'Not your fault.' Bolitho walked heavily along the water's edge, searching for one more swimmer. 'How many did you lose?'
Soames replied indifferently, 'Seven or eight.' He gestured to several dark shapes along the beach. 'But we took a dozen of the others!' He added with sudden fury, 'We could have taken that damn ship! I know we could!'
'Yes.' Bolitho gave up his search. 'Muster our people and lead me to the boat. We must pick up Mr. Fowlar and his party while it's dark. The slaver will be ready for us by dawn, I'm thinking.'
It was not much of a boat, and leaked badly from a couple of stray musket balls.
One by one the weary seamen clambered into it, hardly looking at each other, or even caring where they were. If they were called on to fight now they would fail completely.
Bolitho watched them anxiously. Vaguely he recalled Herrick's words all those weeks back. Different in peacetime. Perhaps they were.
The wounded men were sobbing quietly, and he pushed Keen towards them. 'See to them.' He saw the youth draw back, knew that he, too, was close to breaking. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. 'Hold on, Mr. Keen.'
To Soames he said quietly, 'Mr. Fowlar's party can take the oars. They'll be in better shape.'
He turned as a new sound intruded from the trees. Like one huge beast stamping its feet, while a combined chorus of yells echoed and re-echoed around the inlet.
Allday muttered, 'What in the name of God is that?'
'The slaves at the camp.' Soames was standing beside Bolitho as the boat edged away from the land. 'They know something we don't.'
Bolitho swayed as the overloaded craft rocked dangerously in the current. The slaves must realise that, despite the brigantine's presence, and the power of her guns, they would not now be taken as captives to the other side of the world. Not this time anyway. He thought of the native craft Herrick had sighted. They might be here already.
He snapped, 'Easy there! I can see Mr. Fowlar!'
The master's mate peered into the boat with obvious dismay. 'I'll never get my party in, too, sir!' Soames jerked his thumb towards the trees. 'You will if you wish to stay alive!'
Allday took the tiller and checked each man as he climbed into the boat. Somehow they all got in, barely leaving the oarsmen room to pull, and with the hull so low in the water
there was hardly six inches of freeboard. 'Shove off!'
He winced as a gun banged out, the long orange flame of fire darting from the vessel's side like a vicious tongue. The ball hissed astern of the boat and pounded into the sand.
Bolitho called, 'Easy now! Watch the stroke, lads!'
Too many splashes and the gunners would have an aiming mark.
Keen whispered, 'One of them has just died, sir.' He added hoarsely, 'Hodges.'
'Heave him over the side. Watch the trim, lads. Keep her steady.'
Poor Hodges. He would not walk in the marshes again. Never feel the North Sea on his face, or see the ducks in flight. He shook himself angrily. What was the matter with him?
The corpse drifted clear, and another man shifted along the thwart.
Soames observed, 'They've ceased firing. Probably licking their wounds, like us.'
'Most likely.'
Bolitho felt the bitterness rising again. The slaver had lost several men, but had still enough captives to make his visit profitable whether he retrieved the rest from the camp or not. Whereas… He tried not to face the fact that they had failed.
His men had fallen back, probably because they had lost whatever faith they had held in him.
Nervion's attacker was as much a mystery as before. A slaver's crew was usually made up from the sweepings of many ports and many tongues. Perhaps Davy had been right after all, and he should never have attempted to capture the brigantine.
His head was aching to match the bruise on his thigh. He was barely able to think any more.
Fowlar said, 'Mr. Mudge has explained it to me, sir. The ship will have to stand well out tomorrow because of the shoals hereabouts. The slaver's master doubtless knows a better passage, but…' He left the rest unsaid.
'Very well.' Bolitho saw an overhanging clump of trees reaching out across the water like a partly demolished bridge. 'We will make fast here. Rest the men, and share out the last of our water and rations.'
Nobody replied, and some of them appeared to be sleeping where they sat or crouched like so many bundles.
He tried not to think about the brigantine. But for his action she would be in ignorance of Undine's presence. It was obvious they had not seen her, nor had they understood who had attacked and tried to capture their ship. After all, it was not unknown for one slaver to prey upon another for extra profit.
But now, because of his persistence, her master would recognise Undine as soon as he stood out to sea. Undine would be unable to venture too close inshore, and a long chase would prove just as fruitless. So, if he had been involved in delaying Puigserver's mission, he would now know that Undine at least was on her way.
He clenched his fingers around his sword until the pain steadied him. But for Rojart they would have succeeded. How many battles had been lost by a single, stupid oversight? Poor Rojart. The ship which had destroyed his Nervion was the last thing he had seen on earth. Then she had murdered him just as brutally.
The bowman called, 'I can see a beach to larboard, Cap'nl Looks safe enough!'
Allday glanced at Bolitho's shoulders, feeling his despair as if it were his own.
Bolitho said, 'Take her there, Allday.' He pushed his other thoughts aside with something like physical force. 'We will work in three watches. Two hours at a time.' He tried again. 'Post sentries, and keep a good lookout.'
The bowman leapt over the stem and waded into the shallows, a line across his ragged shoulder like a halter. The boat nudged on to hard sand, tilting drunkenly to the current and the sudden shift of men as they staggered ashore.
Bolitho listened to Soames as he picked out his sentries for the first watch. Had he been in charge of the boarding party, would he have hesitated? He doubted it. Soames would have done what he saw ass his duty, helpless slaves or not, and put a ball through the brigantine's bottom or touched off her magazine. In this climate she would have been gutted in minutes, leaving the slavers isolated and easy to capture at leisure.
Because he had not been able to destroy the slaves, Bolitho had gained nothing. And he had lost nearly a third of his original party as well.
Allday slumped down beside him and handed him a water flask.
'I've secured the boat, Captain.' He yawned hugely. 'I just hope we don't have to pull too far in it, that's all.' Then he said, 'Don't you fret, things aren't that bad.' When Bolitho remained silent he added, 'We've seen an' done much worse in our time. I know some of our people took to their heels instead of rallying when they were most needed, but times are different, or seem so to many of 'em.'
Bolitho looked at him dully, but could not see his expression.
'How so?'
Allday shrugged. 'They don't see the sense in getting killed for a few slaves, or a ship they know nothing about. In the old Phalarope it was different, y'see. A flag to follow, an enemy you could recognise.'
Bolitho laid back against a tree and closed his eyes, hearing the jungle coming alive for the night. Squeaks and roars, groans and rustlings.
He said, 'You mean that they do not care?'
Allday grinned. 'If it was a proper war, Captain, a real one
like the last, we'd soon make 'em into fighters.'
'So, unless they are threatened personally they will not fight for those less fortunate?' Bolitho opened his eyes and studied the stars overhead. 'Before this voyage is done, I fear that some of them may come to understand otherwise.'
But Allday had fallen asleep, his cutlass across his chest like a dead knight.
Bolitho stood up quietly and walked to the boat to see how the wounded man had settled down for the night. He saw the stars reflected on the sluggish water, and was surprised to discover he was feeling less despairing.