Colours Aloft! by Alexander Kent Page B

himself for not bringing a pistol. He stared around at the nodding fronds. But who would suspect danger in a place like this?
    He walked deliberately down the slope, straining his ears in every direction, but only the rustle of the trees mocked him, as if a hidden army was on the move.
    They reached the trees and Bolitho said, “We’ll circle around the hill.” He saw the doubt in Stayt’s dark eyes, the way that the two armed seamen had suddenly hunched together.
    Bolitho said, “They must have seen us after the musket shot. But we’re out of sight now. They’ll think we’re following the others.”
    Stayt hissed, “Who are they, sir?”
    Bolitho drew his sword and gripped it firmly. How many times— He realized what Stayt had asked. “Must be French.”
    They seemed to outguess everything they did, where they went, what the ships were doing. It was unlikely that anyone knew he had moved to the cutter, but Supreme was one of his strength; even the wind on a lee shore was the same as that which had nearly done for Barracouta.
    Stayt had drawn his hanger and together they moved slowly towards the hillside, avoiding patches of sunlight, anything which might betray them. He wondered if Sheaffe had reached the beach yet. Unlikely, even running at full tilt.
    He gritted his teeth to prevent him from despairing aloud. Why didn’t I think? I should have realized it was just the kind of trap Jobert might think of. The secret was out now, that musket shot would have made sure of that.
    â€œLook!” Stayt dropped on his knees. There were two men, taking their time, their weapons sheathed as they strolled down through the trees. Sailors obviously, and as they drew nearer Bolitho heard that they were speaking French.
    They must have left a larger party to go back to the hill for the lookout’s telescope. Bolitho could remember the seaman exactly, the glass under one arm, a good reliable hand. Now another carried it, and there was dried blood on the case.
    â€œAt them!”
    Bolitho bounded over the bushes and charged onto the man with the telescope. He stared with utter astonishment and then made to draw his cutlass. He was hampered by the telescope. Bolitho slashed him across the face and as he toppled sideways drove the blade beneath his armpit. At no time did the man cry out. The other dropped to his knees and reached out imploringly. The lookout must have been popular for one of the seamen swung his musket and smashed him in the skull. The musket rose again but Stayt snapped curtly, “Enough, you fool, he’ll not move again.”
    The man with the musket picked up the telescope and followed Bolitho down the slope. But for their detour they would have been ambushed and the alarm given before they reached the beach.
    He heard the dull bang of a cannon. Supreme had at last realized what was happening and had fired a recall.
    There was a sudden fusillade of shots and wild shouts, then the brief clash of steel.
    Bolitho broke into a run and burst through the last bushes and onto the beach. In seconds he saw it all. The grounded jollyboat, the gig caught halfway between the beach and the anchored cutter. Lieutenant Okes stood by the water’s edge, a pistol in either hand. One he had just fired, the other he trained on a zigzagging figure which with several others was running towards his handful of seamen. Bolitho found time to notice that Okes stood quite still despite the yells and occasional musket balls, more like a wildfowler than a sea officer. The pistol cracked and the running man tore into the sand like a plough and lay still.
    That seemed to deter the others, especially as Bolitho and his three companions charged towards them. Stayt fired twice, his silver pistol must have two barrels, and each shot found its mark.
    Okes mopped his face with his sleeve. “Lor’ bless you, sir, I thought the buggers ’ad done for you, beggin’ yer