was leaving himself open to grave charges of conspiracy and insubordination.
He replied, 'Thank you for speaking so openly. I will not forget it. But I believe we must think only of the task ahead. Of what it means, and the disastrous consequences of failure.'
Fitzmaurice eyed him admiringly. 'So you realised what was implied without my saying it?' He smiled. 'It is a strange service which we follow. If we fail we stand the blame alone. If we succeed there are always those elsewhere who take the credit.'
Bolitho thrust out his hand. 'I hope we remember that, if ever we reach flag rank.'
Fitzmaurice followed him on to the darkened quarterdeck. 'I doubt it in my own case. I have often found that the attraction of arriving at some prized destination has overhadowed the effort of reaching it.'
Allday spoke from the darkness. 'Your sword, Captain.'
Bolitho tightened the belt at his waist, letting his eyes become accustomed to the gloom and sensing the watching faces all around him.
I Allday said quietly, 'I didn't bring the white flag this time, Captain.' His teeth gleamed in his face. 'I hope I've done right?'
Bolitho looked away. 'If anything should happen to me, what would become of you? No captain in sound mind would tolerate your insolence as I do!'
Inch strode aft, -his head thrust out as he searched for Bolitho amongst the silent figures.
'Boats ready alongside!' He faltered. 'Good luck, sir, and God speed.'
Bolitho nodded. Suddenly he realised the weight of his mission. He was not merely leaving the ship, but heading for a place which was little more than a vague sketch on his chart. Another world, a different continent, with heaven knows what at the end of it all.
He said, 'Take good care, Inch.'
Inch looked up at the black tracery of rigging swaying gently against the bright stars. 'I'll keep good care of her, sir.'
Bolitho walked slowly to the ladder. 'I know that. But I meant of yourself.'
Then he ran down the ladder to the entry port, brushing past anonymous shapes and watching faces, and very aware of the great silence over the whole ship.
Stepkyne touched his hat, his voice flat and expressionless. 'All in the boats, sir. I have detailed Midshipmen Canyon and Pascoe for the duties required. They being the most junior and least needed to work the ship.
Bolitho kept his voice low. 'You were most considerate, Mr. Stepkyne.'
Without another word he followed Allday's broad shoulders down into the nearest cutter. He should have been more careful and less concerned with his own part in all this. Stepkyne had chosen the only way he knew to show his resentment at being left behind. The one way in which Bolitho was unable to override his choice without showing favouritism.
He settled himself in the sternsheets. 'Cast off. Allday, we will lead.' He raised his voice as the lines were freed from the other boats. 'Mr. Quince, you will follow at the rear and ensure the rest maintain regular distances apart.'
The oars dropped into their rowlocks, and at Allday's command dipped and pulled steeply into the choppy wavelets.
In the bows Bolitho could just make out the shape of Shambler, an experienced bosun's mate, crouching with a hand lead and line in readiness to feel the way into the first part of the choked river. The cutter felt heavy and sluggish in the current and between the men's legs he could see the gleam of piled weapons and the sparse rations for the journey.
When he looked astern the next boat was already pulling into line, but when he strained his eyes further he found that the ship had seemingly disappeared into shadow, with not even a single light showing from her hull to betray her activity.
Not that it was likely for anyone to be watching from the shore, he thought grimly. This was a forsaken stretch of coast. A waste-ground which had long defied nature and man alike.
He touched the hilt of his sword and thought suddenly of Cheney. Further and further away. It seemed as if the separation would never be eased. That she had become part of the dream which home and country always represented to the sailor.
He shivered suddenly as if in a cold wind. Next month would bring spring to the hedgerows and fields of Cornwall. And to the house below Pendennis Castle it would bring him a child.
Shambler called hoarsely, 'Surf ahead, sir! 'Bout a cable's distance away!'
Bolitho came back from his brief dream. 'That'll be the tide across the river mouth. You may begin sounding directly.'
A seaman moved his foot, perhaps from cramp, and a musket clattered loudly on the bottom boards.
'Keep those men silent!' Bolitho lifted slightly to peer above the crowded figures as the river mouth opened up on either bow.
'Aye, aye, sir!'
He stiffened. It was Pascoe's voice, and he had not even known he was in this boat.
Allday moved the tiller very slightly and then muttered, 'Thought it best to have the young gentleman aboard, Captain. Just to keep an eye on him, so to speak.'
Bolitho glanced at him. 'No wonder you never married, Allday. You would leave little for a woman to worry about!'
Allday grinned in the darkness. The rasp in Bolitho's tone was as familiar to him as the wind in the shrouds. It was just his way. But in a moment or so the captain would make amends.
Bolitho dropped back into the sternsheets. 'But thank you, Allday, for your concern.'
Without looking at his watch Bolitho knew it was close on noon. The sun which had been in his face since early dawn now blazed down from directly overhead with the fierce heat of an open furnace.
He touched Allday's arm. 'We will rest here.' His lips felt cracked and dry, so that even few words were an effort.
'Easy all! Boat your oars!'
The seamen hauled the long oars inboard, while from forward came a splash as the bowman hurled a grapnel into the nearest clump of reeds.
Bolitho watched his men lolling across the thwarts and gunwales like corpses, their eyes closed and faces turned away from the sun which pinned them down in its relentless glare.
Dawn had found the four boats pulling strongly and well in spite of the salt-stained rushes and occasional sandbars. Zigzagging between the various obstacles had not been too difficult at first, and at most times the boats were all in sight of each other. Then as the blue sky faded in the mounting glare the stroke became slower, and time after time one boat and then another would lose valuable effort in backing from some hidden wedge of sand, or be thrown into confusion as its oarsmen caught their blades in the encroaching clumps of reeds.
But now, as the next boat pushed slowly through the motionless fronds to drop a grapnel nearby, Bolitho had forcibly to control his despair. It was like wandering in some insane maze, with only the sun and his small compass to show – him the key.to the pn771e. The reeds, which had broken and parted so easily near the river mouth, now stood all around the boats, thick and dark green, and in most places higher than the tallest man. If wind there was, the sweating and gasping men gained no relief from it, for the tall reeds and interlaced creepers acted as a cruelly effective barrier, so that the sun blazed down on the boats without pause, making movement unbearable.
Lieutenant Lang leaned across the gunwale of his cutter and rested one hand on the smooth wood for just a few seconds before jerking it away with a curse.
'My God, it's as hot as a musket barrel!' He tugged his shirt open across his chest and added, 'How far have we come, sir?'
Bolitho said, 'About five miles. We must push forward if we are to make up the time. We will rest all night, otherwise the boats could get scattered and lost.'
He looked down over the side. There was a current of sorts, twisting and turning amidst the reeds in countless tiny rivers. It was a dark, secret world, and the choked water seemed alive with tiny bubbles, released gases from drowned vegetation and rotten roots, but giving the impression of unseen life, or creatures waiting for the intruders to pass.
'After this the men will have to work shorter watches. Six men to a side, half an hour at the most.' He wiped
