prisoners under sentence of death.
'Larboard, sir!' Pascoe slipped and then wrapped his legs more firmly around the smooth oar. 'A hill! About two miles away!'
Bolitho lowered his eyes to the compass, hardly daring to look. Larboard bow. About north-west from where they were lying.
He called, 'Is it pointed with a ridge down one side?' 'Yes, sir.' The boy's voice became suddenly assured. 'Yes, I can just see it.'
Bolitho looked at Ailday and closed the compass with a snap. 'Then we have arrived.'
Pascoe slithered down the oar and walked rmsteadily amongst the cheering, croaking seamen who banged his thin shoulders and called his name as he passed, as if he alone had saved them from disaster. When he reached the stern he asked dazedly, 'Is it all right, sir?'
Bolitho studied him gravely. 'It is, Mr. Pascoe.' He watched the pleasure spreading across the boy's grimy features. 'It is indeed!'
Feeling his way like a blind man Bolitho pulled himself slowly to the top of a flat boulder and stood upright, waiting to regain his breath while his ears explored the surrounding darkness. Overhead the sky with its limitless ceiling of stars was already much paler, and as he turned slightly towards the light breeze he imagined he could smell the dawn. It was very cold, and through his open shirt his skin felt chilled and clammy.
He studied the undulating humps of land beneath the sky's edge and found time to wonder that any of his small force had lived to see them. It was just as if he had arrived here alone and without support, that he was the only man alive in this forsaken place. Yet behind him at the foot of the steep slope the others were already awake and preparing to move, groping for their weapons and waiting to do what they must, no matter how impossible the odds or how futile the gesture.
Bolitho stretched out his arms and felt his muscles protesting at the sudden movement. Without effort he could picture those same men when they had blundered out of the swamp on the previous evening. Filthy and near collapse, their eyes glazed with something like gratitude just to feel the land beneath their feet. Many had not set foot ashore for months, and after the agonising passage through the swamp they had been almost incapable of standing, so that they had reeled about like drunken men or clung to each other for support. He bit his lip, wishing there was more time. Perhaps these men were already too weary, too dulled by their experiences to complete the work they had come so far to do. Or maybe Peiham-Martin had changed his mind and would not even launch another attack as he had promised.
Almost savagely he shook himself free of the nagging doubts and climbed back down the slope where Lieutenant Lang was waiting for him.
'All the men have been fed, sir. I gave them a double water ration as you ordered.'
Bolitho nodded. 'Good. No one could expect them to make that journey back across the swamp so it is well for them to fight on a full stomach.'
Lang said nothing, and Bolitho imagined he was probably thinking of the other alternative. That without any rations left to sustain them the men would have to fight and win. Or surrender.
Bolitho shifted restlessly. 'Mr. Quince should be back by now. We will have to move off directly if we are to get into position.'
Lang shrugged. 'It is strange to realise the sea is just over those hills, sir. This place feels like a wilderness.'
A voice called hoarsely, 'Here comes Mr. Quince, sir!'
The lieutenant's tall figure emerged_ from the gloom like a spectre, his ragged shirt blowing in the breeze as he strode quickly down the slope with the three seamen he had taken as scouts to spy out the land.
'Well?' Bolitho could hardly keep the anxiety from his voice.
Quince lifted a flask to his lips and drank deeply, the water running unheeded down his chest.
He said, 'Just as you thought, sir. The headland yonder is where the guns are sited.' He belched noisily. 'It's like a deep saddle between those two humpy hills, so no wonder the battery was hidden from seaward.'
Bolitho shivered slightly. 'How many?'
Quince rubbed his chin. 'Seven or eight field-pieces, sir. There are sentries on the headland itself, and more to our right. There's a kind of track which leads around the bay to the town, and we saw a lantern at its narrowest part.'
'I see.' Bolitho felt the excitement running through him. 'And no sentries between those two posts?'
'None.' Quince was emphatic. 'And why should there be? With the swamp at their backs and the bay before 'em, they must feel very safe indeed.'
'Then we will move off.'
Bolitho turned to walk down the slope but stopped as Quince added, 'The Frogs feel so safe that they're not even bothering to hide themselves, sir. There are a few tents near the guns, but my guess is that the bulk of the artillerymen are quartered in the town. After all, it will take hours for our ships to get into position for another attack. The French have all the time in the world.' He fell in step beside Bolitho adding, 'It ' proves too that Las Mercedes is in enemy hands.'
'Fortunately that is not our concern. The ships are!'
Quince chuckled. 'We'll give them something to chew on right enough. One good rush should do it. Then over the cliff with the guns, and we can withdraw to the swamp and wait for the squadron to pick us up.'
Bolitho did not answer, and he had to forcibly drag his mind to the immediate problem of sorting out his men in the gloom. Quince's words had started another train of ideas moving. The French were confident, and even without the supporting cliff battery could still do much damage to the attacking squadron. And this attack was not the answer to the puzzle. None of the French ships wore Lequiller's command flag. He was still out there. somewhere, free and unhampered, while Pelham-Martin's small force was being pared away.
He reached the shadowy figures at the foot of the slope and marvelled at the change which had come over them. Even in the poor light he could see the assured way they waited patiently by their muskets, their faces pale against the scrub and thick foliage which masked the limits of the swamp.
Fox, the gunner's mate, knuckled his forehead. 'All loaded, sir. I checked each musket meself.'
Bolitho said, 'Listen to me. In a moment we are going to climb the hillside in three separate parties. Do not bunch together, and be sure not to slip. If any man looses off his musket by accident we are all done for. We must reach the high ground before dawn without being seen.'
He added evenly, 'Just over yonder lies the bay. And below the cliffs are the remains of the Abdiel and all her company. Remember her fate when the time comes, and do
your best.'
He drew the lieutenants to one side. 'Mr. Quince, you will occupy the headland while I seize the guns. Mr. Lang will cover the track to the town and prevent any one leaving or entering the area.'
Lang asked, 'And the midshipmen, sir?'
'They will keep contact between us.' He looked at each in turn. 'If I fall, it will be Mr. Quince's duty to complete our task. And if we are both killed, then you
will do so, Mr. Lang.'
Allday padded from the shadows. 'Ready, Captain.'
'Right, gentlemen. I think we have wasted enough time with words.'
Quince checked the pistols in his belt and muttered, 'What will become of the boats, sir?'
'We will leave them hidden. If we take the battery we may retrieve them later.' He looked away. 'If not, they will lie rotting as our memorial!'
Without another word he started up the slope, and while Quince's scouts vanished ahead into the shadows the lines of seamen began to follow.
Bolitho wondered what the first thought would be of the enemy sentries when they saw the sailors charging down on them. Wild, ragged and caked with mud, they would strike terror into the strongest hearts.
It had needed almost forcible restraint to prevent the men from trying – to wash themselves once they had recovered from their passage through the swamp. Unlike land creatures, sailors always tried to stay clean, no matter how meagre their rations of water, or how primitive the conditions.
He glanced to his left and saw Quince's thin column of men pushing up the slope, and already he could make out individual figures, the slung muskets and lethal gleam of
