He reached it gasping and pressed his shoulders against the great stone blocks as he waited for the others to join him. It was quite incredible, but they had not been seen. And from this side of the tower it seemed as if they were in sole possession, for guns and gates, ditches and men were all hidden by its massive bulk.
He signalled with his sword and began to move along the wall. The doorway was completely concealed by the sweep of the tower's curving side, and when he eventually reached it he was almost as surprised as the two men who leaned on their muskets beside it. One soldier dropped on one knee and threw his musket to his shoulder, while the other, more quickwitted or less brave, turned and fled through the narrow entrance.
Bolitho parried the musket aside and charged after him, his mind blank to a terrible scream as a cutlass cut the sentry down before he could fire. For an instant he was half-blinded as he plunged into the tower's cool darkness, but as he hesitated to gain his bearings he saw a steep, winding stairway and heard the loud cries of alarm from the floor above.
IIe shouted, 'Mr. Tomlin, bar the door!' He was almost knocked from his feet by the rush of sailors. 'Then search the lower deck!' He turned and ran for the stairway, half-dazed by the echoing shouts and wild cries as the men's first fear gave way to something like madness…
There was an explosion from a curve in the stairs and a man screamed right at his side before falling back on top of those behind. A small door opened on to a narrow passage, and Bolitho caught sight of a French soldier running towards him, his bayonet levelled like a pike as he charged straight for the press of figures on the stairway. Bolitho could move neither up nor down, but as the bayonet seemed almost within reach of his heart Allday's axe flashed through the gloom and the soldier tumbled headfirst after the dead seaman.
Bolitho stared with sudden revulsion at the broken musket by his feet. A severed hand still gripped the stock as if alive in spite of Allday's savage stroke.
He said thickly, `.Come on, lads! Two more flights of stairs!' He waved his sword, his mind reeling with the same crazed infection as that which gripped his men.
But at the top of the final curve they were confronted by a tight line of soldiers, their muskets unwavering, the fixed bayonets giving a lethal glitter as they faced the oncoming mob of seamen. Someone yelled an order and the whole world exploded in musket-fire. Bolitho was hurled aside by falling bodies, his ears ringing with screams and curses as the soldiers dropped to their knees and a second line of men fired at pointblank range.
The stone steps were slippery with blood, and on all sides his men were struggling to escape the sudden slaughter. Bolitho knew that the impetus of attack was breaking. The mad exultation of reaching the fortress unseen was giving way to panic and confusion. He saw the soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder, moving down the stairway towards him, their bayonets ready to complete the final phase of destruction.
With something like a sob of despair he hurled himself up the last few steps, his sword striking aside the first two bayonets as they lunged at his torn shirt, and with all his strength struck at the men in the second rank. The shocked soldiers were too closely packed to move their long muskets, and he saw one man's face open up in a great scarlet gash as the sword slashed him aside like a puppet. He could feel their bodies reeling and kicking at him, even the heat of their sweat against his bruised limbs as they staggered across the steep stairway in a living tide.
Someone struck him in the spine with a musket, and through a haze of pain he saw a hatless officer trying to aim a pistol at someone below him, his face a mask of frantic concentration. With one last effort Bilitho lifted his sword clear of the struggling figures around him and struck out for the officer. The force of the blow jarred his arm to its socket, and as more and more men surged into the fight he saw the officer's mouth open in soundless agony as the blade cut through epaulette and collar to lay open his artery like some hideous flower.
He could feel himself falling backwards, yet someone was holding him and yelling his name. Then he was being forced forward, his feet stumbling over corpses and pleading wounded as the British sailors charged towards the rectangle of sunlight at the top of the stairs.
As if in a wild dream he saw Rooke thrust his sword into a man beside the doorway and hurry on without even breaking his stride. A tall, pigtailed seaman charged up to the dying Frenchman and drove his boarding axe into his shoulders with such force that he had to stand on the man's buttocks to tear it free.
Allday was holding him upright, the big axe swinging like a reaper's hook whenever any survivor from the wild attack tried to break down the stairs as an only way of escape.
Bolitho forced the pain and nausea to the back of his mind as he realised that unless he did something at once his victorious men would kill every Frenchman left in the fortress.
He pushed Allday aside and followed the others out into the sunlight. To Rooke he snapped, 'The flag! Get it down, man!'
Rooke swung round, his eyes wild. Then he saw Bolitho and seemed to come to his senses. He croaked, 'Did you hear that? Then jump to it, you dolt!' A seaman beside him was trying to throttle a wounded soldier with his bare hands, but released him with a gasp, of pain as Rooke struck his shoulder with the flat of his sword.
Allday waited until the French flag lay on the stonework, then he unwrapped the ensign from about his body and handed it to the breathless seaman.
'Get this up, lad!' Allday shouldered his axe and watched as the flag lifted and then- broke in the warm breeze. 'That'll give 'em something to bite on!'
Bolitho moved across to the rampart and leaned heavily against the worn stones. Below him, inside the battery wall, the French gunners were staring with dismay at the British ensign above the tower, and the Hyperion which even now was going about and preparing to tack towards the harbour entrance.
He felt sick and desperately tired, yet he knew that so much had still to be done. Wearily he made himself turn and look around at the breathless victors. There seemed to be very few left of the twenty-five he had brought with him. He said, 'Take these French soldiers and lock them up.' He looked round as Tomlin appeared at the open doorway. 'Well?'
The bosun knuckled his forehead. 'I have a French officer 'ere, sir. 'E's in charge of the guns.' The fangs gleamed with pleasure. "E 'as surrendered, sir!'
'Very well.' He could not face the Frenchman now. The look of hurt and humiliation always carried by the vanquished. Not now. He said, 'Mr. Rooke, go below and disarm the battery. Then open the gates and welcome Captain Ashby with my compliments for a job well done.'
Rooke hurried away, and Bolitho heard distant cheering. From the ship or Ashby's marines, he neither knew nor cared.
Allday's face swam across his vision, anxious and questioning. 'Are you all right, Captain? I think you should rest awhile.'
Bolitho shook his head. 'Leave me to think. I must think!' He turned and saw Seton staring down pale-faced with horror at a wounded French soldier by his feet.
The man had been stabbed in the stomach, and there was blood pouring freely from his open mouth. But he still hung on to life, pathetic and desperate as his words choked in his own blood. Perhaps in these last seconds he saw Seton as some sort of saviour.
Bolitho said, 'Help him, lad. He can do no harm now.'
But the boy hung back, his lip trembling as the man touched his shoe with one bloodied hand. He was shaking uncontrollably, and Bolitho saw that his dirk was still in its scabbard. He must have gone through hell a dozen times, he thought vaguely. But he said, 'He's not an enemy now. At least let him die with somebody at his side.' He turned away, unable to watch as the terrified midshipman dropped on his knees beside the gasping, bubbling thing which clutched his hand as if it was the most precious object in the whole world.