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.'
Fitzmaurice cleared his throat. 'Three days. Not much time.'
Bolitho smiled gravely. 'Tomorrow the squadron is making a mock attack on Las Mercedes. The French will be expecting us to do something, and unless some sort of action is mounted they will guess what we are about. The sloop Dasher is patrolling the entrance of, the bay this moment, so Lequiller's men will see we mean to try again.'
He looked at Captain Dawson. 'The rest of the squadron's boats will be used to mount a mock landing below the headland. Every ship will send her marines, and you will take charge overall.' Some of Dawson's earlier resentment melted as he added, 'Make a good display, but do not risk losing men to no purpose. They will earn their keep later.'
He faced the others again. 'This diversion will of course be terminated, but by that time the landing party will be well inside the swamp. But in three days from dawn tomorrow the squadron will attack in earnest, gentlemen, so you can see the vital importance of the thirty miles we must travel before we can pave the way to success.'
Inch asked, 'If you cannot reach there in time, sir, what will happen?'
Bolitho looked at him thoughtfully. 'You will have to decide, Mr. Inch. For if that happens, Hyperion will have a new captain, eh?'
Inch stared at him, his jaw hanging open. Now, maybe for the first time, he understood why Bolitho was leaving him behind.
Bolitho added sharply, 'Carry on, gentlemen. From our own people I will want a good gunner's mate and a bosun's mate. Also two midshipmen, but not Gascoigne.'
Inch asked vaguely, 'May I ask why, sir?'
'You may. Mr. Gaseoign is the senior midshipman and well versed in signals. You will have more need of him here when you close the enemy.'
He watched them file from the cabin and then said, 'Well, Mr. Quince, I hope you have chosen your people carefully?'
Quince showed his teeth in a slow grin. 'Aye, sir. All trained men. I picked them myself.' The grin widened. 'I told them it would take a very brave man to be a coward under your command, sir.'
Fitzmaurice coughed politely. He was obviously unused 174
to his subordinate's sudden flash of humour. 'Wait on deck, Mr. Quince.'
Alone with Bolitho, Captain Fitzmaurice got down to his true reason for coming aboard. 'You have heard, I suppose, that Winstanley died of his wounds?' He shrugged. 'The surgeon no doubt speeded his end, but his loss is hard to accept nevertheless.'
'He was a good captain.' Bolitho watched Fitzmaurice's weary features, conscious of the sounds beyond the sealed door, the urgency and need for final appraisal of his sketchy plan. But something in Fitzmaurice's tone told him there was more to come.
'Our commodore has written his orders for the landing, Bolitho. I expect you have read them as carefully as I?'
He nodded. 'They are much as I would expect.'
'Winstanley is dead. You are now the senior captain. Whatever you do ashore is your responsiblity.' He seemed suddenly tired of trying to phrase his words diplomatically. 'In his orders Pelham-Martin has stated that he will make an attack in three days' time in support of your action ashore.' He spread his hands angrily. 'That one word support alters the whole meaning of the written orders! I know it is wrong for me to speak my mind like this, but I cannot stand by and allow you -to take the weight of all responsibility. You are supporting the commodore, and not the other way round.'
Bolitho studied him gravely. Fitzmaurice had never struck him as a man of much imagination beyond the limits of duty. He was moved by this sudden concern and understanding, and knew what it must have cost him to make his feelings known. He did not after all know Bolitho, and there were many who might have used Fitzmaurice's display of concern to further their own standing with the commodore. By even hinting at PelhamMartin's deceit he
