He hurried to Bolitho's side and carefully buckled the scabbard into place, muttering, 'The very idea!'
Then he straightened his back and stared at the boats which were being swayed up and over the nettings.
'A long way we've come together, Captain.' He turned to watch the brig's boats being lowered into the water. 'It's not a happy place, I'm thinking.'
Bolitho did not hear him. He watched the marines clambering out and down into the swaying boats, their coats very red, their boots slipping and clattering as they always did. Captain Bellairs was studying each and every one of them, especially the young corporal who carried the sheathed Union Flag which would soon be planted on foreign soil.
Like many sea officers, Bolitho had often thought about such moments, but the mental picture had always been grander and vaster. Endless lines of men, bands playing, cheering people, and the anchored ships looking splendid and secure at the sea's edge.
Now he understood differently. It was only a beginning. Small, but no less impressive because of that.
Conway said, 'Well, we had best begin. I see the Don is already on his way.'
The brig's boats were indeed moving inshore, one bearing the Spanish flag, the others that of the Company.
Bolitho was thankful Viola Raymond was remaining aboard the Rosalind.
Conway followed him into the gig, and with the armed and crowded boats fanning out on either beam they started towards the nearest beach.
Bolitho could smell the jungle long before they were within hail of the people by the frothing surf, like incense, heady and overpowering. He gripped his sword-hilt tighter and tried to compose himself. It was a moment he must always try to remember.
He glanced quickly at Conway for some sign or reaction.
He looked remote and sadly stern.
The new governor of Teluk Pendang had arrived.
Lieutenant Thomas Herrick walked a few paces across the quarterdeck, his movements restless as he watched Bellairs' marines and some seamen below the nearest palisade. It was ast noon, with the sun blazing down on the anchored ships with savage intensity. Most of the unemployed hands were sheltering by the guns beneath the gangways, but Herrick felt unable to leave the deck, even though his head was swimming, his shirt plastered against his body like a wet rag.
Tugging at her cable, the Undine had swung her stern towards the long, pale beach, and with the visibility sharp and clear, it was easier to see the extent of Conway's new command. Larger than he had first imagined, it had obviously been planned and constructed by a military engineer. Even the unfinished timber pier looked neat and strong, but like the rest of the place, was in a state of bad neglect.
As he had paced the quarterdeck, or peered across the taffrail, Herrick had seen Bolitho and some of the landing party moving along the wooden ramparts, or exploring the ground between the two separate palisades which guarded the approaches to the fort and its surrounding buildings. The boats lay like dead fish on the beach, exactly where they had ground ashore some four hours earlier. He had watched some marines hauling the swivel guns towards the fort, others, harried by the massive Sergeant Coaker, had manned the ramparts, or could now be seen patrolling near the pier. The handful of Spanish soldiers had withdrawn into the fort, and of the enemy, or whatever the garrison had been firing at, there was not a sign.
He turned as a heavy step fell on the tinder-dry planking and saw Soames shading his eyes with one hand, and munching a biscuit with the other.
'Any sign yet, sir?' Soames eyed the distant settlement without enthusiasm. 'What a place to end your years, eh?
Herrick was worried. Something should have happened by now. There were supposed to be some three hundred Spanish soldiers and followers in the settlement, and God alone knew how many local natives. From what he had seen there were hardly any. The same old thought crossed his mind. Plague perhaps? Or something even more terrible.
He replied, 'They appear to be examining the inner defences. I am not surprised the Dons wish to be rid of it.' He shuddered. 'From here it looks as if the damned jungle is pushing the whole lot back into the sea.'
Soames shrugged and pointed his half-eaten biscuit at the gun deck. 'Shall I dismiss the gun crews? There seems to be little here to excite action.'
'No. There are only five of them manned. Change 'em round and send the others below for a spell.'
He was glad when Soames walked away. He needed to concentrate, to decide what to do if he was suddenly required to act without Bolitho at his elbow. It had been different the last time. A sort of wild recklessness had come over him, prompted as ever by the need to dash to Bolitho's aid in the only way he knew.
But here were no yelling savages, no darting canoes which a few bursts of canister could scatter. Silence, and depressing immobility.
Midshipman Penn called in his shrill voice, 'One of the boats is being launched, sir!'
Herrick felt his heart lift as the distant figure thrust Undine's green-painted gig into the shallows. He saw Bolitho's tall figure striding down the beach, pausing to say something to Davy before swinging his legs over the gunwale.
At last. Soon they would know what was happening. Only four hours, but to Herrick it felt an age.
'Muster the side party. Stand by to receive the captain!'
Bolitho looked strained and thoughtful as he climbed up through the entry port, his coat covered with sandy dust, his face damp with sweat. He glanced at the motionless side party but did not seem to see them.
He said, 'Have the surgeon and his mates sent ashore to report to Mr. Davy. When the other boats arrive I want powder and shot, food and fresh fruit sent over, too.' He peered towards the anchored brig and at another boat which was pulling quickly towards her. 'I have sent word for Rosalind to assist in every way she can.' He looked at Herrick's round face and smiled for the first time. 'Easy, Thomas. It is not the end, though it was nearly so. Come to my cabin when you have dealt with my orders. Allday has a list of things required.'
When Herrick finally joined Bolitho in the stern cabin he found him stripped to the waist and drinking a large tankard of lemon juice.
'Sit down, Thomas.'
Herrick sat, aware that although Bolitho sounded controlled and level, there was something else, something familiar which told him his mind was busy along another tack.
'When the war ended there was a garrison of about three hundred here.' It was as if he was drawing a picture, just as it had been painted for him. 'The commandant, the King of;Spain's trusted controller, was Colonel Don Jose Pastor, a dedicated soldier to all accounts, and one well used to building such settlements. He gained some trust from the natives, and by barter and other inducements, as well as the usual Spanish use of force, he was able to create a strong defence line, as well as clear much of the surrounding land. There is even a road of sorts, although that now is overgrown. A wilderness.'
Herrick ventured, 'Fever?'
'That, of course, but no more than you might expect in such a place.' He studied Herrick for several seconds, his eyes very grey in the reflected light. 'The settlement has been under almost constant attack for over a year. At first they thought it was only the work of marauding tribesmen, Dyak pirates maybe who were becoming worried by the spread of Spanish influence in their midst. Colonel Pastor had set up a Catholic mission above the settlement. The monks were found terribly mutilated and headless.' He did not see Herrick's expression of horror. 'Then others died when the fresh-water pools were, poisoned. The garrison had to fall back upon its own little stream within the walls. But for it, the fight would have ended long ago. Think of it, Thomas, if you had been an officer here. Trying to hold up morale, fighting an unseen enemy, while day by day your strength is dwindling. Each dawn you would be watching the horizon, praying for a ship, any vessel which could bring relief. Only one came in the whole of that time, but would not land its people for fear of the plague. She merely dropped despatches and left. God knows, I can understand that. They are like living skeletons over yonder.' He looked round as a boat pulled clear of the hull. 'Let us hope our surgeon will find others to help and think less of himself.'