stairway towards him, their bayonets ready to complete the final phase of destruction.
With something like a sob of despair he hurled himself up the last few steps, his sword striking aside the first two bayonets as they lunged at his torn shirt, and with all his strength struck at the men in the second rank. The shocked soldiers were too closely packed to move their long muskets, and he saw one man's face open up in a great scarlet gash as the sword slashed him aside like a puppet. He could feel their bodies reeling and kicking at him, even the heat of their sweat against his bruised limbs as they staggered across the steep stairway in a living tide.
Someone struck him in the spine with a musket, and through a haze of pain he saw a hatless officer trying to aim a pistol at someone below him, his face a mask of frantic concentration. With one last effort Bilitho lifted his sword clear of the struggling figures around him and struck out for the officer. The force of the blow jarred his arm to its socket, and as more and more men surged into the fight he saw the officer's mouth open in soundless agony as the blade cut through epaulette and collar to lay open his artery like some hideous flower.
He could feel himself falling backwards, yet someone was holding him and yelling his name. Then he was being forced forward, his feet stumbling over corpses and pleading wounded as the British sailors charged towards the rectangle of sunlight at the top of the stairs.
As if in a wild dream he saw Rooke thrust his sword into a man beside the doorway and hurry on without even breaking his stride. A tall, pigtailed seaman charged up to the dying Frenchman and drove his boarding axe into his shoulders with such force that he had to stand on the man's buttocks to tear it free.
Allday was holding him upright, the big axe swinging like a reaper's hook whenever any survivor from the wild attack tried to break down the stairs as an only way of escape.
Bolitho forced the pain and nausea to the back of his mind as he realised that unless he did something at once his victorious men would kill every Frenchman left in the fortress.
He pushed Allday aside and followed the others out into the sunlight. To Rooke he snapped, 'The flag! Get it down, man!'
Rooke swung round, his eyes wild. Then he saw Bolitho and seemed to come to his senses. He croaked, 'Did you hear that? Then jump to it, you dolt!' A seaman beside him was trying to throttle a wounded soldier with his bare hands, but released him with a gasp, of pain as Rooke struck his shoulder with the flat of his sword.
Allday waited until the French flag lay on the stonework, then he unwrapped the ensign from about his body and handed it to the breathless seaman.
'Get this up, lad!' Allday shouldered his axe and watched as the flag lifted and then- broke in the warm breeze. 'That'll give 'em something to bite on!'
Bolitho moved across to the rampart and leaned heavily against the worn stones. Below him, inside the battery wall, the French gunners were staring with dismay at the British ensign above the tower, and the Hyperion which even now was going about and preparing to tack towards the harbour entrance.
He felt sick and desperately tired, yet he knew that so much had still to be done. Wearily he made himself turn and look around at the breathless victors. There seemed to be very few left of the twenty-five he had brought with him. He said, 'Take these French soldiers and lock them up.' He looked round as Tomlin appeared at the open doorway. 'Well?'
The bosun knuckled his forehead. 'I have a French officer 'ere, sir. 'E's in charge of the guns.' The fangs gleamed with pleasure. 'E 'as surrendered, sir!'
'Very well.' He could not face the Frenchman now. The look of hurt and humiliation always carried by the vanquished. Not now. He said, 'Mr. Rooke, go below and disarm the battery. Then open the gates and welcome Captain Ashby with my compliments for a job well done.'
Rooke hurried away, and Bolitho heard distant cheering. From the ship or Ashby's marines, he neither knew nor cared.
Allday's face swam across his vision, anxious and questioning. 'Are you all right, Captain? I think you should rest awhile.'
Bolitho shook his head. 'Leave me to think. I must think!' He turned and saw Seton staring down pale-faced with horror at a wounded French soldier by his feet.
The man had been stabbed in the stomach, and there was blood pouring freely from his open mouth. But he still hung on to life, pathetic and desperate as his words choked in his own blood. Perhaps in these last seconds he saw Seton as some sort of saviour.
Bolitho said, 'Help him, lad. He can do no harm now.'
But the boy hung back, his lip trembling as the man touched his shoe with one bloodied hand. He was shaking uncontrollably, and Bolitho saw that his dirk was still in its scabbard. He must have gone through hell a dozen times, he thought vaguely. But he said, 'He's not an enemy now. At least let him die with somebody at his side.' He turned away, unable to watch as the terrified midshipman dropped on his knees beside the gasping, bubbling thing which clutched his hand as if it was the most precious object in the whole world.
Allday said quietly, 'He'll be all right, Captain. Given time, he'll learn.'
Bolitho eyed him emptily. `It's not a game, Allday. And it never was.'
Ashby clumped up the stairs, his face split in a great, beaming smile. 'By God, sir! I just heard what you did!' He banged his hands together. 'I say, sir, I mean, it really was splendid, what?'
Bolitho looked toward the Hyperion. She was settled on her final course towards the entrance now, and he could see men swarming across the boats and preparing them for lowering.
He said, 'I will want you to march across the island to the other fortification, Ashby. They will surrender quickly enough, I imagine, when you inform their commander they are alone now.'
But Ashby refused to move. His scarlet face and uniform seemed to blot out everything, and his voice filled Bolitho's mind like echoes in a cave.
'A splendid victory, sir! Just what we needed! Really splendid!'
Bolitho replied, `If you say so, Ashby. Now please go and do as I say.' Thankfully he watched the marine march through the doorway, still muttering with excitement.
Had he really known what he was doing when he had thrown himself against the French bayonets? Or had it been a fighting madness coupled with the mounting fear of defeat and shame?
Down on the battery the ramparts were alive with shouting marines, and he saw two of the seamen astride Ashby's horse, grinning and whooping like children as they cantered amongst the dazed prisoners.
Allday said, 'He is right, Captain. They were done for when you acted as you did.' He shook his head. 'Quite like old times it was. Short an' sharp, with a few bloody noses at the end of it!'
Bolitho looked down at Seton. He was still sitting beside the French soldier, grasping the bloody hand and staring at the man's face with terrible concentration.
Allday followed his glance and then said, 'He's dead, Mr. Seton. You can leave him now.'
Bolitho shuddered. It was over. He said, 'I shall want a message taken down to the Chanticleer. Bellamy must sail at once and inform the Princesa that we have taken the island.'
He swung round, realising that Seton was standing beside him. His lip was still trembling, and there were tears running down his pale face. j
But his voice was steadier now and strangely determined. 'I w-will go for you, sir, if you th-think I can do it.'
Bolitho laid one hand on his shoulder and studied him for several seconds. Allday's words seemed to linger in his mind like an epitaph. 'Given time, he'll learn.'
He said slowly, 'Very well, Mr. Seton. I am quite sure you can do it.'
He watched the boy walk stiffly towards the doorway, his arms hanging at his sides, his face turned away from the staring corpses and moaning wounded. That could have been me, he thought dully. Twenty years ago I nearly broke and someone helped me to survive with words. He screwed up his eyes against the sunlight. But try as he might he could not remember the words, or the man who had saved his sanity when, like Seton, his boy's world had crumbled about him. He straightened his back and thrust the sword back into its scabbard.
Then he said, 'Follow me, Allday. Let us go and see what we have captured.'
6. PARLEY
