“Friend,” said Wellard. “This is Mr Bush here.”
“Glad to see you, sir,” said another voice — Hornblower’s.
Hornblower detached himself from the darkness and came forward to make his report.
“My party is formed up just ahead, sir. I’ve sent Saddler and two reliable men on as scouts.”
“Very good,” said Bush, and meant it.
The marine sergeant was reporting to Whiting.
“All present, sir, ‘cept for Chapman, sir. ‘E’s sprained ‘is ankle, or ‘e says ‘e ‘as, sir. Left ‘im be’ind back there, sir.”
“Let your men rest, Captain Whiting,” said Bush.
Life in the confines of a ship of the line was no sort of training for climbing cliffs in the tropics, especially as the day before had been exhausting. The marines lay down, some of them with groans of relief which drew the unmistakable reproof of savage kicks from the sergeant’s toe.
“We’re on the crest here, sir,” said Hornblower. “You can see over into the bay from that side there.”
“Three miles from the fort, d’ye think?”
Bush did not mean to ask a question, for he was in command, but Hornblower was so ready with his report that Bush could not help doing so.
“Perhaps. Less than four, anyway, sir. Dawn in four hours from now, and the moon rises in half an hour.”
“Yes.”
“There’s some sort of track or path along the crest, sir, as you’d expect. It should lead to the fort.”
“Yes.”
Hornblower was a good subordinate, clearly. Bush realised now that there would naturally be a track along the crest of the peninsula — that would be the obvious thing — but the probability had not occurred to him until that moment.
“If you will permit me, sir,” went on Hornblower, “I’ll leave James in command of my party and push on ahead with Saddler and Wellard and see how the land lies.”
“Very good, Mr Hornblower.”
Yet no sooner had Hornblower left than Bush felt a vague irritation. It seemed that Hornblower was taking too much on himself. Bush was not a man who would tolerate any infringement upon his authority. However, Bush was distracted from this train of thought by the arrival of the second division of seamen, who came sweating and gasping up to join the main body. With the memory of his own weariness when he arrived still fresh in his mind Bush allowed them a rest period before he should push on with his united force. Even in the darkness a cloud of insects had discovered the sweating force, and a host of them sang round Bush’s ears and bit him viciously at every opportunity. The crew of the Renown had been long at sea and were tender and desirable in consequence. Bush slapped at himself and swore, and every man in his command did the same.
“Mr Bush, sir?”
It was Hornblower back again.
“Yes?”
“It’s a definite trail, sir. It crosses a gully just ahead, but it’s not a serious obstacle.”
“Thank you, Mr Hornblower. We’ll move forward. Start with your division, if you please.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The advance began. The domed limestone top of the peninsula was covered with long grass, interspersed with occasional trees. Off the track walking was a little difficult on account of the toughness and irregularity of the bunches of high grass, but on the track it was comparatively easy. The men could move along it in something like a solid body, well closed up. Their eyes, thoroughly accustomed to the darkness, could see in the starlight enough to enable them to pick their way. The gully that Hornblower had reported was only a shallow depression with easily sloping sides and presented no difficulty.
Bush plodded on at the head of the marines with Whiting at his side, the darkness all about him like a warm blanket. There was a kind of dreamlike quality about the march, induced perhaps by the fact that Bush had not slept for twenty‑four hours and was stupid with the fatigues he had undergone during that period. The path was ascending gently — naturally, of course, since it was rising to the highest part of the peninsula where the fort was sited.