fixed bayonets. As Quince looked across he waved his arm, showing that he too understood the importance of haste with the dawn so close upon them.
One of the scouts came scurrying back down the hillside, his musket above his head as he jumped from rock to rock as if he had been doing it all his life.
'All clear, sir.' He pointed towards the curved edge of the hill where already the first weak sunlight was easing away the shadows and painting the coarse stubble and loose stones with colour.
Bolitho saw that the scout was the scar-faced seaman who had saved his life with a well-aimed dirk. 'You've done well.'
He signalled to Lang and saw him lead his party away to the right of the hill. To Allday he said, 'Tell the men to wait here. I'm going up to take a look.'
With the lean seaman at his side he hurried up the last of the slope and then lowered himself to the ground, groping for his small telescope, as with breathtaking beauty the bay opened up before him. Far to the right was the tall, pointed hill which Pascoe had sighted from the swamp, its crest and sides gleaming in the pale sunlight like a polished arrowhead. The town at its foot was still in black shadow, but Bolitho was already moving his glass towards the open sea and the ships, which as before were anchored across the bay's entrance.
The seaman lifted his arm. 'There's the guns, sir!'
Bolitho dipped the glass and steadied it on a piece of rock. The heavy guns, seven in all, were standing very near to the edge of the cliff, their muzzles clearly etched against the cruising whitecaps far below. It was indeed like a great natural saddle, and where the next humpbacked hill lifted towards the end of the headland he could see a line of pale tents and a solitary sentry pacing slowly back and forth. The track which followed the hillside towards the distant town was invisible from here, but Bolitho guessed that the sentry was well in sight of his opposite number at that end.
Stones rattled noisily and Midshipman Carlyon clambered up beside him. 'Mr. Lang's compliments, sir, and his men are in position above the roadway.' He peered down at the guns and shivered. 'There's only one guard at his end, sir.'
Bolitho levelled his glass on the sentry beyond the line of tents. Soon now. What in heaven's name was keeping Quince?
He blinked rapidly and readjusted his glass. For a moment longer he imagined his eye had played a trick on him. One second the sentry was strolling along the edge of the cliff, hands deep in pockets and his chin on his chest as no doubt he considered what the day might bring. Then nothing, as if he had been spirited bodily over the side of the headland. Bolitho waited a few more seconds and then saw something white lift above a low lying bank of gorse. It was the signal, and the luckless sentry would never have to think about this day, or any other.
Bolitho snapped, 'Tell Mr. Lang we are about to attack!'
As the startled midshipman fled down the hillside he turned and waved to Allday. 'Follow me, lads! No noise, and no shooting until I give the word!'
Then as the sun showed itself for the first time above the distant hills he sprinted down, the slope towards the battery, his sword in his hand and his eyes fixed on the silent tents.
The sheltered side of the hill was steeper than he had imagined, and as he gathered speed he felt as if he was falling headlong. Behind him the noise grew louder as anticipation and tension gave way to wild excitement which not even threats could control, and from one corner of his eye he saw a seaman already passing him, his levelled bayonet held out like a pike while he charged full tilt at the head of his companions.
Somewhere in the far distance a pistol cracked, the sound puny against the pounding feet and fierce breathing, and even as Bolitho vaulted over some splintered boulders a man emerged from one of the tents and stood stockstill, as if turned to stone.
Then he whirled round, tearing at the tent flap and yelling, 'Aux armes! Aux armes!'
Figures tumbled wildly from the other tents, some with weapons, but mostly without as they ran this way and that, probably still unaware what was happening.
More shots rattled in the crisp air, and several of the Frenchmen fell untidily beside the tents. As Quince's ragged line of seamen appeared around the hill someone, probably an officer, fired his pistol and drove his startled men towards the guns. It was then, and only then that the awakened artillerymen saw Bolitho's party charging towards them.
Here and there a musket banged, and once Bolitho felt a ball pass within inches of him. But the resistance was over before it could begin, and as soldier after soldier threw down his weapon Bolitho heard Quince bellowing above the shouts and cries, 'Hold your fire, damn youl Give quarter!'
Bolitho saw a seaman drop on one knee to aim his musket at a French solder who not only held up his hands in surrender, but was within five feet of the muzzle, staring at it like a terrified rabbit. Bolitho struck the man's arm with the flat of his sword and saw him drop the musket with dazed disbelief. He snapped, 'Save your energy!' And as the seaman stumbled after the others he gestured towards tl.e French officer who alone acid defiant stood with his back to the sea, a sword gripped firmly in his hand.
'Drop your sword!' Bolith saw the hesitation on the man's face change to sudden fury as with a cry he hurled himself forward, his blade stabbing in the sunlight like burnished gold.
The sudden rasp of steel on steel seemed to bring the attack to a halt. Even the victorious seamen lowered their weapons, as if stunned by the desperate bravery of one against so many.
Bolitho could feel the man's breath on his face, as hilt to hilt they locked swords and reeled against one of the heavy cannon, their feet stirring the dust while they fought to hold and exploit a first advantage. He twisted his shoulder behind the sword and pushed with all his strength, seeing his opponent stagger away, his blade already reaching up to protect his neck.
Between his teeth Bolitho rasped, 'Strike, damn youl Strike!'
But the Frenchman only seemed more inflamed, and with another bound sprang forward to a fresh attack. Bolitho parried the blade aside, paused, and as the other man lurched against the cannon's massive wheel he drove forward and down, feeling the grating impact of steel against ribs, and then the final thrust which forced the other man's breath from his lungs in one awful cry.
Bolitho stood for several moments staring down at the lifeless figure draped against the wheel. 'Fool!' He looked at the sword in his hand, red in the sunlight. 'Brave fool!'
Allday came across to him, his heavy cutlass swinging in his fist like a toy. 'Well done, Captain!' He jerked the corpse from the gun and pushed it towards the cliff edge. 'That's one less to worry about.'
Bolitho held up the sword and stared at it, amazed his hand was so steady when every fibre in his body seemed to be shaking uncontrollably.
He said heavily, 'I hope I die as bravely when the time comes.'
Quince panted past the prisoners and grinned at him. 'Not lost a man, sir! There are only twenty prisoners, so we'll not be hard put to watch over 'em.' He studied Bolitho worriedly. 'Are you feeling well, sir?'
Bolitho stared at him. 'Thank you, yes.' He slid the sword back into its scabbard. 'But now that we have seized the guns I have second thoughts about them.'
Quince licked his lips as a trumpet blared from, the moored ships. 'We've not long, sir. The Frogs will be sending boats ashore with more men than we can manage.'
Bolitho did not hear him. 'Something you said earlier, Mr. Quince.'
'I said, sir?'
'You remarked that the squadron will have a hard fight, even without the battery to oppose them.'
Quince shrugged. 'Well, sir, if I did say that, I am sorry to have given you cause to doubt.' He shook his head admiringly. 'After the way you got us here and took these damned guns, I'll be thankful and grateful to leave it at that.'
Bolitho walked to the edge of the cliff. 'It is not enough. The Abdiel was hit and ablaze within minutes of the first attack.' He gestured to a rough earthworks beside the tents. 'They used heated shot from that crude oven to do it so quickly.'
Quince nodded grimly. 'I know, sir. 'Tis a pity the embers are cold. We could have set one, maybe two of 'em ablaze for good measure before we quit this place.'
Bolitho watched the ships, his face masked in concentration. 'But if you were a French captain down there you might expect such an attack.' He nodded firmly. 'Fetch Mr. Fox and tell him to prepare the guns for firing!' As Allday hurried away he added, 'Set light to one of those tents and then douse the flames with water, Mr. Quince.
