fortress had once used to defend the coast against pirates. Oars crashed against wood and stone alike, and he saw Bickford’s boat following dangerously close astern, the oarsmen momentarily illuminated as someone fired a pistol from the wall above.
“Easy!” Allday’s voice was almost lost as an explosion shook the air to announce the arrival of another of Inch’s bombshells. “Toss your oars!”
Grinding savagely against a low jetty, the barge lurched to a halt. A figure charged from the darkness, but reeled and fell without a sound as a seaman fired his musket at point-blank range over the edge of the jetty.
Bolitho clawed his way on to the wet stone, feeling the wild-ness all about him and trying to recall the layout of this alien place as he had seen it on the plan.
Too late to change anything now. Too late for second thoughts.
He pointed with his sword towards some stone steps, and yelling like fiends the seamen charged across the jetty. They were inside. What happened now could only be decided one way.
With Allday at his side he ran up the steps towards the smoke, his mind empty of everything but the madness of battle.
14. “a Fearsome place…”
The curving flight of stone steps to the top of the ramparts seemed endless. As Bolitho dashed breathlessly towards the open ledge where smoke still drifted across the stars he was aware of a rising chorus of shouts and cries, the occasional bang of muskets, and above all the urgent blare of a trumpet. Inch’s mortars had fallen silent right on the arranged minute, and but for the careful planning and timing of the attack a further shot from
Below, where the barge had grounded alongside the jetty, Bolitho heard more shouts and bellowed orders as one by one the boats surged through the broken entrance, their crews spilling out into the smoke even before the craft were made fast.
He felt the cooler air on his face as with Allday beside him he found himself on the broad expanse of the main battery. He could see the smaller central tower, the regular crouching shapes of the heavy guns, and darting figures which seemed to come and go from every direction at once.
The Spanish soldiers had at last realised that one deafening explosion which had torn them so violently from their sleep had not been from a mortar. Now, as they hurried from the central tower, they were already firing and reloading as they ran, some of the balls shrieking impotently into the night, while others brought down a running seaman or raised a scream of pain in the deeper shadows by the ramparts.
He shook his sword at Bickford, as with his own party of men he blundered up the steps and almost fell across two interlocked corpses.
“The tower! Fast as you can!”
Bickford did not answer, but ran desperately across the open
space, his mouth like a black hole in his face as he yelled at his men to follow.
Bolitho halted and peered towards the steps. Where was Lucey? He should be here by now to help attack and seize the deep courtyard on the opposite side of the lower fortress. Shots cracked and flashed against the inner wall, and he heard steel clashing on steel, interspersed with short, desperate cries and curses.
Allday shouted, “The guardboat’s followed them in, Captain!” He gestured with his cutlass through a deep embrasure. “Mr Lucey’s lads are closing with them!”
Some of Lucey’s men were already running up the steps, while others were still locked in close combat with the guardboat’s crew across the jetty and out of sight below the wall.
Someone gave a hoarse cheer, and Bolitho saw another low shape edging through the breach, and heard Allday say fervently, “’Tis the gig, and not a blasted moment too soon!”
The additional weight of attackers was enough for the guard-boat, and caught between two prongs of the attack they started to throw down their arms, their voices almost drowned by the jubilant cheers from the seamen.
But that one delay caused by the guardboat’s unexpected appearance had cost Bolitho the precious minutes needed to reach the other stairway which led to the courtyard. Even as he waved his men forward he saw a serried line of musket flashes, heard the thud of a ball smashing into muscle and bone and screams on both sides of him.
The seamen hesitated, some pausing on the steps even though pushed forward by those from the boats behind them.
Bolitho rasped, “Come on, Allday! Now or never!”
Allday brandished his cutlass and bellowed, “Right, lads! Let’s open the door to the bloody bullocks!”
Once again they lunged forward. Beside Bolitho a man shrieked and toppled to the ground, his neck impaled by a musket ramrod.
The soldier must have been so confused by the swiftness of the attack that he had failed to withdraw it after reloading.
All at once there seemed to be figures striking forward from every angle. The next instant they were locked steel on steel. As men reeled and kicked in the darkness, or fell on the blood of their comrades, Bolitho saw a Spanish officer hack down a screaming sailor and run towards him. Bolitho tugged a pistol from his belt and fired. In the bright flash he saw the top of the officer’s skull blasted away to spatter the wall behind him with bloody fragments.
Lucey ran past him, sobbing violently, his jaw clenched as he was carried forward by the wild mob of seamen.
Allday shouted, “There are the steps!” He swung his cutlass at a man kneeling by the wall. He could have been reloading his musket or using it as a crutch because of a wound. He dropped dead without even a whimper.
There was a lantern burning in the lower courtyard, and as they ran or fell down the steep steps Bolitho saw another force of soldiers already forming into line to resist them. Some of them were only partly dressed, others were covered with dust and chippings from the mortar’s bombardment, like workers in a flour mill.
An officer dropped his sword and a loud volley banged out from the wavering muskets. A few seamen fell dead or wounded, but the enemy’s aim had been bad, and they had no time for a further attempt.
Again it was hand to hand, with blood splashing victor and vanquished alike, with no thought or hope but that of killing and staying alive.
From a corner of his eye Bolitho saw Midshipman Dunstan, who had commanded the gig, leading his party round the curve of the wall towards the massive double gates. A soldier darted towards him and aimed a pistol at point-blank range. But it was a misfire, and before the luckless Spaniard could fall back again
he was hacked down by a burly gunner’s mate, and received several more cuts from the other yelling seamen as they scurried past.
Allday said between breaths, “Look, Captain! Mr Bickford’s taken the inner tower!” His teeth were white in his face as he pointed upward, and Bolitho saw someone waving a lantern from side to side from the upper rampart where only hours before the Spanish flag had appeared to mock them.
At that moment the gates were flung open, and as Bolitho ran across the uneven courtyard he realised with sudden shock there was nothing beyond them.
Allday said, “Jesus, where are the bloody bullocks?”
More soldiers were running from another gate at the foot of the inner wall, and at a shouted command opened fire across the front of their scattered comrades. Then, fixing bayonets they doubled forward towards the invaders.
Bolitho held his sword in the air. “Stand fast, my lads!” His voice brought the men round to face the new threat, and he was amazed how steady he sounded. Yet his mind was reeling and grappling with the realisation that Giffard’s marines had not arrived, that already his limited force of seamen had been split in two. Bickford held the inner tower, but without the lower garrison and courtyard being seized also he was more prisoner than conqueror.
