“Better,” said Hornblower. He had seen the principles of ranging with a mortar – a huge thirteen-inch one – at the siege of Riga nearly twenty years before.
Two more shots, both wasted – the shells exploded at the top of their trajectory, high, high up. Apparently those newfangled fuses were not quite reliable. Fountains spouted momentarily from the river surface as fragments rained into it. But the pirates must by now be fully aware of what the mortar implied.
“Give me that telescope, Gerard.”
He trained the instrument on the seam in the face of the cliff. He could see every detail now, the rough stone parapet, the waterfall at one end, but he could see no sign of the garrison. They were at the back of the cave or crouching behind the parapet.
“Fire another shot.”
Fifteen long seconds after the report. Then he saw fragments flying from under the overhang.
“Good shot!” he called, still watching. The shell must have fallen right into the cave. But as he uttered the words a dark figure appeared at the parapet, the arms swinging together. He saw the tiny black disc of the shell against the background of rock curving downwards and then a burst of smoke. Someone had seized the hot shell in his two hands and slung it over the parapet in the nick of time. A desperate deed.
“Pitch another shell there with a second’s less fuse and it will be all over,” he said, and then – “Wait.”
Surely those helpless people must surrender, and not stay to be massacred. What must he do to persuade them? He knew perfectly well.
“Send a white flag forward, My Lord?” asked Spendlove, voicing his thoughts.
“I was thinking about it,” said Hornblower.
It would be a dangerous mission. If the pirates were determined not to surrender they would not respect a flag of truce, and would fire on the bearer of it. There were a score of muskets and at least one rifle up there. Hornblower wanted neither to order someone forward nor to ask for a volunteer.
“I’ll do it, My Lord,” said Spendlove. “They know me.”
This was the price he had to pay, thought Hornblower, for his lofty position, for being an Admiral. He had to order his friends to their death. Yet on the other hand –
“Very well,” said Hornblower.
“Let’s have your shirt and your pike, my man,” said Spendlove.
A white shirt tied by the sleeves to a pikestaff made a fair white flag. As Spendlove went forward with it, through the cordon of red-coated marines, Hornblower was tempted to call him back. It was only unconditional surrender that could be offered, after all. He went as far as to open his mouth, but closed it again without saying the words he had in mind. Spendlove walked towards the river bank, stopping every few seconds to wave the flag. Through the telescope Hornblower could see nothing up in the cave. Then he saw a flash of metal, and a line of heads and shoulders over the parapet. A dozen muskets were taking aim at Spendlove. But Spendlove saw them too, and halted, with a wave of his flag. There were long seconds of tension, and then Spendlove turned his back upon the muskets and began to retrace his steps. As he did so there was a puff of smoke from the parapet; the rifleman had fired as soon as he had seen there was no chance of luring Spendlove within musket shot. Spendlove came walking back, trailing the pike and the shirt.
“He missed me, My Lord,” he said.
“Thank God,” said Hornblower. “Gunner, fire.”
The wind may have shifted a little, or the powder was not consistent. The shell burst in the air just below the level of the cave – so that the fuse must have been efficient – but some considerable distance from the cliff.
“Fire again,” said Hornblower.
There it was. A burst of smoke, a fountain of fragments, right in the cave. Horrible to think of what was happening there.
“Fire again.”
Another burst right in the cave.
“Fire again – No! Wait.”
Figures were appearing on the parapet – there had been some survivors, then, from those two bursts. Two figures – tiny dolls in the field of the telescope – seemed to hang in the air as they leaped. The telescope followed them down. One struck water in a fountain of spray. The other fell on the rocky shore, broken and horrible. He raised the telescope again. There was the ladder being thrown over from the parapet. There was a figure – and another figure – climbing down. Hornblower shut the telescope with a snap.