Bolitho shook his head. 'Under cover of darkness it would be fatal.' He looked at Leroux. 'What do you think?'
The major replied, 'It would take hours. Even if we could do it, the men would be in poor shape for a pitched battle afterwards. '
'And Lysander would already be in the bay.'
He felt despair crowding in on him. He had been blind, too stupid to plan for this one real barrier which made all other preparations a waste of time. And lives. He had relied on the chart's sparse information and his own eagerness. His mind rebelled at the word. For vengeance?
'We will have to march them around the gully, sir. ' Leroux was watching him. Sharing his anxiety. 'However-'
'Indeed, Major Leroux. That one word however tells all.' Lieutenant Nepean remarked, 'We will circle whatever defences there are in the bay, sir, and storm the battery from inland. '
Leroux sighed. 'Pass the word to Sergeant Gritton. We will follow the scouts as before.' In a quieter voice he said to Bolitho, 'There is nothing else we can do now.'
It could have been a reproach, but it was not. Gilchrist's tall figure carne out of the gloom. 'I hear that we are cut off by the gully, sir.'
'That is so.' He tried to discover his reactions. 'so we will have our forced march after all.'
He saw the marines plodding past again, muskets slung, heads bowed as they watched the legs of the men in front. Most of them did not know where they were, let alone what they were doing here. Trust. The word came at him like a shout. It was all they had, and he had thrown it back at them.
Gilchrist said in a dull voice, 'It is what follows that troubles me, sir.' He turned to take up his position with the next file of marines.
Leroux snapped, 'That man puts an edge to my patience, sir. '
Bolitho glanced at him. 'Captain Herrick is satisfied with his competence.'
Leroux slashed at a gorse bush with his curved hanger and replied, 'It is not for me to speak of others behind their backs, sir. '
'Remember that word we were using, Major?' Bolitho heard the hanger cut angrily at another patch of gorse. 'However?'
'I know that Captain Herrick has served with you before, sir. The whole squadron knows it. He is a fine man, and a fair one. It is hard to be either in a ship of the line, from my experience. '
'I will agree to that, Major. Thomas Herrick has been my friend since the American Revolution. He has saved my life more than once.'
'And you his, to all accounts, sir.' Leroux darted a swift glance at his panting file of marines. 'He has a sister, sir, did you know that?'
'Yes. She means a lot to Captain Herrick. The poor girl has had much to endure, that I also know.'
'Yes. She is a cripple. I met her once when I went to Kent on a mission for the captain when we were refitting Lysander. To see a face so fair, and so betrayed by her useless limbs, is enough to break a man's heart.' He added slowly, 'Mr. Gilchrist has asked for her hand in marriage.'
Bolitho gripped his sword hilt and stared into the darkness until his eyes hurt him. He had been so 'busy with his own affairs he had not once considered Herrick's other world. Herrick had begun his service as a poor man without privileges. Compared with officers like Farquhar, or himself for that matter, he still was poor. But over the years he had managed to save, to swell his meagre beginnings with prize money and the reward from his promotion to post-captain.
Leroux said, 'Captain Herrick's mother died just before we sailed from Spithead. So you see, sir, his sister is all alone now.'
'He did not tell me.' Bolitho's mind went back over those first moments when he had joined Lysanderat Gibraltar. 'But maybe I gave him no chance.'
He fell silent, and Leroux hurried on towards his scouts, leaving him to his thoughts.
Herrick loved his sister dearly. To find her a husband would be more important than almost anything. Even his loyalty to him. He thought, too, of Gilchrist's hostility, and forced himself to ask why he should want to marry a crippled girl. He could find an explanation for neither.
He lifted his head and stared up at the stars. So cool and aloof from all their pathetic efforts on earth.
So often in the past when he had served, fretting and impatient under his superior officers, he had told himself he could do better. But they had had fleets to command, great events to consider and manipulate. He had been given just one small chance to show his ability, to prove that he could now join that elite group of men whose flags flew with pride for all to see and obey.
As he listened to the weary, dragging boots of the marines at his side he knew he had failed.
'What can you see now?' Pascoe kept his voice to a whisper as he watched the sentry outside the tent flap.
At the back of the tent Allday was bent almost double while he peered through a small hole cut with an improvised blade which he had fashioned from a drinking cup.
Allday held up his hand to silence him. From the rear of the tent he could see part of the beach below the camp, the glitter of stars on choppy water and a riding light from one of the ships. There was no moon, so that any small glow from fire or lantern shone out with false brightness, even from as far as the other headland.
It was past midnight, from what he could judge, but there had been plenty of activity in and around the camp with barely a pause since that trumpet call.
It was quieter now, but above the headland he could see a few pin-pricks from lanterns, and guessed that the
