Eventually, stern on to the beach, the pinnace backed water, and aided by two men gripping the gunwales surged the last few yards on to firm sand.
With the ease of a man lifting a stick from a pathway, Stockdale unshipped the rudder and hauled it inboard as the pinnace rose once again before riding noisily on to a small beach.
“Clear the boat!”
Bolitho staggered up the beach, feeling the receding surf dragging at his feet and legs. Men stumbled past him, snatching their weapons, while others waded into deeper water to guide the launch on to a safe stretch of sand.
The first seaman who had been detailed to go outboard from the pinnace was struggling to pull on his trousers and shirt, but Little said, “Later, matey! Just shift yerself up to the top!”
Somebody laughed as the dripping seaman hopped past, and again Bolitho marvelled that they could still find room for humour.
“’Ere comes the launch!”
Little groaned. “Hell’s teeth! Like a pack o’ bloody clergymen!” Hoisting his great belly over his belt, he strode down to the surf again, his voice lashing at the confusion of men and oars like a whip.
Midshipman Cowdroy was already clambering up a steep slope to the left of the beach, some men close at his heels. Jury remained by the boat, watching as the last of the weapons, powder and shot and their meagre rations were passed hand to hand to the shelter of the ridge.
Lieutenant Colpoys sloshed through the sand and exclaimed sharply, “In God’s name, Richard, surely there must be a better way of fighting a battle?” He paused to watch his marines as they loped past, their long muskets held high to escape the spray and sand. “Ten good marksmen,” he remarked absently. “Damn well wasted, if you ask me.”
Bolitho peered up at the ridge. It was just possible to see where it made an edge with the sky. They had to get over it and into their hiding-place without delay. And they had about four hours to do it.
“Come on.” He turned and waved to the two boats. “Shove off. Good luck.”
He deliberately kept his voice low, but nevertheless the men nearest him stopped to watch the boats. Now it would be really clear to all of them. In an hour or two those same boats would be hoisted to the safety of their tier aboard Destiny and their crews would be free to rest, to put the tension and danger behind them.
How quickly they seemed to move, Bolitho thought. Without their extra passengers and weapons they were already fading into the shadows, outlined only occasionally by the spray as it broke over their oars.
Colpoys said quietly, “Gone.” He looked down at his mixed garb of sea officer’s shirt and pair of moleskin breeches. “I’ll never live this down.” Then, surprisingly, he grinned. “But still, it will make the colonel sit up and take notice when I next see him, what?”
Midshipman Cowdroy came slithering back down the slope. “Shall I send scouts on ahead, sir?”
Colpoys regarded him coldly. “I shall send two of my men.”
He snapped out a curt order and two marines melted into the gloom like ghosts.
Bolitho said, “This is your kind of work, John.” He wiped his forehead with his shirt-sleeve. “Tell me if I do anything wrong.”
Colpoys shrugged. “I’d rather have my job than yours.” He clapped him on the arm. “But we stand or fall together.” He glared round for his orderly. “Load my pistols and keep by me, Thomas.”
Bolitho looked for Jury but he was already there.
“Ready?”
Jury nodded firmly. “Aye, ready, sir.”
Bolitho hesitated and peered down at the small sliver of sand where they had come ashore. The surf was still boiling amongst the reefs, but even the marks of the boats’ keels had been washed away. They were quite alone.
It was hard to accept that this was the same small island. Four miles long and less than two miles from north to south. It felt like another country, somewhere which when daylight came would be seen stretching away to the horizon.
Colpoys knew his trade well. Bulkley had mentioned that the debonair marine had once been attached to a line regiment, and it seemed very likely. He threw out his pickets, sent his best scouts well ahead of the rest and retained the heavier-footed seamen for carrying the food, powder and shot. Thirty men in all, and Palliser had about the same number. Dumaresq would be thankful to get his boat crews back aboard, Bolitho thought.
And yet in spite of all the preparations, the confident manner in which Colpoys arranged the men into manageable files, Bolitho had to face the fact that he was in charge. The men were fanning out on either side of him, stumbling along on the loose stones and sand and content to leave their safety to Colpoys’ keen-eyed scouts.
Bolitho controlled the sudden alarm as it coursed through him. It was like being on watch that first time. The ship running through the night with only you who could change things with a word, or a cry for help.
He heard a heavy tread beside him and saw Stockdale striding along, his cutlass across one shoulder.
Without effort Bolitho could picture him carrying his body down to the boat, to rally the remaining seamen and to call for assistance. But for this strange, hoarse-voiced man he would be dead. It was a comfort to have him at his side again.
Colpoys said, “Not far now.” He spat grit from his teeth. “If that fool Gulliver is mistaken, I’ll split him like a pig!” He laughed lightly. “But then, if he is wrong, I shall be denied that privilege, eh?”
In the darkness a man slipped and fell, dropping his cutlass and a grapnel with a clatter.
For an instant everyone froze, and then a marine called, “All quiet, sir.”
Bolitho heard a sharp blow and knew that Midshipman Cowdroy had struck the awkward seaman with the flat of his hanger. If Cowdroy turned his back during any fighting, it was unlikely he would ever live to be a lieutenant.
Bolitho sent Jury on ahead, and when he returned breathless and gasping he said, “We’re there, sir.” He waved vaguely towards the ridge. “I could hear the sea.”
Colpoys sent his orderly to halt the pickets. “So far so good. We must be in the centre of the island. When it’s light enough I’ll fix our position.”
The seamen and marines, unused to the uneven ground and the hard march from the beach, crowded together beneath an overhanging spur of rock. It was cool and smelled damp, as if there were caves nearby.
In a matter of hours it would be a furnace.
“Post your lookouts. Then we’ll issue food and water. It may be a long while before we get another chance.”
Bolitho unclipped his hanger and sat down with his back against the bare rock. He thought of his climb to the main crosstrees with the captain, his first sight of this bleak, menacing island. Now he was here.
Jury stooped over him. “I’m not sure where to post the lookouts on the lower slope, sir.”
Bolitho pushed the weariness aside and somehow lurched to his feet.
“Come with me, I’ll show you. Next time, you’ll know.”
Colpoys was holding a flask of warm wine to his lips and paused to watch them vanish into the darkness.
The third lieutenant had come a long, long way since Plymouth, he thought. He might be young, but he acted with the authority of a veteran.
Bolitho wiped the dust from his telescope and tried to wriggle his prone body into a comfortable position. It was early morning, and yet the rock and sand were already hot, and his skin prickled so that he wanted to tear off his shirt and scratch himself all over.
Colpoys slid across the ground and joined him. He held out a fistful of dried grass, almost the only thing which survived here in little rock crannies where the rare rainfalls sustained it.
He said, “Cover the glass with it. Any reflected light on the lens and the alarm will be raised.”
Bolitho nodded, sparing his voice and breath. Very carefully he levelled the glass and began to move it slowly from side to side. There were several small ridges, like the one which they were using to conceal themselves from enemy and sun alike, but all were dwarfed by the flat-topped hill. It shut off the sea directly ahead of his telescope, but to his right he could see the end of the lagoon and some six anchored vessels there. Schooners, as far as he could tell, pinned down by the glare, and with only one small boat cutting a pattern on the glittering water. Beyond and around them the curved arm of rock and coral ran to the left, but the opening and the channel to the sea were
