As the bosun's mates hauled the coils of rope from the bottom boards Bolitho stood in the bows and stripped off his shirt and swordbelt, and then gritting his teeth lowered himself into the pungent water and reached up to take one of the lines.
Allday shouted, "Move yourselves!" And vaulting over the gunwale he took another line and looped it round his shoulders like a halter, before wading after Bolitho without even a glance to see who was following.
Bolitho strode slowly through the clinging filth, feeling it around his thighs and then his waist as he struggled forward, the line biting his shoulder as it took the full weight of the boat. Then there were other splashes, followed by curses and groans as the men left the boat and one after the other took their places along the two towing lines behind him.
"Heave, lads!" Bolitho strained harder, trying to hold back the nausea as the stinking gases rose about him, making his mind swim as if in a fever. "Together, heave!"
Reluctantly and very slowly the boat slid forward and down into another trough of deeper water. But there was another barrier waiting for their hesitant steps, and more than one slipped spluttering and choking as the sludge clawed his feet from under him.
Then they were through, and shivering and coughing they dragged themselves back into the boat, where yet another horror awaited them.
Most of the men had great leeches fixed to their bodies, and as several tried to drag the slimy creatures free Bolitho shouted, "Mr. Shambler, pass the slowmatch down the boat! Burn each off in turn, you'll not free yourselves otherwise!"
Allday held the slow-match to his leg and cursed as the fat leech dropped to the bottom of the boat. "Drink my blood, would you? Damn your eyes, I'll see you fry first!"
Bolitho stood to watch the dying sun as it painted the tops of the rushes with red gold, so that for an instant the menace and despair were shaded with strange beauty.
The other boats were still following, the crews plunging through the shallows, their bodies pale in the fading light.
He said, "We will moor for the night." He saw Lang nodding to his words from the other boat. "But we will get under way before dawn and try to make up lost time."
He looked down at his own boat, where the seamen lolled together unable to do little more than sit as they had done throughout the day.
"Detail one man for the watch, Allday. We are all so weary that otherwise I fear we would sleep through dawn and beyond."
He lowered himself slowly into the sternsheets again and saw that Pascoe was already asleep, his head on the gunwale and one hand hanging almost to the water. Gently he lifted the boy's arm inboard and then seated himself against the tiller bar.
High overhead the first stars were pale in the sky and the tall rushes around the boat hissed quietly to a sudden breeze. For a few moments it was almost refreshing after the heat and filth of the day, but the impression was merely a passing one.
Bolitho leaned back and watched the stars, trying not to think of the hours and days which still lay ahead.
Near the bows a man groaned in his sleep, and another whispered fervently, "Martha, Martha!" before falling silent once again.
Bolitho drew his knees up to his chin, feeling the caked mud hard against his skin. Who was Martha? he wondered. And was she still remembering the young man who had been snatched from her side to serve in a King's ship? Or maybe she was a daughter. A mere child who perhaps could no longer remember her father's face.
He looked down at Pascoe's limp body. Was he dreaming, tog? Of his father whom he had never seen? Of a memory which had turned his mind to hate and shame?
Then he rested his forehead on his folded arms and was instantly asleep.
11
DAWN ATTACK
Throughout the following day the nightmare passage across the swamp continued with the sun always there to add to the slow torture. Poling from the boats, or wading through shallows to pull them bodily from the clinging mud, it now made little difference to anyone. They had lost count of time, or the number of occasions- they had left or re-entered the boats, and their bodies and tom clothes were thick with filth, their faces cracked from fatigue and strain.
They had now found a more open stretch of swamp where there was no apparent current at all to break the surface. It was covered in a thick layer of green slime, while the rushes were in separate, isolated clumps, like strange creatures from another planet.
In the late afternoon, when it had become necessary to tow the boats across a half-submerged island of soft sand, one of the men had let go the line and had fallen thrashing and screaming, and because of the mud and slime on his body it was difficult at first to see what had happened. While the others had clustered apprehensively around the boat Bolitho and Allday had hoisted the writhing man aboard, and using a shirt dipped in fresh water Bolitho had cleaned away some of the mud from around a small droplet of blood deep in the man's groin. He must have trodden on some sort of snake, for the bright punctures were easy to see. While Allday had stayed with the seaman Bolitho had ordered the rest back to the towing lines, knowing that the snake's poison was already beyond cure, and to let his men stand by and watch their companion's wretched end would do nothing but harm.
As they had struggled on through the swamp they had been followed by the man's awful cries, and once when Bolitho had glanced across his shoulder he had seen the other seamen watching him, their eyes red-rimmed through the filth on their stubbled faces, their expressions filled with more hatred than pity.
Mercifully the poison took little more than an hour to complete its work, and the lifeless body had been pushed clear of the boat, a grim warning to the others who were following close behind.
Most of the men could no longer face their rations of beef and hard biscuit, and lived rather than waited for the meagre issue of water from the barricoes. Bolitho had watched them during the brief rests, conscious of their jerky movements and dull-eyed faces. Of the way they watched each pannikin of water, with expressions more of animals than men.
Yet in spite of everything they had managed to keep moving. Bolitho knew their forbearance had changed to hatred towards him, that it only needed some small spark to turn the mission into a bloody mutiny.
During the night he let all the men sleep, taking turns to keep watch with Allday and Shambler alone. But in the second boat the vigilance was not enough. Or perhaps Lieutenant Lang had misjudged his own ability to control his men.
As Bolitho awoke from a restless doze he felt Allday tugging his shoulder and the touch of cold metal in his hand as the coxswain thrust a pistol towards him.
"What is it?" For a second longer he thought he had overslept, but when he peered over the gunwale he saw that there was only a hint of light in the eastern sky, and along the boat the men still lay entwined like crude statuary.
"Mr. Lang's sent word that the water's been broached in his boat, Captain! The news'll be badly received when his people awake."
Bolitho lurched to his feet. "Here, keep the pistol." He climbed over the gunwale and felt the slime pressing against his legs in a cool embrace, his feet sinking with each step that he took towards the other boat.
Lang was waiting for him, his face screwed into a frown.
"How bad is it?"
Lang shrugged. "Hardly a drop left, sir. I've only one barricoe for the rest of the journey and the return passage."
A voice echoed across the swamp from another boat. "Time to call the hands, sir!"
Bolitho hauled himself into the boat. "Go to Mr. Quince and wam him at once, and then pass the word to Mr. Canyon." He gripped the lieutenant's wrist. "And no pistols, d'you understand?"
When the men of the second cutter dragged themselves from their sleep they stared blearily at Bolitho and then at each other as he said, "During the night someone aboard this boat broached the barricoe. He took a goodly helping, and in his guilty haste allowed the rest of its contents to run through the bottom boards." He gestured towards their feet, to the.glint of water ami
dst the caked mud and slime brought inboard during the previous day. He added slowly, "I think you know what this will mean!"
Someone near the bows yelled, "Mr. Lang must'a done it, lads. 'E 'ad the watch hisself!" There was an answering growl as he persisted, "The officers 'ave bin 'elping theirselves!"
Bolitho stood quite still in the sternsheets, his hands on his hips. He was aware of the sudden desperate anger, of the fact he was alone and unarmed. But more than this he was conscious of something akin to shame, as if he was indeed responsible.
He said quietly, "You are wrong, but I did not come to plead with you or to make my case for your understanding. You have done well so far, better than anyone could expect. You have attained already what some thought impossible, and if necessary you will do better, even if there is no water at all and I have to drive you with my bare hands!"
A probing shaft of early sunlight played down on the piled weapons, and he saw more than one man glance meaningly towards them.
He snapped, "If you think that by killing me your thirst will be relieved, then you had better make a move! But otherwise I intend to raise the grapnels and get under way again."
The voice yelled, "Don't listen, lads! 'E's tryin' to protect 'is lieutenant!"
Bolitho stepped down and walked slowly towards the nearest men. Across the swamp he could see the others watching in silence, and Allday poised with one foot on the gunwale as if to hurl himself bodily to his captain's aid. He would be too late. Before he could even reach the boat's side any man could snatch a cutlass and cut him down.
He said evenly, "I have sometimes found that the louder the voice, the greater the guilt." He stopped on one thwart, his back to more than six of the men as he stared down at a heavily built sailor by his feet.
"Yesterday I had to use fresh water to clean a man's wound. To try and find where the snake had bitten him."
There was not a sound in the boat, and those near him were staring at his face as if he -had gone quietly mad.
He continued in the same even tone, "I did not even know that man, as I do not not know any of you. But he did his duty, and he did his best." He was conscious of the sun's frail warmth against his cheek, of his heart's savage pounding as he stared fixedly at the man by his feet. If he had made a mistake he was done for. More to the point, there would be a senseless and bloody slaughter, with no victors at the end of it, just some lost and thirst-maddened wretches left to wander in the swamp until they too died, or killed each other.
He said, "When I .cleaned the mud from that seaman his skin seemed white against the filth he had gathered in his efforts to help me, and you, to achieve our objective." His hand shot out and gripped the man's hair before he could move clear. "Look at his chest! See where the water, your water, spilled down it as he drank his fill and let the rest run to waste!"
The man shouted hoarsely, "It's a lie, lads! Don't listen to 'im!"
Bolitho released the man's hair and said, "Stand up and open your shirt."
"I'll see you damned first!" The seaman crouched back against the gunwale, his teeth bared.
"I think not." Bolitho walked aft to the sternsheets adding, "You have one minute!"
The man looked round at the others. "What d'you say, eh? Shall we do for the buggers now?"
A think seaman with a cruel scar down one side of his face said tersely, "Do like he says, 'Arry! You've nuthin' to fear if yewm in the right!"
"You bastard!" The accused man glared round the boat. "You snivellin' buggers!" Then he tore open his shirt. "So I stole some water!" The flask swung into view across his chest, its neck still moist in the sunlight.
Something like a great sigh came from the watching seamen, but still nobody moved. Every eye was on the flask, as if it was a symbol or some awful disclosure which no one could yet understand.
Bolitho said quietly, "Fetch Mr. Lang. This man will be taken to the ship and tried for his crime."
From one corner of his eye he saw a seaman clamber over the gunwale and begin wading towards the other boats. The tension was breaking, and in its place came a wave of fury.
"'Ang the bugger!" Some of the seamen peered round as if searching for a tree. "Cut 'is gizzard, the thievin' scum!"
Bolitho lowered himself over the side and beckoned to Lang. But as he stared towards him he heard a shout of warning and the sudden rasp of steel. When he turned he saw the accused seaman right above him on the gunwale, a cutlass poised over his head.
"Now, Cap'n! You done for me, so it's my turn ..." He got no further.
There was a soft thud, and with hatred changing to astonishment in his eyes he fell forward face down in the slime beside the boat. Between his shoulder blades was a bone-handled knife.
The scar-faced seaman stood by the gunwale watching the corpse as the blood made thin scarlet tendrils between the patches of slime.
"No, .'Arry. You already 'ad your turn!"
Lang stared at the stricken faces and muttered, "I'm sorry, sir, it was my fault. I must have fallen asleep." He hung his head. "It'll not happen again, sir."
Bolitho looked towards the leading boat and saw Allday sliding a pistol beneath his shirt. He had been ready, but at that range it was unlikely he would have been able to save his life.
He said shortly, "I know it will not happen again. For if it does, I will personally see that you are court martialled!" He waded past him adding, "Retrieve the cutlass from that corpse and get under way!"
Allday reached down to help him into the boat, his face lined with concern. "By God, Captain, that was a fierce risk you took!"
Bolitho sat down and tried to wipe some of the slime from his legs. "I had to be sure. It is not necessary for these men to like me. But trust me they must." He looked across at Pascoe's worried face. "And I must trust them. I think we have all learned a lesson this morning. Let us hope there is still time to gain profit from it."
He stood up and looked calmly along the boat. "Rig the towing lines again, Mr. Shambler. There's still some way to go.,'
He watched them leave the boat, bodies caked and plastered almost beyond recognition, their eyes fixed on some point beyond the next layer of reeds and swamp.
Wearily he followed them and took his place at the head of the towline. Allday was right. It had been madness to make such a gesture. Most captains would have had the man seized and flogged to ribbons in spite of their situation. More as an example for open defiance than with any sense of judgement for stealing water from his messmates.
The line went slack and he almost pitched on his face, and when he turned he saw that the men were pulling so strongly the boat was riding above the swamp with the reeds and scum parting across its stem as if being controlled by invisible hands.
The man nearest him panted between tugs, "We'll get there, sir! Have no fear o' that!"
Bolitho nodded and turned back to peer at the swaying reeds ahead of him. Or were they swaying? He brushed his hand roughly across his eyes to clear the mist, but when he looked again it was still there.
Allday, leading the other line, glanced at him and sighed. He had seen the surprise in Bolitho's eyes, the sudden emotion as he had realised the men were trying harder than ever, not for any cause, but for him alone.
Allday had known for a long time that most seamen would do anything for an officer who treated them fairly and humanely. It was strange that Bolitho did.not know this fact, especially as he of all people should have done.
In the early afternoon Bolitho signalled a halt, and gasping from exertion the men clambered back into the boats, too weary even to watch as the barricoes were placed in readiness for their water issue.
Bolitho examined each boat in turn, his mind rebelling against what he saw. They were almost finished, and hardly a man was looking beyond his own boat. Most just sat on the thwarts, heads hanging, oblivious even to the buzzing flies which explored their eyes and cracked lips while they waited like dumb beasts for the next order.
He beckoned to Pascoe. "Well,
my lad, this is the moment." He kept his voice calm but saw the boy's face light up with sudden eagerness. He continued, "Climb up the oar and have a look around. Take your time and don't show disappointment if you sight nothing." He rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. "They'll all be watching you, remember that!"
.He sank back against the tiller bar as Pascoe walked forward between the listless figures, his head tilted to stare at the oar lashed upright in the bows. He shinned up the oar, his body silhouetted against the washed-out blue sky as he twisted slowly to peer above the reeds and far beyond them.
Allday whispered, "By God, I hope there's something to see."
Bolitho did not move, as if by distracting the boy he might destroy their last chance of survival. "Nothing ahead, sir!"
Some of the men were on their feet looking up at the slim figure above them, arms limp at their sides like prisoners under sentence of death.
"Larboard, sir!" Pascoe slipped and then wrapped his legs more firmly around the smooth oar. "A hill! About two miles away!"
Bolitho lowered his eyes to the compass, hardly daring to look. Larboard bow. About north-west from where they were lying.
He called, "Is it pointed with a ridge down one side?" "Yes, sir." The boy's voice became suddenly assured. "Yes, I can just see it."
Bolitho looked at Ailday and closed the compass with a snap. "Then we have arrived."
Pascoe slithered down the oar and walked rmsteadily amongst the cheering, croaking seamen who banged his thin shoulders and called his name as he passed, as if he alone had saved them from disaster. When he reached the stern he asked dazedly, "Is it all right, sir?"
Bolitho studied him gravely. "It is, Mr. Pascoe." He watched the pleasure spreading across the boy's grimy features. "It is indeed!"
Feeling his way like a blind man Bolitho pulled himself slowly to the top of a flat boulder and stood upright, waiting to regain his breath while his ears explored the surrounding darkness. Overhead the sky with its limitless ceiling of stars was already much paler, and as he turned slightly towards the light breeze he imagined he could smell the dawn. It was very cold, and through his open shirt his skin felt chilled and clammy.
Enemy In Sight! Page 19
