what?'
Bolitho picked up his hat and made for the door. With Paget you knew exactly where you were. He had selected him for some precious sleep. The very thought made him want to lie down immediately and close his eyes.
Equally, he knew the true reason for Paget's concern. Someone would have to stay behind and light the fuses. You needed a measure of alertness for that!
Bolitho walked past D'Esterre without even seeing him.
The marine captain picked up the wine bottle and said, 'You told him, sir? About tomorrow?'
Paget shrugged. 'No. He is like I was at his age. Didn't need to be told everything.' He glared at his subordinate. 'Unlike some.'
D'Esterre smiled and walked to the window. Somewhere across the water a telescope might be trained on the fort, on this lighted window.
Like Bolitho, he knew he should be snatching an hour's rest. But out there, still hidden in darkness, were many of his men, sprawled in the careless attitudes of death. He could not find it in his heart to leave them now. It would be like a betrayal.
A gentle snore made him turn. Paget was fast asleep in the chair, his face completely devoid of anxiety.
Better to be like him, D'Esterre thought bitterly. Then he downed the drink in one swallow and strode out into the darkness.
11
Rear guard
When the sun eventually showed itself above the horizon and felt its way carefully inland, it revealed not only the horror of the night's work, but to those who had survived it also brought new hope.
Hull down with the early sunlight were two ships, and at first it seemed likely that the enemy had somehow found the means to frustrate any attempt of evacuation. But as the vessels tacked this way and that, drawing nearer and nearer to land with each change of course, they were both identified and cheered. Not only had the sloop-of-war, Spite, come for them, but also the thirty-two-gun frigate Vanquisher, sent, it seemed, by Rear-Admiral Coutts himself.
As soon as it was light enough the work of collecting and burying the dead got under way. Across the causeway, now partially submerged, a few corpses rolled and moved with the current. Most had been carried away to deeper water during the night, or retrieved perhaps by their comrades.
Paget was everywhere. Bullying, suggesting, threatening, and occasionally tossing a word of encouragement as well.
The sight of the two ships put fresh life into his men, and even though neither of them was a match for well- sited shore batteries, they would shorten the work of evacuation. More pulling boats, fresh, rested seamen to work them, officers to take over the strain of command.
Bolitho was in the deep magazine with Stockdale and a marine corporal for much of the morning. The place had a dreadful stillness about it, a quality of death which he could feel like a chill breeze. Keg upon keg of gunpowder, boxes of equipment, and many unpacked cases of new French muskets and side-arms. Fort Exeter had a lot to answer for in past dealings with England 's old enemy.
Stockdale hummed to himself as he attached the fuses to the foot of the first mound of explosives, entirely engrossed and glad to be out of the bustle in the fort above.
Boots tramped in the courtyard, and there were sounds of grating metal as the cannons were spiked and then moved to a point above where the explosion would be.
Bolitho sat on an empty keg, his cheeks stinging from the shave which Stockdale had given him when he had awakened from his deep, exhausted sleep. He remembered his father telling him when he had been a small boy, 'If you've not had to shave with salt water, you never know how soft is the life of a landsman by comparison.'
He could have had all the fresh water he wanted. But even now, with the ships so near, you could not be complacent, or certain.
He watched Stockdale s big hands, so deft and gentle as he worked with the fuses.
It was a gamble, always. Light the fuses. Head for safety. Minutes to get dear.
A seaman appeared on the sunlit ladder.
'Beg pardon, sir, but the major would like you with 'im.' He looked at Stockdale and at the fuses and paled. 'Gawd!'
Bolitho ran up the ladder and across the courtyard. The gates were open, and he looked across the trampled ground, the dried blood-stains, the pathetic mounds which marked the hasty graves.
Paget said slowly, 'Another flag of truce, dammit.'
Bolitho shaded his eyes and saw the white flag, some figures standing on the far end of the causeway, their feet touching the water.
D'Esterre came hurrying from the stables where some marines were piling up papers and maps and all the contents of the tower and quartermaster's stores.
He took a telescope from Paget's orderly and then said grimly, 'They've got young Huyghue with them.'
Paget said calmly, 'Go and speak with them. You know what I said this morning.' He nodded to Bolitho. 'You, too. It might help Huyghue.'
Bolitho and the marine walked towards the causeway, Stockdale just behind them with an old shirt tied to a pike. How he had heard what was happening and been here in time to keep Bolitho company was a mystery.
It seemed to take an age to reach the causeway. The whole time the little group at the far end never moved. Just the white flag streaming over a soldier's head to display the wind's impartial presence.
,Bolitho felt his shoes sinking into sand and mud the further they walked towards the waiting group. Here and there were signs of battle. A broken sword, a man's hat and a pouch of musket balls. In deep water he saw a pair of legs swaying gently, as if the corpse was merely resting and about to surface again at any moment.
D'Esterre said, 'Can't get any closer.'
The two groups stood facing each other, and although the man who waited by the flag was without his coat, Bolitho knew it was the senior officer from yesterday. As if to prove it, his black dog sat on the wet sand at his side, a red tongue lolling with weariness.
A little to the rear was Midshipman Huyghue. Small, seemingly frail against the tall, sunburned soldiers.
The officer cupped his hands. He had a deep, resonant voice which carried without effort.
'I am Colonel Brown of the Charles Town Militia. Who have I the honour of addressing?'
D'Esterre shouted, 'Captain D'Esterre of His Britannic Majesty's Marines!'
Brown nodded slowly. 'Very well. I have come to parley with you. I will allow your men to leave the fort unharmed, provided you lay down your weapons and make no attempt to destroy the supplies and the arms.' He paused and then added, 'Otherwise my artillery will open fire and prevent evacuation, even at the risk of blowing up the magazine ourselves.'
D'Esterre called, 'I see.' To Bolitho he whispered, 'He is trying to drag out the time. If he can get cannon on the hilltop he can certainly throw some long shots at the ships when they anchor. It only needs a lucky ball, just one in the right place.' He shouted again, 'And what does the midshipman have to do with all this?'
Brown shrugged. 'I will exchange him here and now for the French officer you are holding prisoner.'
Bolitho said softly, 'I see it. He is going to open fire anyway, but wants the Frenchman in safety first. He fears we might kill him, or that he would be cut down in a bombardment.'
'I agree.' D'Esterre said loudly, 'I cannot agree to the exchange!'
Bolitho saw the midshipman take a pace forward, his hands half raised as if pleading.
Brown called, 'You will regret it.'
Bolitho wanted to turn his head and look for the ships, to see how near they had managed to tack. But any sign of uncertainty now might bring disaster. Another frontal attack perhaps. If the enemy knew about the guns being spiked they would be halfway across the island by now. He felt suddenly vulnerable. But how much worse for Huyghue. Sixteen years old. To be left out here amongst enemies in a strange land where his death or disappearance would excite very little comment.
