bayonets for this venture.' He smiled at Javal. 'I trust you will agree to that'?'
Javal gave a wolfish grin. 'Willingly!'
Herrick asked quietly, 'And the squadron, sir?'
'I will give you your orders.' He said it deliberately, excluding the others. Showing Probyn and Farquhar where his trust lay. 'You can stand closer inshore tomorrow, if you feel it prudent. If not, we will make a rendezvous to fit in with Captain Javal's plan of attack.'
He glanced quickly around their faces. Farquhar, cool and expressionless. But his fingers tapping a little tattoo on the table betrayed his true feelings. Thinking perhaps that he could do the work better than Javal. Better than Herrick.
Probyn, his heavy face lined with doubt, watching Javal as if to discover something. Considering maybe the extent of Javal's prize money if he succeeded in taking the schooner, or what would become of the squadron if Buzzard and the commodore came to grief.
And Herrick? He was never any use at hiding his doubts.
His face was set with worry, his eyes almost hidden in a frown as he peered at the chart, seeing perhaps the whole venture laid in bloody ruins.
There was no such anxiety troubling Javal.
'Then I suggest we make a start, sir. 'He rubbed his hands. 'Or the bird may quit the coop.'
If he was feeling any dismay at being accompanied by his commodore he was concealing it admirably, Bolitho thought.
He replied, 'Yes. Return to your ships. My flag captain will make known the final orders by signal. 'He lowered his voice. 'I wish to make one thing clear. The squadron will stay together. I want no foolhardy risks taken, but if an opportunity presents itself I want no hesitation either.'
They hurried from the cabin and he added slowly, 'Pass the word, Thomas. Some volunteers and a boat to ferry them to Buzzard without delay. Send Allday to manage it, if you will.' He looked up, seeing the same wretchedness on Herrick's face. 'Well?'
Herrick said, 'Must you go, sir? Let me take charge of the attack. '
Bolitho watched him. He was more afraid of controlling the squadron than he was of the raid. Of being killed even.
'No. Javal is a hard man. And two captains in one ship are never close to success. Rest easy, man, I have no wish to end up dead, or rotting in a Spanish prison. But we must make a beginning. Show our people that we can lead as well as we can command their daily lives.' He reached out impetuously and touched his arm. It was as stiff as a teak rail. 'It applies to the pair of us, as well you know.'
Herrick gave a deep sigh. 'I tell myself that I must never be surprised at your ideas. Ever since I can recall-' He shook himself. 'I will pass the word to Allday at once.' He swung round, his sudden determination making him appear almost pathetic. 'But I’ll be greatly pleased to see you back inboard again!'
Bolitho smiled and walked to his sleeping compartment and the big chest in which he kept a pair of pistols. As he knelt over the lid he felt the ship tilting more readily to the wind, the urgent clatter of blocks and rigging to betray its growing power. He looked up, seeing himself in the small cabin mirror, the unruly lock of black hair above his right eye. He grimaced sadly, touching the deep scar which was partly hidden beneath the lock. An early reminder of what could happen in a split second. Like the dull ache in his shoulder. The small step between life and oblivion.
Allday clattered into the adjoining cabin, the hilt of his, cutlass glinting under his blue jacket.
'Party ready, sir.' He was already reaching up for Bolitho's sword. 'All fighting Jacks!' He grinned. 'Picked 'em myself.'
Bolitho let him buckle his sword around his waist. He asked mildly, 'Were they not volunteers?'
The big coxswain grinned all the broader. 'Of course, sir. After I told 'em my point of view, so to speak.'
Bolitho shook his head and strode out of the cabin without looking back.
A cutter was pitching and creaking at the main chains, and the picked seamen were crowded amongst their weapons and the hands at the oars in an untidy mass.
Bolitho glanced around the quarterdeck and at the men who were already at the braces and along the yards overhead preparing to make more sail once the cutter had returned.
Herrick stood with the side party at the entry port, his features composed again.
Bolitho was about to reassure him, to tell him to take good care of the ship in his absence. But Lysander was Herrick's ship, not his.
Instead he said lightly, 'Until we meet again, Captain Herrick.'
Then he swung himself out of the port towards the waiting boat.
By the time he had reached the sternsheets and regained his breath the cutter was clear of the ship's side, the oars losing their confusion and falling into a slow rhythm across the choppy water.
It was then Bolitho realised that Pascoe was also in the boat, his dark eyes alight with excitement as he waved to someone on the two-decker's gangway.
Allday hissed angrily, 'I knew you'd want him left on board, sir. No sense in putting all the eggs in one basket, so to speak.' He hid his face from the oarsmen. 'It was Mr. Gilchrist who gave the order.'
Bolitho nodded. If he had harboured any doubts about Herrick's first lieutenant, they were gone now. By ordering Pascoe into the cutting-out party he had achieved two things. He could say that Bolitho was taking his nephew as an act of favouritism. He would share fully in any glory if the attack was successful. And if it was not? He looked at the youth, seeing his excitement as he 'had once known it at eighteen years. If that happened, then Allday's comment would be only too true.
