His heart thudded. In one quick second he realized that if he lay here longer they might not find him, for a while. They might not. But de Bouille knew that through those thick trees, Joshua was coming, soon. Slowly de Bouille raised his musket.
He sighted down it carefully, ready. Lips slightly parted, one eye closed with the sweat trickling down his dirty face, he waited for the next flash of red, and when it came he fired. De Bouille reloaded fast, reflecting grimly that he had not only surely made a hit, but had warned Joshua. Joshua, hearing the musket shot, would stop in his tracks.
Now there was, suddenly, no sound at all. The musket was ready to fire again, and again de Bouille was searching through the green of the trees for the flash of red. At the same time he saw the red again, he heard the sound of another gun, and a bullet zinged off the rock, spattering him with fragments of stone. De Bouille fired in the direction of the sound. He would have time to reload again cer-
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tainly. With steady fingers he tamped the powder down, when suddenly the trees disgorged his foe.
De Bouille fired. He dropped the musket, raised the pistol. A bullet whistled past his ear. He aimed the pistol at the nearest figure, running toward him. The man dropped. De Bouille snapped the weapon open.
He felt a stinging pain in his arm. Before he had loaded the pistol the blood was running down over his hand. He wiped it off his fingers onto his breeches, endeavoring to cock the weapon with one hand. This he did. He was able to fire it once more. He raised it slowly, at a man who was almost on top of him.
"You son of a bitch," he said distinctly, as he leaned back against the rock and watched two more British marines coming. Three pistols spoke at once. De Bouille heard no more.
Down the trail, under cover of the trees, the sound of musket fire stopped Joshua dead in his tracks. Barefooted, naked to the waist, and browned a deep mahogany by the sun, Joshua edged silently behind a big tree.
Another burst of fire held him motionless. It was not far away. With ease he began to climb the big tree.
He ascended high into its branches. His ears had told him plainly that at least ten muskets were being fired. While it did not yet occur to him that de Bouille had deliberately fired to warn him, it did occur to him that there were far too many men on this hunt for Joshua to give any aid, even though he had been under orders not to give aid. Joshua, sitting grimly athwart a high branch, waited.
There was no more sound of firing. Because of the wind, he heard no voices. If he climbed even higher, he could see. This he did.
He clung to the top of the swaying pine. He counted fifteen red-coated soldiers. Between four of them they were carrying de Bouille, like a sack.
Joshua brutally forced himself not to think, not of de Bouille. He had only one duty, and that was to stay alive to give the news to Barney.
Undoubtedly they would leave men around the rock, hidden there, later, perhaps in the darkness. Joshua slid down from the high perch, choosing a branch about thirty feet off the ground. Sitting there, his feet dangling over, he would wait till darkness. Then in
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the familiar forest he would make his way to the cave and then to Jenkin's Bay.
The afternoon sun slowly began its descent. Long minutes made grueling hours. Through the trees there was only silence, the twittering of birds, the sigh of the summer wind. From time to time Joshua moved, to give relief to his aching muscles, cramped by his position. From where he sat he could see the sun sinking into the sea. The wind began to have the night smell of salt and wet. Tonight might be misty.
If de Bouille were not dead, what would they do to him? He was still wearing the remnants of a French uniform. Joshua could hear him saying, plainly, smilingly, "They might not hang me, but they'd string you up for sure, Yank."
Joshua muttered, "God damn it to hell!" He stared unseeingly out across the vast Atlantic, empty, rolling. The night colors of the sunset touched the highest of the piled clouds; slowly the majesty of it began to fade. When the colors were gone, when the sea was grey with coming night, he left his perch. Silently he retraced the steps that had brought him here so many hours ago. With precision he took exactly three hunks of biscuit and the water flask. He swung the lantern over his shoulder. Then he went down to the beach to wait.
Chapter 36
IT WAS MIDNIGHT. THE BLACK WATERS OF JENKIN's BAY SWIRLED with foam as they beat against cliff walls.
The cliffs were three hundred feet high, and descended in ruthless swiftness to the waters they enclosed; the crash of surf was endless and angry.
From no height on Stasia could the waters of Jenkin's Bay be seen; this promontory of rock was so well guarded by nature that Lieutenant Mackenzie had reported it impregnable, therefore no bluntnosed guarding batteries marked its topmost rocks. It was exactly midnight when the "Athena" nosed cautiously into its restless waters; mercifully they were deep, deep right to the walls. Even so
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the leadsman in the chains called out the fathoms, chanting. Astern the "Athena" came the Marquis de Bouille with his accompanying frigates, four of them.
Joshua was dressed in short canvas trousers and a shirt of Barney's. He leaned on the rail. It was so familiar.
He heard the muted commands of the officers, of the bo'sun, of Barney, as he and de Bouille had often heard them from the tiny strip of beach where they had waited so many times, swinging their lanterns to guide the "Athena." There were no lanterns on the beach tonight.
It had been six days.
The surf crashed as always. Way up, the trees towered. This bowl of rock shook with the boom of endless beating waves.
"In with the tops."
Around Joshua's waist was a coil of rope. The boats were ready. Over his head he saw the tops furled tight; he heard the orders fore and the splash of anchors. It was time.
He went down the gangway to the lee boat, and got in. Barney hopped in beside him. The boat was swung quickly over the side.
It hit the water sharply and neatly. Barney's coxswain, Wolf, had landed him on this beach many times. Tonight it was accomplished as swiftly and well as it always was. In three minutes Joshua stood on the tiny beach, for there was only a strip of beach about ten feet by twenty here, at the base of the cliffs. He turned to Barney. "We —we always climbed up this side." He gestured.
"Good luck," said Barney.
Joshua moved away, his figure disappearing from sight in the blackness. He was barefooted, as always, and he made no sound. But, nevertheless, Barney strained his eyes to see and his ears to hear.
Barney paced back and forth on the strip of sand, pausing occasionally to listen. A loosened rock hurtled down to the beach, bouncing against the cliff as it came down. His body tensed. Then there was no further sound. He turned to stare at the bay.
The five frigates were peacefully anchored. Barney knew they could not be seen from any height on the island, not here, within these enclosing walls. On the beach the men were unloading the rope ladders, laying them neatly atop one another. A lighted lantern burned.
Another fall of rock made Barney tense again. He listened. No more sound, and he could see nothing,
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Atop the cliff Joshua pulled himself over the last outcropping, once more dislodging a loose stone. He hung tight to the big boulder, seeking for another toehold. He found it, tested it, loosed the one hand, and put his weight on the left foot. It held! He was up and over.