Bolitho. I've heard about you.' He did not elaborate.
Bolitho gasped as the hot brandy trickled over his tongue.
Paget nodded to the midshipman. 'Him, too. Man's drink for a man's work eh?' He chuckled, the sound like two dry sticks rubbing together.
Couzens smacked his lips. 'Thank you, sir. That was lovely!' Paget looked at Bolitho and exclaimed, 'Lovely! In hell's name, what sort of a navy is this?'
With the orderly following respectfully at their heels, they set off in a south-westerly direction, the sea to their left, out of sight but comfortingly close.
Bolitho sensed some of D'Esterre's scouts nearby, flitting through the scrub and trees like forest animals as they protected their commanding officer from attack.
They walked on in silence, aware of the lightening sky, the stars fading obediently as the land took shape from the shadows.
They seemed to be moving up a gentle slope now, weaving occasionally to avoid sprawling clumps of prickly bushes and fallen trees.
A dark figure rose out of the shadows, and Paget said, 'Ah, the Canadian gentleman!'
The scout greeted them with a lazy wave. 'This is far enough, Major. The rest o' th' way you gets down on yer belly!'
Paget snapped his fingers, and like a footman serving his master a picnic, the marine orderly brought out with a flourish something like a short green cape.
Paget removed his hat and his sword, then slipped the cape over his head. It completely hid his uniform down as far as his waist.
Bolitho could feel the scout and Couzens staring openmouthed, but when he glanced at the orderly he saw only stiff indifference, and guessed that Paget's own men knew better than to show amusement.
Paget muttered, 'Had the thing made last year. No sense in
getting your head blown off by some backwoodsman, what?' Bolitho grinned. 'Good idea, sir. I've seen poachers use them,
too.'
'Huh: The major lowered himself carefully on to his hands and knees. 'Well, let's get on with it. We'll be pestered by flies and a million sorts of beetles before another hour. I want to be back at the camp by then.'
It took all of half an hour to discover a suitable observation point, and by that time the sky was considerably brighter, and when Bolitho propped himself on his elbows he saw the sea, the horizon like a thin gold thread. He craned forward, the sharppointed grass pricking his face and hands, the soil alive with minute insects. With the sun still below the horizon, the lagoonshaped bay was in darkness, but against the shimmering water, with the restless procession of white horses further to seaward, he could see the fort clearly. A black, untidy shape perched on the end of the low island. He saw two lanterns, and what appeared to be a sheltered fire outside the wall, but little else.
Paget was breathing heavily as he trained a telescope through the grass and rough scrub.
He seemed to be thinking aloud as he muttered, 'Got to be careful at this angle. If the sun comes up suddenly, some fellow down there might see it reflected in this damn glass.'
Couzens whispered to Bolitho, 'Can you see the guns, sir?'
Bolitho shook his head, picturing the marines charging across the alleged causeway into a hail of canister or worse. 'Not yet.' He strained his eyes again. 'The fort is not square, or even rectangular. Six, maybe seven sides. Perhaps one gun per wall.'
The scout wriggled nearer and said, 'They're supposed to have a flat pontoon, Major.' He raised an arm, releasing an even sourer smell. 'When they get supplies sent by land they put th' wagons an' horses on th' pontoon an' haul the thing across.'
Paget nodded. 'As I thought. Well, that's how we'll go. This time tomorrow. While the devils are still asleep.'
The scout sucked his teeth. 'Night-time'd be better.'
Paget replied scornfully, The dark is damn useless to everybody, man! No, we'll watch today. Tomorrow we attack.'
'As you say, Major.'
Paget rolled over heavily and peered at Bolitho. 'You take the first watch, eh? Send the boy to me if you sight anything useful.' Then, with remarkable stealth, he was gone.
Couzens smiled tightly, 'Are we alone, sir?' For the first time he sounded nervous.
Bolitho smiled tightly. 'It would seem so. But you saw where the last picket was. If you go back with a message, put yourself in his hands. I don't want you wandering off.'
He drew a pistol from his belt and felt it carefully. Then he unsheathed his hanger and laid it beside him, thrusting the blade into the sand to hide any reflection.
It was going to be very hot before long. Bolitho tried not to think of fresh drinking water.
Couzens said, 'I feel I'm doing something, sir. Something useful at last.'
Bolitho sighed. 'I hope you're right.'
By the time the sun's rim had broken above the horizon and come spilling down towards the fort and its protected anchorage, Bolitho had learned a lot more about his companion. Couzens was the fifth son of a Norfolk clergyman, had a sister called Beth who intended to marry the squire's son if she got half a chance, and whose mother made the best apple pie in the county.
They both fell silent as they peered at the newly revealed fort and its immediate surroundings. Bolitho had been right about its shape. It was hexagonal, and the walls, which were of double thickness and constructed of stout palmetto wood, had their inner sections filled with rocks and packed earth. Both inner and outer wall was covered by a parapet, and Bolitho guessed that even the heaviest ball would find it hard to penetrate such a barrier.
He saw a squat tower on the seaward side, with a flagpole, and a drifting smear of smoke which suggested a galley somewhere below in the central courtyard.
There were the usual loopholes, and as the light strengthened Bolitho saw two gun embrasures pointing towards the mainland and the causeway, and he could also see the shadow of a gateway between them.
Two small boats were pulled up on to the nearest beach, and the skeleton of another, probably the only remains of some skirmish a year or more ago.
Couzens whispered excitedly, 'There, sir! The pontoon!'
Bolitho lowered his eye to the telescope and scanned first the fort and then the moored pontoon. It was a crude affair, with trailing ropes, and slatted ramps for horses and wagons. The sand on both mainland and beach was churned up to mark the many comings and goings.
He moved the glass carefully towards the anchorage. Small, but good enough for two vessels. Brigs and schooners most likely, he thought.
A trumpet echoed over the swirling water, and moments later a flag jerked up to the top of the pole and broke dejectedly towards them. A few heads moved on the parapet, and then Bolitho saw a solitary figure appear from the pontoon's inner ramp, a musket over his shoulder, gripped casually by the muzzle. Bolitho held his breath. That was worth knowing. He had had no idea there was a space there for a sentry.
With daylight spreading inland, and his companions on the move again, the sentry's night vigil was done. If Paget's scheme was going to work, that sentry would have to be despatched first.
As the first hour dragged by, Bolitho studied the fort carefully and methodically, as much to take his mind off the mounting glare and heat than with any purpose in mind.
There did not appear to be many men in the garrison, and the amount of horse tracks by the pontoon suggested that quite a number had left very recently. Probably in response to the news of the British squadron which had been sighted heading further south.
Bolitho thought of Rear-Admiral Coutts' plan, the simplicity of it. He would like to be here now, he thought. Seeing his ideas taking shape.
The Canadian, Macdonald, slid up beside him without a sound and showed his stained teeth.
'It'd bin no use you reachin' fer yer blade, mister!' His grin widened. 'I could'a slit yer throat easy-like!'
Bolitho swallowed hard. 'Most probably.' He saw Quinn and Midshipman Huyghue crawling through the scrub towards him and said, 'We are relieved, it seems.'
