Mudge moved his chair towards the desk in short, squeaky jerks. Then he jabbed the open chart with his thumb.
'We'm now in th' Mozambique Channel, as we all knows.' He glared at Midshipman Armitage. 'Cept for some too hignorant to learn aright!' He continued in a more unruffled tone, 'Th' African coast is fair wild 'ereabouts, an' not a lot be known about it. Ships put in, of course.' His eyes gleamed as he looked up at Bolitho. Tor water. To trade mebbee. An' to find theirselves some black ivory from time to time.'
Midshipman Keen was leaning over his shoulder, his face the only one present which showed little sign of strain.
'Black ivory, sir?'
Herrick said sharply, 'Slaves.'
Mudge leaned back comfortably. 'It follows that we must be careful. Land in force, get the water, if I can recall exactly where it is, and stand out to sea agin.'
Bellairs said, 'My marines will give a good account, thank you!'
Mudge regarded him scornfully. 'Just so, Cap'n Bellairs, sir. In their pretty coats, with their drums and fifes, I can picture it a fair treat!' He added harshly, 'They'd 'ave 'em for breakfast afore they could polish their bloody boots!'
'Well, really!' Bellairs was shocked.
Bolitho nodded. 'Very well then. The wind is staying with us, so we should be able to anchor by noon tomorrow.'
Mudge agreed. 'Aye. But not close inshore, sir. There's a fair bit o' reef just around the point. It'll mean every boat in th' water, an' a 'ard pull for all 'ands.'
'Yes.' Bolitho looked at Davy. 'You can arrange the arming of each boat with the gunner. Swivels for launch and cutter. Musketoons for the rest.' He glanced round at their intent faces. 'I'll want an officer with each party. Some of our people will need watching, if only for their own sakes.' He let his words sink in. 'Remember it well. Many of them are quite raw to this sort of work, although because we have been together for over two months, you may see them as veterans. They are not, so treat them accordingly. Lead them, do not be content to leave your work to others less qualified.'
He saw the midshipmen exchanging glances like boys about to take part in some private escapade. Keen, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Little Penn, openly impressed by being included. Poor Armitage, his forehead raw red from being on watch for a few moments without a hat. They were even less experienced than most of the men.
He looked at the chart. But for Sullivan they might have made the whole voyage to Madras without a pause, despite their shortages. Herrick had tried to help by saying it was bad luck. Puigserver had stated that he was behind him, whatever he decided was best for the ship. But it was still his decision, and nobody else could change that.
Some of those present in the cabin had stopped speaking with the surgeon altogether, and perhaps for that reason alone Bolitho had made no further comment about his choice of Sullivan as a helper, giving him the opportunity, crazy or not, of fouling the water supply. He saw him only on matters of sick reports, and each time was shocked by his appearance. The man was boiling inside, bitter, and yet unable to share his problems. He did not even want to.
He heard a woman's voice, saw the others look up at the skylight as feet passed overhead. Mrs. Raymond and her maid taking their usual stroll under the stars. He hoped Soames would ensure they did not stray from the quarterdeck. He would not answer for their safety at the hands of some of the seamen. He could understand how many of them felt.
To the volunteers it must seem a far cry from the recruiting posters, and to the men from the prison hulks it might now appear to be a bad exchange of circumstances. Even those hiding from crimes committed ashore would find room for doubt and resentment. The crimes would have faded with the fear of arrest and trial. But the heat and thirst, and the daily grind of disciplined duty were only too real.
He saw Raymond biting his lip, his eyes following the footsteps as if he was seeing through the deckhead itself. If anything, he and his wife were moving further apart by being confined in the ship. It was a strange relationship.
He thought back over the past days and one particular incident. He had been in his small makeshift cabin in the chart space, and Allday had been changing the bandage on his arm for him. She had entered the cabin without knocking, in fact, neither of them had heard her approach. She had stood by the open port, quite relaxed, and had watched him without saying a word. Bolitho had been stripped to the waist, and as he reached for a fresh shirt she had said softly, 'I see you bear yet another scar, Captain.'
Bolitho's hand had gone to his side, suddenly conscious of the ragged mark where a pistol ball had missed his ribs by a thread. He had seen it exactly, as he was seeing it now. The privateer's tilting deck, the American lieutenant running towards him, taking aim. The crash of a shot. The sharp, stabbing agony. Oblivion.
Allday had said rudely, 'The captain's dressing! Ships' ways are different from those ashore, it seems!'
But she had stood firm, her lips slightly parted, while she watched him. But how could she have understood what he was thinking? That the ball had been fired by one of his own brother's officers. A traitor. A wanted renegade, now dead and forgotten by most.
But not by me.
He shook himself out of his brooding thoughts. Nothing mattered now but the work in hand. Water. All that he needed to take them to Madras. Beyond that was another challenge. It could wait.
He said, 'That is all, gentlemen.' He realised he had spoken more abruptly than intended and added, 'We have a fine ship. One of the most efficient and modern devices created by man. We can give a good account of ourselves to any vessel but a ship of the line.' He paused as Herrick smiled at him, bridging the gap between them as he, too, remembered. 'Except for rare, and not to be encouraged, occasions! But without water to drink we are like stumbling old men, with neither the means nor the will to face another day. Remember what I have said. Be vigilant. For the moment that is all I ask of you.'
They filed out of the cabin, leaving him with Puigserver and Raymond. Raymond looked hopefully at the Spaniard, but when he made no attempt to take his usual walk on deck he, too, left the cabin.
Bolitho sat down and watched the moonlight as it played across the Undine's bubbling wake.
'What is the matter with him, Senor?' It was strange how easy it was to talk to him.
Just over a year back he had been an enemy. One Bolitho would have killed in battle had he not called for quarter. He smiled to himself. Or the other way round. He was a powerful man, that was certain, and much of his counsel he kept to himself. But Bolitho trusted him. The ship's company, for the most part, had also accepted him as their own. Like Allday, who had long given up trying to pronounce his name, they called him Mister Pigsliver. But they said it with something near to affection.
Puigserver regarded him with quiet amusement.
'My dear Capitan, he is like a watchdog. He fears for his wife, what she will do, rather than what others will do to her!' He chuckled, the sound rising from his belly. 'She, I think, is beginning to enjoy the game, knowing that every man aboard sees her in a different eye. She stands proudly, a tigress in our midst.'
'You seem to know a great deal about her, Senor.'
The smile broadened. 'You know your ships, Capitan. Unlike me, I fear you still have much to learn about women, eh?'
Bolitho made to protest and then changed his mind. The memory was still too painful to leave room for a denial.
6. Attack Overland
'Well, Thomas, what d'you make of it at close quarters?' Bolitho's voice was hushed, as with the others around him he stared towards the shore.
They had made a careful approach since dawn, seeing the land gaining shape and substance, and then as the sun had found them again, they had watched the colour, the endless panorama of green.
