In Gallant Company (22 page)

‘What then?'

‘We stood looking at each other. I am not sure who was the more surprised. I had my blade to his neck. One blow, but I couldn't do it.' He looked desperately at Bolitho. ‘He knew it, too. We just stood there until . . .'

‘Rowhurst, was it?'

‘Yes. With his dirk. But he was too late.'

Bolitho nodded. ‘I thought we were done for.' He recalled his own feelings as he had stood over the man he had shot to save himself.

Quinn said, ‘I saw the look in the gunner's mate's eyes. He despises me. It will go through the ship like fire. I'll never be able to hold their respect after this.'

Bolitho ran his fingers through his hair. ‘You'll have to try and earn it, James.' He felt the sand and grit in his fingers and longed for a bath or a swim. ‘But we've work here now.' He saw Stockdale and some seamen watching him. ‘Take those hands to the pontoon directly. It is to be warped into deep water and broken up.' He gripped his arm and added, ‘Think of them, James.
Tell
them what you want done.'

Quinn turned and walked dejectedly towards the waiting men. At least with Stockdale in charge he should be all right, Bolitho thought.

A petty officer knuckled his forehead and asked, ‘We've broached the main magazine, zur?' He waited patiently, his eyes like those of a sheepdog.

Bolitho collected his thoughts, while his mind and body still tried to detain him. But it had to be faced. He
was
in charge of the seamen, just as Probyn had said.

He said, ‘Very well, I'll come and see what you've found.'

Cannon had to be spiked and made useless, stores to be set alight before the fort itself was blasted to fragments with its own magazine. Bolitho glanced at the empty stables as he followed the petty officer into the shade. He was thankful there were no horses left in the fort. The thought of having to slaughter them to deny them to the enemy was bad enough. What it might have done to the battle-wearied seamen was even worse. Death, injury or punishment under the lash, the average sailor seemed to accept as his lot. But Bolitho had seen a boatswain's mate split open a man's head in Plymouth, merely for kicking a stray dog.

Marines bustled everywhere, in their element as they prepared long fuses, stowed casks of powder and trundled the smaller field-pieces towards the gates.

By the time the work was half completed, the pontoon had been warped into deep water, and from a parapet Bolitho saw the seamen hacking away the ropes and destroying the ramp with their axes. Small in the distance, Quinn stood watching them. The next time he was thrown into a fight he would not be so lucky, Bolitho decided sadly.

He saw Midshipman Couzens in the watch-tower, a telescope trained towards the anchorage. When he turned, Bolitho saw the lugger making sail, her anchor swinging and dripping as it was hoisted to the cathead.

The same wind which would delay
Spite
should carry Probyn and his little command well clear of the land by nightfall. Pity was never a good reason for making friends, Bolitho thought. But it had been a bad parting, and if they ever met again, it would be between them, of that he was certain.

‘So there you are, Bolitho!' Paget peered down from his crude window. ‘Come up here and I will give you your instructions.'

In the room once again, Bolitho felt the weariness, the aftermath of destruction and fear, pulling him down.

Paget said, ‘Another piece of intelligence. We now know where the enemy are getting some of their armaments and powder, eh?' He watched Bolitho narrowly. ‘It's up to the admiral now.'

There was a rap at the door, and Bolitho heard someone whispering urgently outside.

‘
Wait!
' Paget said calmly, ‘I had no choice over the lugger. She was yours by right, in my view, because of the manner in which you opened the fort for us.' He shrugged heavily. ‘But the Navy's ways are not mine, and so . . .'

‘I
understand
, sir.'

‘Good.' Paget moved across the room with remarkable speed and flung open the door. ‘
Well
, man?'

It was Lieutenant FitzHerbert of the flagship's marines.

He stammered, ‘We have sighted the enemy, sir! Coming up the coast!'

Together they walked into the blinding sunlight, and Paget calmly took a telescope from one of the sentries. Then after a full minute he handed it to Bolitho.

‘There's a sight for you. I reckon your Mr Probyn will be sorry to miss it.'

Bolitho soon forgot his disappointment and the major's sarcasm as he trained the glass towards the shore. There must be a track there, following the sea's edge, probably all the way to Charles Town.

Weaving along it was a slow-moving ribbon of blue and white. It was broken here and there by horses, and shining black shapes which could only be artillery.

Paget folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. ‘So here they come. No use trying any more deceptions, I think.' He looked up at the pole, his eyes red-rimmed with strain.

‘Run up the colours, Sergeant! It'll give 'em something to rant about!'

Bolitho lowered the glass. Quinn was still down by the partly wrecked pontoon, oblivious to the threatening column coming up the road. Probyn was too involved in working his vessel clear of the sand-spit to notice it, or care much if he did.

He swung the glass towards the horizon, his eyes stinging in the fierce glare. Nothing broke the sharp blue line to betray the presence of a friendly sail.

He thought of the captured French officer. With any luck, his captivity would be one of the shortest on record.

Paget barked, ‘Stir yourself, sir! Main battery to be
manhandled towards the causeway. You have a good runner with you, I believe? Tell him I want a full charge in each weapon. This is going to be hot work, dammit!'

Bolitho made to hurry away, but Paget added firmly, ‘I don't care what they promise or offer. We came to destroy this place, and we will, so help me God!'

When Bolitho reached the courtyard he turned and looked again at the tower. Paget was standing bareheaded in the sun, staring at the newly hoisted Jack which the marines had brought with them.

Then he heard a seaman say quietly to his friend, ‘Mister Bolitho don't look too troubled, Bill. Can't be anythin' we won't be able to tackle.'

Bolitho glanced at them as he passed, his heart both heavy and proud. They did not question why they were here, or even where they were. Obedience, trust, hope, they were as much a part of these men as their cursing and brawling.

He met Rowhurst by the gate. ‘You have heard, no doubt?'

Rowhurst grinned. ‘Seen 'em too, sir. Like a whole bloody army on the march! Just for us!'

Bolitho smiled gravely. ‘We've plenty of time to get ready.'

‘Aye, sir.' Rowhurst looked meaningly at the mounting pile of powder casks and fuses. ‘One thing, they won't have to bury us. They'll just 'ave to pick up the bits!'

BOLITHO ENTERED THE
room at the top of the tower, where the former garrison commander had lived out his spartan days, and found Paget discussing a map with D'Esterre.

Bolitho asked, ‘You sent for me, sir?'

He barely recognized his own voice. He had got past tiredness, almost to a point of exhaustion. All through the day he had hurried from one task to another, conscious the whole time of that far-off blue and white column as it weaved in and out of sight along the coast. Now it had vanished altogether, and it seemed likely that the road turned sharply inland before dividing opposite the island.

Paget glanced up sharply. He had shaved, and looked as if he had been freshly pressed with his uniform.

‘Yes. Won't be long now, what?' He gestured to a chair. ‘All done?'

Bolitho sat down stiffly.
All done
. Like an endless muddle of jobs. Dead had been buried, prisoners moved to a place where they could be guarded by the minimum of men. Stores and water checked, powder stacked in the deep magazine to create one devastating explosion once the fuses were set and fired. The heavy field-pieces manhandled to the landward side to be trained on the causeway and the opposite stretch of shoreline.

He replied, ‘Aye, sir. And I've brought all the seamen inside the fort as you ordered.'

‘Good.' Paget poured some wine and pushed the goblet across the table. ‘Have some. Not too bad, considering.'

The major continued, ‘You see, it's mostly a matter of bluff. We know quite a lot about these fellows, but they'll not know much about us. Yet. They'll see my marines, but one redcoat
looks much like another. Anyway, why
should
the enemy think we are marines, eh? Could just as easily be a strong force of skirmishers who have cut through their lines. That'll give 'em something to worry about.'

Bolitho glanced at D'Esterre, but his normally agile face was expressionless, so Bolitho guessed he and not Paget had thought up the idea of concealing the presence of his sailors.

It made sense, too. After all, there were no boats, and who better than the returning garrison commander would know the impossibility of getting a man-of-war into the anchorage without passing those heavy cannon?

The wind showed no sign of changing direction, and in fact had gained in strength. All afternoon it had driven a pall of dust from the distant marching column out across the sea like gunsmoke.

Paget said, ‘Hour or so to sunset. But they'll make themselves felt before dark. That's my wager.'

Bolitho looked across the room and through a narrow window. He could just see part of the hillside where he had lain with young Couzens, a million years ago. The sun-scorched bushes and scrub were moving in the wind like coarse fur, and everything was painted in fiery hues by the evening light.

The marines were down by the uprooted timbers where the pontoon had been moored. Dug into little gullies, they were invisible to eyes across the restless strip of water.

D'Esterre had done a good job of it. Now they all had to sit and wait.

Bolitho said wearily, ‘Water is the problem, sir. They always brought it from a stream further down the coast. There's not much left. If they guess we're waiting for a ship to take us off the island, they will know exactly how much time they have. And us, too.'

Paget sniffed. ‘I'd thought of that, naturally. They'll try to bombard us out, but there
we
have the advantage. That beach is too soft to support artillery, and it will take another day at least for them to move their heavier pieces up the hill to hit us from there. As for the causeway, I'd not fancy a frontal attack along it, even at low water!'

Bolitho saw D'Esterre give a small smile. He was probably
thinking it was exactly what would have been expected of him and his men if Bolitho had failed to open the gates.

The door banged open and the marine lieutenant from the flagship said excitedly, ‘Enemy in sight, sir!'

Paget glared. ‘Really, Mr FitzHerbert, this is a garrison, not a scene from Drury Lane, dammit!'

Nevertheless, he got up and walked into the hot glare, reaching for a telescope as he strode to the parapet.

Bolitho rested his hands on the sun-dried wood and stared at the land. Two horsemen, five or six foot soldiers and a large black dog. He had not expected to see the whole enemy column crammed on to the narrow beach, but the little group was a complete anticlimax.

Paget said, ‘They're looking at the pontoon ramps. I can almost hear their brains rattling!'

Bolitho glanced at him. Paget really was enjoying it.

One of the horsemen dismounted and the dog ran across to him, waiting for something to happen. His master, obviously the senior officer present, reached down to fondle his head, the movement familiar, without conscious thought.

FitzHerbert asked cautiously, ‘What will they do, sir?'

Paget did not answer immediately. He said, ‘Look at those horses, D'Esterre. See how their hoofs are digging into the sand. The only piece of supported road led to the pontoon loading point.' He lowered the glass and chuckled dryly. ‘Never thought
they'd
have to attack, I imagine!'

Sergeant Shears called, ‘Saw some more of 'em on the hillside, sir!'

‘Can't hit us with a musket from there, thank God.' Paget rubbed his hands. ‘Tell your gunner to put a ball down on the end of the causeway.' He looked at Bolitho sharply. ‘
Now
.'

Rowhurst listened to Paget's order with obvious enthusiasm. ‘Good as done, sir.'

With some of his men at their handspikes, and other slackening or tightening the tackles, he soon trained the cannon towards the wet bank of sand nearest the land.

‘Stand clear, lads!'

Bolitho yelled, ‘Keep out of sight, you men! Stockdale, see that our people stay down!'

The crash of the single shot echoed around the fort and across the water like thunder. Scores of birds rose screaming from the trees, and Bolitho was just in time to see a tall spurt of sand as it received the heavy ball like a fist. The horses shied violently and the dog ran round and round, his bark carrying excitedly across the water.

Bolitho grinned and touched Rowhurst's arm. ‘Reload.' He strode back to the tower and saw Quinn watching him from the other parapet.

Paget said, ‘Good. Fine shot. Just close enough for them to know we're ready and able.'

A few moments later Sergeant Shears called, ‘Flag o' truce, sir!'

One horseman was cantering towards the causeway where a tendril of smoke still drifted to mark the fall of shot.

Paget snapped, ‘Ready with another ball, Mr Bolitho.'

‘It's a flag of truce, sir.' Bolitho forgot his tiredness and met Paget's glare stubbornly. ‘I cannot tell Rowhurst to fire on it.'

Paget's eyebrows rose with astonishment. ‘What is this? A spark of honour?' He turned to D'Esterre. ‘Explain it to him.'