midshipman in charge.
Ashby shouted, 'Right turn! By the left, quick march!
It was like part of a crazy dream, Bolitho thought. Ashby on the grey horse at the head of his men. The glitter of bayonets and clink of equipment, and the steady thud of boots as they squelched indifferently through the bloody carnage left by the sloop's savage onslaught.
And to add to the unreality the drums and fifes had broken into a jaunty march, The Gay Dragoon', and Bolitho found time to wonder how the bandsmen could remember the tune at a time like this.
He walked stiffly across to Rooke. 'We must make a move right away.' He pointed down to the fallen rocks which lined the foot of the headland like a broken necklace. 'We will have to climb along there until we get beneath the battery. It is a good two cables, so we must be quick before the garrison recover their wits.'
Rooke grimaced. 'When the Frogs see Ashby's army approaching their main gate they'll think the end of the world has come!'
Bolitho nodded. 'I hope so. Otherwise we'll get more than loose stones dropped on our heads!'
Slipping and gasping the line of seamen struggled along the base of the cliff. They could hear the big guns firing again, and Bolitho guessed that Quarme was approaching for another mock attack. By now the garrison would know of the landing, but there was little they could do but sit firm and wait for the assault. When, as Rooke had remarked, they saw Ashby's confident approach along the island's only road they should assume it was coming from that direction.
Bolitho had studied every available item of information about the fortress, and prayed that there had been no outstanding changes in its general construction. The circular keep was surrounded by a great octagonal curtain wall in which there were deep gun embrasures at regular intervals. On the inland sides of the ramparts was a deep ditch crossed by a single bridge below the fortress gates. But to seaward, and above the cliff itself there was only the curtain wall. Whoever designed the fortifications had assumed it improbable that anyone would get past the harbour entrance, and if so would be equally unlikely to climb the one-hundredfoot cliff.
Bolitho slipped and fell waist deep in water. It was very cold, despite the sun, and the shock helped to steady him.
They struggled on. The pace was already slowing, for cramped shipboard life was no trnining for this sort of exercise.
Rooke gasped, `The fort could be harder to take than we thought, sir. It may fall to Ashby to make a frontal attack.'
Bolitho glanced at him. `Like most old fortifications, I suspect that this one was built on the assumption that any attacks would come from the sea. Nobody ever seems to allow for rot from within.'
He ignored the uncertainty on Rooke's narrow features. Almost unconsciously he was thinking of Pendennis Castle, by which he had grown up as a boy, had watched from his window on countless occasions.
That too had been constructed to defend Falmcr d1 from, the sea. Then during the Civil War it had been made to change its role, and the old castle had turned its defences inwards to withstand the attacking troops of Cromwell, to defend the last bastion of King Charles.
One of the old portraits in Bolitho's house showed the siege as a background for captain Julius Bolitho, the man who had tried to lift the blockade by forcing his shipload of stores through to the beleaguered castle. But in vain. He had died from a musket ball, which had saved him from the more degrading end by hanging. And the castle had fallen just the same.
Bolitho groped his way along the top of a sea-smoothed rock and stared up at the cliff. 'I think this is the point.' His heart was pounding against his ribs, and his shirt was moulded to his body with sweat.
It looked very steep indeed, but if he had correctly estimated the distance, they should be directly below the rounded top of the headland where the rampart came to within feet of the edge.
'Mr. Tomlin, are you ready?'
. Tomlin was the Hyperion's boatswain. He was short, squat and extremely hairy, and a man of great strength. But in spite of his formidable carriage and muscular power, Bolitho had never seen him strike a man in anger.
Now he was standing on a rock, a heavy grapnel in his hand like a huge claw. `Ready, sir!' When he opened his mouth he revealed a large gap left by the loss of two front teeth; this too added to his strange appearance by giving him a terrible maniac grin.
Bolitho glanced round at his small party. They were soaked in spray and sea-slime, and looked wild-eyed and desperate.
He spoke slowly but crisply. There was no time left for mistakes. `Mr. Tomlin will go first and secure the grapnel. You will then follow me, two men on the line at a time, understood?' Several nodded dumbly and he continued, 'No one will make a sound or do anything until I say the word. If we are seen before we can cross the wall there will be no time to escape back down here.' He eyed them grimly. 'Just do as I do, and stay together.'
He had to stifle the sudden compassion he felt for these weary, trusting seamen. They must trust him. It was the only way.
Bolitho nodded curtly. 'Very well, Mr. Tomlin, let us see the strength of those arms, if you please!'
Tomlin made the steep ascent appear easy, and in spite of the crumbling cliff face he swarmed upward with the agility of a young and nimble maintopman. Within fifteen feet of the cliff edge was a narrow ledge, and as soon as Tomlin had reached this point he made use of the heavy grapnel for the first time, driving it deep into a clump of jutting rocks, his stocky body outlined against the sky like a grotesque gargoyle. Then he tossed down the stout line and peered at the faces upturned from the rocks below.
Bolitho tested the line and then began to climb. The cliff face was rougher than he had thought, and the sparse footholds were slippery with gull droppings, so that by the time he reached the ledge and Tomlin heaved him unceremoniously up beside him, he was gasping for breath.
The bosun grinned, his remaining teeth shining like fangs. 'Very quick, sir!' He gestured with a thick thumb. 'T'others'll follow now.'
Bolitho could not reply. He staggered to his feet and gauged the next and final part of the climb. Over the lip of the cliff he could see the top of the rampart and a drifting haze of gunsmoke from the battery. There were two embrasures, but both were empty, and he guessed that the guns had been manhandled to the other rampart so as to concentrate on the Hyperion.
A few stones splashed far below, and he knew that the first of his men were swarming up behind him. But he dared not look down. The agony of suspense and the actual effort of climbing had taken their toll.
He said between his teeth, 'Very well, I will go up now.' He looked enviously at Tomlin's ugly features and wondered how he could appear so calm and self-assured. 'See that they stay quiet!'
Tomlin grinned. 'I'll throw the first bugger down the cliff who utters a whisper, sir!' And he meant it.
Bolitho began to drag himself up the sloping rock face, suddenly conscious of the sun against his neck and hands, the rough touch of gorse beneath his clawing fingers. His whole world was concentrated on a small patch of cliff, and even time seemed to have lost meaning and reality.
From one corner of his eye he could see the sea, blue and clear like glass, with an horizon so bright that it stung his vision. Of the ship there was no sign, but as the cliff shook to the muffled rumble of gunfire he knew that she was still close by.
Then he raised his head and saw the rampart. It was so near that he could see the tufts of grass and tiny blue flowers which grew unconcerned between the weathered stones, and the bright scars beside the embrasures made by the Hyperion's first attack.
As he hauled himself over the edge and crawled quickly to the foot of the rampart he felt naked in the sun's glare, and expected a sudden challenge, or the terrible agony of a musketball in his back.
The nearest embrasure was only a few feet from the ground, and hardly daring to breathe he rose slowly on to his knees and peered over the rim. For a moment he forgot his own danger and the responsibility for what lay ahead. He felt strangely detached, like a mere spectator separated from reality and pain by distance and time.
The octagonal wall which surrounded the central fortress had been built regardless of foundation, so that it was moulded to the slopes and humps of hillside, as if nothing would ever dislodge it. Bolitho's embrasure was one of the highest points on the wall, and through it he could see past the sturdy tower to the twin gates on the far side of the battery. He could even see the road as it dipped down between the hills to vanish below the gates, and the busy figures of stripped and panting soldiers as they carried fresh balls towards the waiting guns which overlooked
