guard to ward off any attack.
Bolitho had half expected Moffitt not to return. He had done enough, and might be pining to rejoin his family.
But five hours after being dropped on a tiny beach, while the long-boat laid off to wait for his return, Moffitt appeared, wading through the surf in his eagerness to bring his news.
It was no rumour. The ordnance vessel, a brigantine, was beached inside the cove, exactly as Sparke's informer had described. Moffitt had even discovered her name, the Minstrel, and thought her too badly damaged even to be moved by expert salvage parties.
He had seen some lanterns nearby, and had almost trodden on a sleeping sentry.
Sparke said, 'I will see that you are rewarded for this work, Moffitt.' He was almost emotional as he added, 'This is the quality of courage which will always sustain us.'
Ordering that Moffitt be given a large tot of brandy or rum, both if he wished, Sparke gathered his officers and senior rates together. There was barely room to draw breath in the schooner's cabin, but they soon forgot their discomfort when Sparke said bluntly, 'Dawn attack. We will use our own and Thrush's boat. Surprise attack at first light, right?' He eyed them searchingly. 'Captain D'Esterre, you will land with your contingent under cover of darkness, and find some cover above the cove. Stay there to mark our flank, and our withdrawal if things go wrong.'
Sparke looked at the rough map which Mofftt had helped to make.
'I will of course take the leading boat. Mr Libby will follow in the other.' He looked at Bolitho. 'You will assume command of Thrush and bring her into the cove for the transfer of cargo once I have smashed whatever opposition which may still be near the brigantine. The marines will then move down and support us from the beach.' He clapped his hands together. 'Well?'
D'Esterre said, 'I'd like to leave now, if I may, sir.'
'Yes. I shall need the boats very soon.' He looked at Bolitho. 'You were about to say something?'
'A hundred miles in three days, sir. Another half day by dawn. I doubt very much if we will surprise them.'
'You're not getting like Mr Frowd, surely? A real Jeremiah indeed.'
Bolitho shut his mouth tightly. It was pointless to argue, and anyway, with the marines in position to cover them they could fall back if it was a trap.
Sparke said, 'It is settled then. Good. Mr Frowd will take charge here in our absence, and the nine-pounder will be more than a match for any foolhardy attacker, eh?'
Midshipman Weston licked his lips. His face was glistening with sweat. 'What shall I do, sir?'
Sparke smiled thinly. 'You will be with the fourth lieutenant. Do what he says and you might learn something. Do not do what he says and you may well be dead before you fill yourself with more disgusting food!'
They trooped up on deck, where a few pale stars had appeared to greet them.
Moffitt reported to Captain D'Esterre, 'I'm ready, sir. I'll show you the way.'
The marine nodded. 'You are a glutton for punishment, but lead on, with my blessing.'
The two boats were already filling with marines and would now be in continuous use. That left only the captured dory. It was as well somebody had kept it secured during the fighting.
Stockdale was by the taffrail, his white trousers flapping like miniature sails.
He wheezed, 'Glad you're not going this time, sir.'
Bolitho stiffened. 'Why did you say that?'
'Feeling, sir. Just a feeling. I'll be happier when we're out of here. Back with the real Navy again.'
Bolitho watched the boats pulling clear, the marines' crossbelts stark against the black water.
The trouble with Stockdale was that his 'feelings', as he called them, were too often transformed into actual deeds.
Bolitho moved restlessly around the Thrush's tiller, very conscious of the stillness, the air of expectancy which hung over the two vessels.
The wind was from the same direction but was dropping with each passing minute, allowing the warmth to replace the night's chill, the sun to penetrate the full-bellied clouds.
He trained his telescope towards the nearest hillside and saw two tiny scarlet figures just showing above the strange, tangled gorse. D'Esterre's marines were in position, pickets out. They would have a good view of the little cove, although from the Thrush's deck there was nothing to see but fallen, rotting trees by the entrance and the swirl of a cross-current by some scattered rocks.
He heard Midshipman Weston with some seamen sorting out the good sweeps from those broken by the swivels' canister. He could also hear him retching as he found some gruesome fragment which Libby's men had overlooked.
Stockdale joined him by the rail, his face black with stubble and grime.
'Should be there by now, sir. Not heard a shot nor nothin'.'
Bolitho nodded. It was uppermost in his mind. The wind was dropping, and that made movement difficult if urgently
required. He would need to move the Thrush under sweeps, and the longer it took the more chance of an ambush there was.
He cursed Sparke's eagerness, his blind determination to take all the rewards for himself. At any time of day a frigate might pass nearby and they could depend on support by the boatload, I ' even at the expense of sharing the victory.
He said, 'Get in the dory. I'm going to that little beach
yonder.' He pointed to the two scarlet shapes on the hillside.
'I'll be safe enough.'
Midshipman Weston panted along the deck, his ungainly feet catching and jarring on splinters from the raked planking.
Bolitho said, 'You take charge here.' He could almost smell his fear. 'I'll be in view the whole time.'
He saw Stockdale and two seamen climbing down to the dory, eager to be doing something to break the strain of waiting. Or maybe to get away from the scene of such carnage.
When Bolitho stepped on to the firm beach, which was not much bigger than the boat itself, it felt good. To smell the different scents, to hear birds and the vague rustling of small creatures nearby was like a balm.
Then one of the seamen exclaimed, 'There, sir! 'Tis Mr Libby's boat!'
Bolitho saw the midshipman's head and shoulders even before he heard the swish of oars.
'Over here!'
Libby waved his hat and grinned. Relief, and more, was plain on his tanned face.
He shouted, 'The second lieutenant says to bring the cutter, sir! There's no sign of anyone ashore, and Mr Sparke thinks they must have run when they saw the boats!'
Bolitho asked, 'What is he doing now?'
'He is about to board the brigantine, sir. She is a fine little vessel, but is badly holed.'
Sparke probably wanted to make quite sure there was no chance of adding her, as well as her cargo, to his little squadron.
Feet slithered on the hillside, and Bolitho swung round to see Moffitt, followed by a marine, stumbling and falling towards him.
'What is it, Moffitt?' He saw the anguish on his face.
'Sir!' He could barely get the words out. 'We tried to signal, but Mr Sparke did not see us!' He gestured wildly. 'Them devils have laid a fuse, I can see the smoke! They're going to blow up the brigantine! They must've been waiting!'
Libby looked appalled. 'Man your oars! We'll go back!'
Bolitho ran into the water to stop him, but even as he spoke the earth and sky seemed to burst apart in one tremendous explosion.
The men in the boat ducked and gasped, while around and across them pieces of splintered wood and rigging rained down, covering the water with leaping feathers of spray.
Then they saw the smoke, lifting and spreading above the cove's shoulder until the sunlight was completely hidden.
Bolitho groped his way to the dory, his ears and mind cringing from the deafening explosion.
