that.
'Look!' Stayt dropped on his knees. There were two men, taking their time, their weapons sheathed as they strolled down through the trees. Sailors obviously, and as they drew nearer Bolitho heard that they were speaking French.
They must have left a larger party to go back to the hill for the lookout's telescope. Bolitho could remember the seaman exactly, the glass under one arm, a good reliable hand. Now another carried it, and there was dried blood on the case.
'At them!'
Bolitho bounded over the bushes and charged onto the man with the telescope. He stared with utter astonishment and then made to draw his cutlass. He was hampered by the telescope. Bolitho slashed him across the face and as he toppled sideways drove the blade beneath his armpit. At no time did the man cry out. The other dropped to his knees and reached out imploringly. The lookout must have been popular for one of the seamen swung his musket and smashed him in the skull. The musket rose again but Stayt snapped curtly, 'Enough, you fool, he'll not move again.'
The man with the musket picked up the telescope and followed Bolitho down the slope. But for their detour they would have been ambushed and the alarm given before they reached the beach.
He heard the dull bang of a cannon. Supreme had at last realized what was happening and had fired a recall.
There was a sudden fusillade of shots and wild shouts, then the brief clash of steel.
Bolitho broke into a run and burst through the last bushes and onto the beach. In seconds he saw it all. The grounded jolly-boat, the gig caught halfway between the beach and the anchored cutter. Lieutenant Okes stood by the water's edge, a pistol in either hand. One he had just fired, the other he trained on a zigzagging figure which with several others was running towards his handful of seamen. Bolitho found time to notice that Okes stood quite still despite the yells and occasional musket balls, more like a wildfowler than a sea officer. The pistol cracked and the running man tore into the sand like a plough and lay still.
That seemed to deter the others, especially as Bolitho and his three companions charged towards them. Stayt fired twice, his silver pistol must have two barrels, and each shot found its mark.
Okes mopped his face with his sleeve. 'Lor' bless you, sir, I thought the buggers 'ad done for you, beggin' yer pardon!'
Bolitho saw Bankart by the boat and Okes said as he reloaded a pistol. 'We'd 'ave bin caught in th' open but for that lad.'
Bolitho looked past him. 'Where's Mr Sheaffe?'
Okes dragged out his other pistol. 'I thought 'e was with you, sir?'
Bolitho beckoned to Bankart. 'Where's the midshipman?'
Bankart said, 'He fell, sir. Back there. There was a hole, he rolled down some sort of cliff.'
Bolitho stared at him. 'Cliff? There are none here!'
The others were clambering into the boats; there had been no casualties except for the lookout. Four corpses lay in attitudes of abandon, their blood already soaked into the sand.
Stayt tossed his hanger into the air and caught it by the blade before sliding it into its scabbard.
It was a neat trick for the blade had an edge like a razor. But Bolitho was in no mood for games.
'Can't leave him.'
Stayt said, 'I'll go.' He eyed Bankart coldly. 'Show me where it was, damn you.'
They reached the top of the beach and then saw Sheaffe stagger into the sunlight. His face was cut and bleeding but otherwise he seemed unharmed.
'Into the boats.' Bolitho put his hand on Sheaffe's shoulder. 'Are you all right?'
'I fell.' Sheaffe dabbed his lip. 'I hit two tree stumps.' He grimaced. 'Knocked the wind out of me, sir.' His eyes cleared as he saw Bankart. 'Where were you?'
Bankart faced him stubbornly. 'I brought the message, like I was ordered.'
Bolitho walked towards the gig. There was more to it than that, but he was grateful they had survived.
He climbed into the boat and stared across at Supreme. She was already shortening her cable, and her sails were flapping in disorder as Hallowes made ready to leave.
Bolitho rubbed his chin, unaware of the oarsmen's curious glances. The French must have landed a party to see what they were doing. But for the seabirds and the lookout apparently ignoring the spectacle, they might have been attacked when the French had had time to land more men. So where were they?
Another four-pounder banged out from the cutter and Stayt said harshly, 'They're aweigh!'
Hallowes, anchored where he was, had seen what the lookout would have reported had he been alive to cry out.
As if a piece of the headland itself was tearing adrift, Bolitho saw a ship coming around the point, her jib flapping as she tacked sharply to avoid the reefs.
She was a frigate.
Bolitho said, 'Pull, lads! With all your might!' They needed no urging.
If they had not realized the lookout was dead, this frigate would have sailed right across the bay and raked Supreme into a bloody shambles.
Then the gig ground alongside and men clambered wildly aboard to throw themselves into the business of setting more sail.
The two boats drifted away. Bolitho saw Hallowes, strained and anxious. It was a pity about the boats. They might need them. He clung to a stay and watched the frigate taking up her courses to hold on the present bearing.
Whatever Hallowes did, he could never beat clear of the land in time.
Bolitho said, 'Get your leadsmen to work! Mr Okes, do you know these waters well?'
Okes had somehow lost his hat. 'Aye, a fair bit, sir.'
He turned as the leadsman began his chant. 'The Frenchie won't dare come after us or he'll be in worse trouble.'
'I agree.' The frigate's captain would realize he had lost the bonus of surprise and would lie off and maybe attempt a cutting-out action with her boats at nightfall. That was half a day away.
Bolitho beckoned to Hallowes. 'I suggest you anchor.'
Hallowes nodded, suddenly unable to think clearly.
Okes remarked, 'The Frenchie's changed tack a piece, sir.'
The frigate was nearly a mile away with the next headland already reaching out to hide her. It would take her captain most of the day to claw offshore, to beat back again and attack at leisure. But first he intended to try to cripple his small quarry.
Bolitho watched the forward division of guns shoot out their long orange tongues and saw the iron making ripples across the sea's face like streaks of light.
It was a poorly aimed attempt. The second one was not.
The sea boiled and shot skywards alongside and Bolitho heard the balls slamming into the lower hull, a terrible scream as someone was cut down by splinters.
Hallowes was staring at the chaos, torn rigging and punctured sails, with blood already trickling down the larboard scuppers.
'Anchor, damn you!' Bolitho shook his arm. 'You command here! So do it!'
Two balls hit the cutter together. One ploughed a black furrow across the deck and killed a man on the opposite side. The other smashed on to the mackerel-tail-shaped stern and blasted several buckets of sand and planking to fragments.
It was like being punched in the face. Bolitho fell on his side, dazed by the explosion and feeling the ache from his old wound probe through him from the fall. Men were crying out and he felt the deck shiver as something smashed down from aloft.
He clawed at his face and felt droplets of blood. An unknown voice shouted, ''Ere, sir! I'll give 'e a 'and!'
Bolitho gasped, 'Anchor, now!' His voice suddenly loud as the firing stopped.
He stumbled over an inert body and clung to some dangling ropes.
'Here, sir-'The voice broke off as Bolitho dragged his hands from his face and stared round him.
