Allday shouted, "Then so must we, sir!"
Leroux was at his side again. "This is the main magazine, sir!" He stared at Pascoe's stained face. "Did you…? I mean, were you going to…?"
Pascoe said huskily, "We planned to blow the magazine.
The commandant here knows a ship is nearby. "He looked at Allday, the strength suddenly gone out of him. "And we knew she would be Lysander."
Allday nodded, his filthy face split into a grin. "What we didn"t know was" that we"d see the bullocks this fine morning!"
Bolitho controlled his reeling thoughts. They might still be too late to do anything. But it no longer seemed so black, so impossible as it had just moments ago.
"Major, take some men to the battery. Tell your sharpshooters to fire with care: I doubt you’ll get much opposition. They’ll not be keen to shoot down here and build their own inferno." He looked at Pascoe and Allday. "As you were quite prepared to do." Allday said, "One thing, sir. There's a second battery on the outboard end of the point. I think. this is the only magazine, but-"
He broke off as the passageway shook to a sudden explosion. There was cheering, too, and the sporadic clatter of musket fire.
Bolitho nodded. "That was a gun from the other battery, I’m thinking."
Pascoe made to follow him as he ran after the marines, but he said, "No, Adam. Yours has been the lion's share of danger. Remain here with these wounded marines until I know what to do."
As he hurried along the dimly lighted passageway, past great vats of shots, barrels of powder and cradles for carrying the massive balls up to the furnace, he kept thinking of what had happened. Pascoe and Allday had survived. Not only that, they were here, with him, though how they had man- aged it he could not begin to comprehend. If he had been turned back completely by the gully, or had arrived at the camp perhaps minutes later, they would have blown up the magazine and battery, and themselves also. He felt the emotion pricking his eyes. To make that sacrifice, such a reckless gesture, without even waiting to see if a ship was actually entering the bay. They had known she was Lysander. It had been enough.
Another great bang brought dust filtering from the beamed roof, but he took time to sheath his sword, to compose himself, as Leroux, hatless with blood above his eye ran down some steps and shouted, "Lysander is in sight, sir. The other battery has opened fire on her, but this one has struck to us." He sighed heavily. "Listen to my lads. Their huzzas are a reward enough."
Bolitho flinched as another bang echoed around the magazine.
Traverse some of the cannon to point on the other battery. There is heated shot, I believe."
Leroux led the way up the steps, his coat scarlet again in a rectangle of dull light from the sky.
Bolitho felt the salt air across his face, and watched the cheering marines as they hurried about the earthworks, firing as they went towards the other battery. He ignored the hiss of balls which flicked past him and stared fixedly at the high pyramid of canvas which appeared to be rising from the sea itself.
The seventy-four was moving very slowly into the bay, her lower hull still in deeper shadow. Herrick was coming in, just as he had known he would. No battery on earth would prevent his attempt to complete the plan of attack, nor frighten him from his attempt to rescue the landing party.
A gun crashed out from the battery, and he gritted his teeth as a tall waterspout erupted violently alongside the ship's hull. Too close.
He snapped, "Hurry your men, Major! Tell them that the sea is their only way out!"
6. Attack at Dawn
"COURSE nor"-east, sir!" The helmsman's voice was hushed. "Very well." Herrick moved restlessly to the weather side of the quarterdeck and peered towards the land.
As he turned to look along the upper gun deck he realised he could see some of the crews quite clearly, although at first glance it seemed as dark as before.
He walked aft to where Grubb stood near the wheel with Plowman, his best master's mate.
"There should have been a signal by now, Mr. Grubb." He ought to have held his silence and kept his anxiety to himself. But it seemed endless. Lysander's slow and careful approach towards the hidden land, the nerve-stretching tension as the men stood to their guns on each deck, while others waited at braces and halliards in case he should order a sudden change of tack.
Occasionally from right forward in the chains he heard the leadsman's cry, the splash beneath the bows as he made another cast.
There was no chance of a mistake. With the wind holding steady across the larboard quarter, the sea depth checking with that shown on the chart, plus Grubb's vast local knowledge, there was no room for doubt.
The sailing master looked even more shapeless with his arms thrust deep into the folds of his heavy coat.
"Mr. Plowman repeats "e saw the landin" party safe away, sir. No challenge, nor even a sight of a whisker from the Dons." He shook his head and added gloomily, "I agrees with you, sir. There ought to "ave bin a signal long since."
Herrick made himself walk forward again to the foot of the great main mast, where Fitz-Clarence was surveying the gun deck below the rail.
Herrick said, "It's damn quiet."
He tried to imagine what Bolitho and the marines were doing. Hiding, captured, perhaps already dead.
Fitz-Clarence turned and looked at him. "It's lighter, sir. Much." He raised one arm to point towards the land.
Herrick could see without being told that the nearest wedge of darkness had mellowed, and it was possible to see a crescent of sand, the lively movement of spray across some scattered rocks, Lysander was standing very close inshore, but the depth was safe. At any other time it would have been the perfect approach, the ideal conditions which were usually missing when most needed.
"By th" mark ten!"
Grubb confirmed it by muttering, "The "ead land must be fine on the larboard bow, sir." He coughed throatily, "We’ll be able to spit on it within "alf an hour!"
Below the quarterdeck rail he heard someone give a short laugh, the immediate bark from a gun captain to silence him.
The hands had been at their quarters since last night when they had dropped the boats and he had watched them pull towards the land. Down there; and deeper still on the lower gun deck, the waiting seamen were probably whispering their doubts, making jokes about their captain's caution. What would they say if he lost the ship, and them with her?
Fitz-Clarence remarked, "Pity we are out of contact with Harebell, sir,"
Herrick snapped, "Attend to your duties, Mr. Fitz-Clarence!"
It was perhaps only a casual comment. Or did the lieutenant mean that if he was too nervous to make a decision one way or the other, he should signal for the little sloop to make the first move?
He walked a few paces up the tilting deck, feeling the crews of the nine-pounders watching him as he went past. Every gun was loaded and ready behind its closed port. The cutlasses and boarding axes had been honed on a grindstone on the main deck. It seemed hours ago.
He saw Lieutenant Veitch, who was in charge of the upper deck battery of eighteen-pounders, lounging by the hatch-way, chatting with his two midshipmen. Perhaps they did not even care. They were like he had once been. Content to leave it to others. When the events moved too swiftly for thought it was always too late anyway. He shifted his feet and watched the dawn light growing above the land. He had been in many sea fights. Had seen so much, and had known the mercy of survival. But this sort of work was beyond him.