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
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."