness.
The noise seemed so great that somebody on the shore must hear them. But Bolitho knew enough to understand that the din of the sea and surf would more than drown the clatter of oars, the desperate thrusts with boat-hooks and fists to fight their way past the treacherous rocks. Had there been even a glimmer of moon it might have been different. Strangely enough, a small boat stood out more clearly to a vigilant lookout than a full-rigged ship standing just offshore. As many a Cornish smuggler had found out to his cost.
Pearse called hoarsely, “Land ahead!”
Bolitho raised one hand to show he had heard and almost tumbled headlong.
It had seemed as if the broken rocks and the mill-race of water amongst them would never end. Then he saw it, a pale suggestion of land rising above the drifting spray. Much larger close to.
He dug his fingers into Stockdale’s shoulder. It felt like solid oak beneath his sodden shirt.
“Easy now, Stockdale! A little to starboard, I think!”
Josh Little, gunner’s mate, growled, “Two ’ands! Ready to go!”
Bolitho saw two seamen crouching over the creaming water and hoped he had not misjudged the depth.
Somewhere astern he heard a grating thud, and then some splashing commotion of oars as the launch regained her balance. It had probably grazed the last big rock, Bolitho thought.
Little chuckled. “I’ll bet that rattled the bullocks!” Then he touched the man nearest him. “Go!”
The seaman, as naked as the day he was born, dropped over the side, hung for a few moments kicking and spitting out water, and then gasped, “Sandy bottom!”
“Easy all!” Stockdale swung the tiller-bar. “Ready about!”
