Bolitho scowled in the darkness and cursed himself for his morbid thoughts. Perhaps, he was already too tired, too worn out by planning and preparation to think any more. All day long, while the frigate had beaten her way towards Mola Island, things had moved at a swift pace. Men and weapons had been transferred to the lugger, and-the latter's cargo bad been either dropped overboard or rowed across to the Phalarope for their ovm use. The lugger's cramped hold was now packed with marines, each man too busy fighting back the nausea thrown up by the stench of fish oil and sour vegetables to care much about what might lie ahead.
Mathias, Bolitho's clerk, had died and had been dropped overboard with a brief prayer, his death and passing hardly making a break in the frantic preparations. Looking back, it was hard even to recall his face.
Lieutenant Okes stumbled along the side deck, his shoulders hunched as if he expected to be struck by some unseen object. He peered at Bolitho's watchful shape and muttered, 'All-all the men are ready, sir.' He sounded taut and nervous.
Bolitho grunted. Okes' behaviour had been worrying him for some time. He had even offered to stay aboard the frigate in Herrick's place, which was odd, in spite of the danger. Okes, he knew, was not a rich man, and any extra promotion, a glowing report in the Gazette, would make all the difference to his career. He was probably frightened. Well, so was anyone but.a raving maniac, Bolitho thought.
He replied, 'We shall see the headland soon. There should be plenty of surf to show its position.' He screwed up his eyes to will himself to see the picture he had built of the island in his mind.
It was shaped something like a rough horseshoe, with the deep anchorage lying snugly between the two, curved headlands. But the village was on the seaward side of the nearest headland, that being the only beach on the whole island. According to the chart and what he had wrung from the lugger's skipper, the village was connected to the anchorage by a rough road which crossed a steep ravine by way of a wooden bridge. The tip of the headland was therefore isolated by the ravine, and on its highest point there was said to be a powerful battery of guns, probably twenty-four pounders, which could easily defend the whole anchorage. A sandbar and several isolated reefs completed the hazardous approach. In fact, the approach was impossible without consent from both battery and good daylight. No wonder the French had chosen this place as their strongpoint.
"Eadland, sir!' A seaman pointed abeam. `There, sir!'
Bolitho nodded and walked aft again. `Steer close, Stockdale. There is a beach about a quarter of a mile ahead, and a wooden pier, if this Spaniard's word is worth anything!'
From the bow a seaman dropped his leadline overboard and then said hoarsely, 'By the mark two, sir!'
Two fathoms under the keel, and still a long way to go. There was no chance of a surprise attack here either, except by craft as small as the lugger. The only thing in their favour was surprise. Nobody-iii. his right mind would expect a single small boat to approach a heavily guarded island in total darkness.
Belsey, the master's mate, said gruffly, 'I can see th' pier, sir. Look, over yonder!'
Bolitho swallowed hard, conscious of a prickling in his spine. He readjusted his sword and made sure that his pistol was ready at his waist.
'Get the Spaniard up here!' The tension was making his voice harsh, and he heard the prisoner's teeth chattering like dice.
He gripped the man's arm, smelling his fear. Now was the time to make the Spaniard more afraid of him than of anything the enemy could do. 'Listen to me!' He shook the man slowly with each word. 'When we are challenged, you know what to do?'
The Spaniard nodded violently. 'Show lantern. Give the signal, excellency!'
'And if they ask why you are coming in at night tell them you have despatches for the garrison commander.'
'But, excellency! I never get despatches!'
'Hold your tongue! Just tell them! If I know anything about sentries, they'll be satisfied for long enough!'
The pier crept out of the darkness like a black finger, and as the sails were lowered swiftly and the lugger glided gently towards the tall piles a lantern flickered into life and a voice yelled, 'Qui va la?'
The Spaniard opened the shutter of his own lantern. Two long flashes and two short ones. In a quavering voice he began to stutter his message, his words broken up by great gulps for breath. He was shaking so badly that Farquhar had to hold him upright against the mast like a corpse.
The sentry called something to another man, as yet hidden by a small hut in the middle of the pier, and Bolitho heard him laugh. There was a click of metal and then another as the sentries uncocked their muskets.
The bow swung against the pier, and Bolitho saw the sentry leaning forward to watch the lugger bump alongside. He had slung his musket over his shoulder, and his tall shako shone briefly in the glow from the long clay pipe. Bolitho held his breath. This was the time to see if he had chosen his men correctly.
He saw a sailor, moving with elaborate calm, climb nimbly up the nearest wooden ladder, the mooring rope in his hand. The sentry called after him, his voice muffled as he turned his back to watch the man looping the rope's eye over a bollard.
The next sailor, who had been crouching on the stem, leapt straight upwards like a cat. For a moment the two figures swayed together in a macabre dance, but there was hardly any sound. Only when the sailor released his grip and lowered the dead sentry carefully on the pier did Bolitho realise it was time to act.
He snapped, `Next man up!'
Belsey, the master's mate, slipped over the bows, and followed by the other seaman who was wiping his knife blade on his trousers, disappeared around the side of the hut.
This time there was a little more noise. A clatter of a falling musket, and something like a gurgle. But nothing more.
Bolitho scrambled up to the pier, his body shaking with suppressed excitement. `Right, Mr. Okes, get your party ashore and up to the end of the pier at the double!' He stopped an onrushing seaman with the back of his hand and snarled, `Quietly there! There's a guardhouse at the far end!'
Rennie's marines were already pouring gratefully from the hold, their white crossbelts bright and eerie against their uniforms. Rennie had not forgotten his part, and within minutes he had split his men into two parties, and with a single command had both files trotting briskly -along the pier towards the silent village.
Stockdale was the last to leave the lugger, his cutlass swinging from his hand like a toy.
Bolitho took a last look round and checked his bearings. `Very well, Stockdale, let us go and take a look!'
8. THE RAID
Bolitho lifted his hand, and behind him the file of sailors shuffled to a standstill. `We will wait here for ten minutes! Pass the word down the line!'
He waited until silence had againn fallen over the steep roadway and then added quietly to lieutenant Okes, `We'll push on a bit further and have a look at the bridge. We can't help Rennie's marines by standing here worrying, and it's already near two o'clock. There is a lot to do before dawn finds us.'
He walked on without waiting for Okes to comment. He could feel the loose stones crunching beneath his shoes, and was conscious of a new sense of light-headedness. Everything had gone so well that the strain was all the more telling. Surely the luck could not last?
It had been less than an hour since the lugger had tied up to the pier. After killing the two luckless sentries, Captain Rennie's marines had gone on to capture the small guardhouse at the end of the coast road with hardly a scuffle. The sleeping soldiers, all ten of them, had been gleefully clubbed into deeper slumber, or worse, and the duty N.C.O. had been seized and trussed like a terrified chicken.
Bolitho had left Rennie to spread his men along the roadside and occupy the high ground above the village. From there they should be able to withstand anything but a really heavy assault until the raiding party had completed its work.
Bolitho dropped on one knee and strained his eyes into the darkness. He could just see the spidery outline of a high wooden bridge and the isolated headland beyond, where the sleeping gun battery lay as yet unaware of what was happening. It was quite a solid bridge, Bolitho thought. Wide and heavy enough for guns and stores, for shot, and all the materials for building breastworks and embrasures. It would take a long time to replace once destroyed.
A boot crunched at his side and Sergeant Garwood peered down at him. `Cap'n Rennie's respects, sir. The marines is all in position. We've 'ad the lugger warped to the end o' the pier so that we can cover our withdrawal with the swivel gun.' He stared towards the bridge. `I'd like to 'ave a crack at that lot, sir!' He sounded envious.
`You get back to Captain Rennie and tell him to hold the road.until we fall back.' Bolitho smiled in the darkness. `,Don't worry, Sergeant, you'll get your pennyworth of fighting before the night's done!'
He saw the man's white crossbelt fading in the shadows and then said sharply, `Right, Mr. Okes, call up the rest of the party and keep them quiet! A flogging for the first man to make a sound!' He turned back to the bridge. There was probably a sentry atone end, if not both. It would all have to be very quick.
Okes returned breathing heavily. `All here, sir.'
Farquhar was close behind him, his face,pale in the faint moonlight. He said, `I have picked Glover for the job, sir.'
Bolitho nodded. He recalled that the seaman in question was the one who had so neatly killed the first sentry.
`Very well. Send him forward.' He watched the man slide -over the rim of stones and bushes and fade immediately into the deep patch of shadow before the bridge. Then he added slowly, `Now remember, men, if Glover fails to find that sentry and the alarm is given, we will have to make a rush for it.' He drew his sword and saw the lethal glitter of cutlasses along the roadside.
To Okes he whispered, `Mr. Farquhar will take five men to deal with the guns and magazine. McIntosh, the gunner's mate, will lay a good charge to blow the bridge when we fall back, understood?'
Okes nodded. `I-I think so, sir!'
`You must be sure, Mr. Okes!' Bolitho eyed him keenly. Suddenly he wished it was Herrick at his side. Should he be killed before the raid was finished, how would Okes manage? He continued evenly, `According to our captive Spaniard, there is a rough track down from the battery to the inside of the anchorage. I intend to go down there as soon as the battery is taken and see what can be done about the ships in the harbour. I will try to set fire to one or more of them, and Phalarope can deal with any which make a dash for it!' He swung round as Stockdale, dragging the whimpering Spaniard behind him, strode through the bushes, his teeth white in his face.
`Sir! Glover's just whistled! 'E's done for the sentry!'
Bolitho stood up. If only he had a thousand men instead of sixty, he thought vaguely. They could take and hold the whole island intact until help arrived. He tugged his hat down firmly over his eyes and glanced back at his men. He was thankful that every one of them was hand-picked. There had not been a single incident so far to warrant either punishment or anger.
`Now then, lads! Quickly and quietly, and no fussl' He waved his sword, aware suddenly that his face was fixed in a wild grin. `Follow mel'
In two files the sailors padded towards the bridge. Bolitho kept just ahead of the nearest men, his eyes straining ahead towards the deserted bridge, which all at once seemed a long way off and vulnerable.
Pad, pad, pad went the feet, and Bolitho knew without turning his head that the orderly approach was already changing into a charge. Then his shoes were booming hollowly on the wooden boards of the bridge, and from the comer of his eye he saw the angry swirl of surf, and heard the roar of a tide-race between the steep walls of the ravine. He almost fell over the spread-eagled corpse of a uniformed sentry, and saw Glover waiting to greet him, a captured musket in his hands.
Bolitho did not pause but gasped, `Well done, Glover! Now follow me!'
A semi-circular wall pitted with square gunports ran around the far side of the headland, and as his feet slipped on the stubble of gorse and dried grass Bolitho counted seven or eight large guns facing seaward. A high mound was built well behind the guns, and he guessed that these earthworks had been thrown up to protect the magazine.
There was a startled cry from the shadows behind the wall and a soldier seemed to rise out of the ground at Bolitho's feet. He saw the bared teeth and heard the man's quick intake of breath as he lunged forward and upward with his bayonet.
Glover, who was pressing close on Bolitho's heels, gave a terrible scream and fell back pinioned on the blade like a slaughtered pig. Bolitho slashed out wildly and felt the shock jar up the sword blade and along his arm like a blow. The soldier seemed to enunple, his arm almost severed from his body by the force of the stroke.
He was lost and forgotten underfoot as the sailors surged wildly along the flattened ground, their eyes staring like madmen as they looked for fuither victims.
There were only six more French soldiers sleeping in a small stone hut beside a great earth furnace, which even now glowed malevolently and cast an eerie light across the garlands of bright round shot and the cutlasses of the jubilant sailors.
One soldier sat up gaping, as if he no longer trusted what he saw. A cutlass cut him down before he could even cry out, and two more died screaming even as they struggled for their weapons.
Bolitho ignored the gruesome sounds from the hut and leaned across the breastworks to stare down at the great shimmering mirror of the anchorage. There were two big ships anchored well out in the centre and two smaller ones near the foot of the cliffs. He could see the riding lights like fireflies on the still water. There was no alarm. Nothing to break the quiet night watch. Bolitho felt the sweat cold on his brow and realised that his body was shaking uncontrollably.
Farquhar climbed up beside him, his dirk glinting faintly against his dark coat. `The battery is ours, sir.' He sounded less controlled than usual, and Bolitho knew that he was suffering the same insane wildness as the rest of them.
Farquhar added in a calmer tone, `Eight guns, sir. Two of them are thirty-two-pounders!' He sounded impressed. 'If they heated the shot in the furnace the Frogs would be able to sink any attacker with ease. A ship would be ablaze in no time from that sort of hammering!'
Bolitho nodded and pointed at the anchored ships. 'I'd like to use the guns on them! But the din would bring the whole island down on us!' He gestured towards the two large craft. `They'll be troopships, but the soldiers will be sleeping under canvas ashore somewhere. The French would have no use for soldiers too cramped and seasick to march when the time came!'
Okes ran up to him, his sword held across his body like a shield. `What now, sir?'
Bolitho glanced at the stars. 'It will be getting light in two hours. By that time I want every gun either spiked or pushed over the edge of the cliff. The latter if at all possible. The last thing will be to blow the magazine.'
Okes ran up to him, his sword held across his body like a shield. `What now, sir?'
Bolitho glanced at the stars. 'It will be getting light in two hours. By that time I want every gun either spiked or pushed over the edge of the cliff. The latter if at all possible. The last thing will be to blow the magazine.'
Farquhar nodded. 'I have put my men to work with handspikes already. I think all the guns will go over the edge well enough, sir.'
`Very well.' Bolitho watched Okes' quick breathing. `You take charge of the bridge and deal with that, Mr. Okes. Seize anyone who comes down the road, although I imagine it would take an eager spy to get past Rennie's pickets!'
Belsey, the master's mate, said, `I've found the cliff path, sir. It leads right down to the sea. There are two longboats moored at the foot.' He waited. `Shall I carry on, sir? I got my men ready.'
Bolitho nodded and watched the man lope away. Belsey had already shown he was well able to manage his part in the proceedings.
He walked back past the hut and then said sharply, `Get those men out of there. There's a lot to be done yet!’ The sharpness in his tone was more to cover his disgust than his anger. He had seen three of his men gleefully stripping the butchered corpses and crowing together like ghouls at a sacrifice.
He continued quietly, `Get everything ready, Mr. Okes, but do not pull back until I give the signal. If I fall, then you must take command and use your own discretion.' He tapped the ground with his sword. `But the guns must be destroyed and the battery blown, no matter what else is happening. Have a good fuse put on the bridge, and make sure the men know what they are doing.' He clapped Okes across the shoulder, and the man all but fell to his knees. 'It has been well worth our visit, Mr. Okes! Those two troopships alone could carry enough men to storm Antigua itself if necessary!'
Bolitho walked quickly towards the edge of the cliff where Stockdale waited for him, leaning on his cutlass. He paused and looked back. He felt a sudden surge of pride at the way things had gone so far. Men were working busily in the darkness, and already one of the giant guns had been trundled clear of its mounting. He could see Farquhar and McIntosh stooping over the box of fuses, entirely absorbed in their work of destruction, and other men loading their muskets and watching the captured bridge.
He turned on his heel and followed Stockdale down the steep, roughly hewn steps. If only he could enlarge this feeling of pride and purpose to the rest of the Phalarope's company, he thought. It could be done. He had shown these men how it could be done.
It was dark and very cold at the foot of the steps, and he saw the small group of armed seamen already squatting in one of the longboats. He said to Belsey, `Mark how the nearest ship swings at her anchor, Belsey!' He pointed at the small sloop which was, riding less than two cables from the crude jetty below the cliff. Her stern was pointing towards the centre of the anchorage, her bowsprit towards the narrow span of water between the headlands.
Belsey nodded and rubbed his chin. `Aye, sir! The tide's acomin' in!' He stooped and dipped his arm underwater along the edge of the steps. 'I can feel no weed 'ere, sir. It must be well on the make.'
`It is.' Bolitho squinted his eyes in concentration. `We'll go for the sloop there. There'll not be much of a watch kept. They'll think themselves safe enough below the battery. I know I would!'
Belsey nodded doubtfully. 'An' then, sir?' He sounded as if he would accept anything now.
`We'll set fire to her and let her drift into the nearest troop transport. She'll burn like dry grass!'
The master's mate bared his teeth. 'That'll raise the alann well enough, sir!'
Bolitho laughed shortly. `You can't get everything without payment!'
He clambered over his men and into the sternsheets. `Get those oars muffled and be sharp about it! Use your shirts, anything!' He glanced quickly at the stars. Was it imagination, or were they paler than the last time he had looked? He snapped, `Shove off! And pull handsomely!'
The oars rose and fell, the men holding their breaths as the boat sidled clear of the cliffs. The current gurgled impatiently around the counter and sent the hull swinging crazily into the mainstream.
Bolitho laid his hand on S'tockdale's arm. `Let her run. The tide is an ally tonight.'
He could see the sloop clear across the longboat's bow now, her slender bowsprit pointing directly above his head. He whispered, `Easy, lads! Easy!' He could see a lantern aft by the taffrail and another small glow beside the foremast. That was probably the crew's hatch left open because of the warm night.
`Boat your oars!' He gritted his teeth as the heavy oars were laid carefully across the thwarts. Every second seemed like a thunderclap. `Steer with the current, Stockdale.' He leaned forward. `You, in the bow! Have a grapnel ready!' To himself be added, `The noise won't matter once we get aboard!'
'Sir!' The stroke oar was pointing wildly. `Look, sir! A guardboat!'
Bolitho cursed himself for his over-confidence. When he swung his head he saw the white splash of oars and heard the creak of rowlocks barely twenty yards away.
There were gasps of surprise from some of his men, but Bolitho said harshly, `Now, bowman! The grapnel!'
The longboat swung clumsily across the sloop's stem' even as the pronged grapnel soared up and bit into the bulwark.
Everything seemed to be happening at once. There were shouts and cries from the prowling guardboat, followed by a ragged volley of musket shots. The stroke oarsman beside Bolitho screamed and fell writhing over the gunwale, his arms thrashing as he vanished below the dark water. Bullets thudded into the boat and into the sloop's side beyond.
The men faltered as a face appeared overhead and the longboat was briefly lit in the angry flash of a pistol. Belsey ducked and,swore savagely, and another man fell whimpering, blood gushing from his shoulder.
Bolitho ran along the slewing boat and leapt for the sloop's rail. For a moment his feet kicked above the water and then he was up and over, the breath knocked out of him as a seaman followed him across the bulwark and fell on top of him.
He struggled to his feet as the rest of his depleted party scrambled up beside him. The sloop's one misguided defender lay open mouthed and staring in a widening pool of blood, and a second man who suddenly appeared naked at the open hatch gave a shriek of terror and fled below, slamming the hatch behind him.
Bolitho sheathed his sword and said calmly, 'It will save us the trouble of seeking them out.' Then as a further volley banged out from the guardboat he shouted, `You know what to do, Belsey! Cut the cable, and put a hand at the wheel!'
His men were yelling and shouting like madmen as they scampered about the darkened deck as if it was an everyday occurrence. From astern Bolitho heard the raucous blare of a trumpet and then the strident rattle of a drum. He could imagine the panic and pandemonium as the sleep-fuddled crews tumbled from their hammocks in response to the call to arms.
`Cable's cut, sir!' A voice yelled from the bows.
`Very well, let the current take her!' Bolitho' ran to the rail and peered through the gloom towards the nearest transport. There were more lights now, and he thought he could see the,gunports being raised along the upperdeck. Their anger will give way to, prudence in a moment, he thought wildly.
`Fire the ship, Belsey!' He pointed at the foremast. `Start from there!'
Fascinated he watched Belsey's busy seamen as they upended the riding light across a deadly mixture of oil, loose cordage and spare canvas. The result was as swift as it was frightening. With a savage roar the flames soared up the shrouds and engulfed the whole forepart of the deck. Great tongues of fire lit up the whole anchorage, so that the other ships stood out stark and tall in the inferno. Rigging and cordage flamed and crackled as the fire reached through the tarred ropes and found the neatly furled sails. Spars and planking, sun-dried and well painted, flared like tinder, so that' the roaring heat leached still further, consuming the sloop greedily as the men fell back, stunned by the extent of their destruction.
Bolitho clawed his way aft through the choking smoke and away from the searing heat. He was glad that Belsey had remembered to open the hatch, and noticed that most of the sloop's crew had already jumped over the side and were either swimming or drowning while their world burned above them.
He leaned coughing on the taffrail and stared across at the big transport. Gone was the belligerence and awakened anger. Her decks seemed to. be swarming with stampeding figures as officers and men dashed wildly to their stations, colliding with each other as, they stared in horror at the approaching fireship.
The second transport was already slippingher cable, but the nearest ship stood no chance at all. Some of her men must have realised the inevitability of the collision, and Bolitho saw several small white splashes alongside as they jumped overboard. There were pistol shots too, and he guessed that the French officers were busy trying to restore calm and order to the last.
Belsey led his choking, wheezing men to the poop and yelled, `Time to go, sir!' He was grinning, and his eyes were streaming from the smoke.
Bolitho pointed down. The quarter boat is tied under the counter! Down you go, lads, and sharp about it! The magazine will blow before long!'
One by one the sailors slithered down the rope and into the small boat below the poop. Bolitho went last, his lungs seared from the advancing fire, his eyes all but blinded.
Stockdale bawled, `Out oars! Give way together!'
The boat pulled clear, each man's eyes white in the cruel glare as the burning sloop drifted past. Several French sailors were swimming nearby,;and one tried to pull himself aboard the overcrowded boat. But Stockdale pushed him away, and Bolitho heard the man's cries fading piteously astern.
A seaman yelled, `They've struck, by God!' -
Sure enough, the sloop had reached the other vessel, and already the flames were racing up the transport's tall masts where the half-loosed sails vanished like ashes in a strong wind.
`Keep pulling, lads!' Bolitho turned to watch, satisfied but awed by the terrible success of his attack.
The sloop's magazine exploded, the shockwave making the little boat jump beneath Bolitho's chattering seamen. The little ship, which thirty minutes earlier had been riding quietly at her anchor, folded amidships and dipped spluttering and hissing below the surface. But the work was done. The transport was ablaze from stem to stern and with fore and main-masts already down in a welter of flame and dense smoke.
Of the second transport nothing was visible through the pall. But Bolitho knew that she had only two choices. To try to warp clear and risk the fate of her sister, or drift ashore to be left a useless ruin when the tide retreated.
Belsey said, 'There are lights at the end of the bay, sir! That must be where the troops are camped!'
Bolitho wiped his smoke-blackened face and nodded. `There will be a hornet's nest about our ears shortly!' With their ships destroyed and no battery to protect them, the French soldiers would be all the more willing to die to avenge their disgrace, he thought grimly.
But it was done. And done far better than he had hoped. In future, people might remember this when they spoke the name of the Phalarope.
Lieutenant Matthew Okes stared down from the gun battery shocked and dazed by the raging holocaust and the echoing thunder of exploding powder. He could feel the hot breath of the burning ship across his sweating face, and his nostrils rebelled against -the stench of charred timbers and other horrors he could only guess at.
Farquhar said sharply, Time to send the guns over!'
Okes nodded dumbly, his eyes still fixed on the blazing transport as it rolled slowly on to one side. Men were swimming and floating amongst the great mass of fragments and charred flotsam, and the glittering water was constantly pockmarked by falling wreckage from muffled explosions within the shattered hull. Faintly through the drifting smoke he could see the second transport already hard aground, her masts leaning at a dangerous angle.
Behind him he heard the rumble of chocks and then a ragged cheer as the sailors sent the first gun careering over the cliff edge and on to the rocks below. A second and then a third gun crashed after it, and he heard McIntosh yelling at his men to throw their weight against the others.
Okes could feel the strength draining from his limbs, and wanted to run from the scene of hell and destruction which lit the whole anchorage in a panorama of red flames and sparkdappled smoke. It was all sheer madness, something which none of them could control.
There was no sign of Bolitho, and even if he had succeeded in escaping from his drifting fireship he would have a much longer passage to make back to the headland.
Farquhar said, `Look, sir! There are troops coming over the hill!'
As Okes tore his eyes away the transport took a final roll and plunged beneath the surface. Immediately the fierce light was extinguished like a candle and the anchorage was once more plunged into deep shadow. Okes blinked through the smoke and realised for the first-time that the sky was already brighter and there was a tinge of grey along the ridge of hills beyond the anchorage. The fierceness of the blazing ships had hidden the dawn's stealthy approach, and now as he followed the direction of Farquhar's arm he saw with rising panic the faint glint of bayonets and the bright colours of a raised standard moving inexorably over the rim of the nearest hill like a mechanical caterpillar.
His eyes darted from the marching troops to the bridge. From his own position on the battery to the end of the coast road. In a voice he no longer recognised he shouted, `Prepare to blow the magazine, Mr. Farquhar!' He stared round like a trapped animal. `I must see Rennie at once. You carry on here!'
He started to walk quickly away from the battery, ignoring the curious stares of the seamen and Farquhar's look of questioning contempt. His racing thoughts seemed to take over his feet, so that all at once he was running, his breath gasping painfully, his shoes skidding across stones and gorse alike as he ran blindly across the bridge, past the armed sailors on the far side and out along the open road. Here and there he could see the scarlet patches of crouching marines amongst the hillside bracken, and he was horrified to realise that he could already see the beach below and the jumble of houses beyond the pier. The growing daylight added to his sense of nakedness, and in his imagination he thought he heard the tramp of French soldiers as they marched steadily to cut his escape to the sea.
He rounded a bend in the road and almost fell on top of Captain Rennie, who, was sitting comfortably on a small mound of grass, his cocked hat and sword lying neatly beside him. Cradled on his knees was a half-eaten pie, and even as Okes staggered to a halt Rennie glanced up at him and dabbed at his: mouth with a handkerchief.
`Delicious.' He looked curiously past Okes. `They sound busy back there.'
Okes stared round wildly. This was almost too much. He wanted to scream, to shake Rennie, to make him realise the enormity of the danger.