“We’ll get that on its way first. Take a line, each of you marines.”
The thirty red‑coated marines that Hornblower had sent along from the fort moved up to the cat’s cradle. Their noncommissioned officers pushed them into position, and Bush checked to see that each man was there.
“Take hold.”
It was better to go to a little trouble and see that everything was correctly balanced at the start rather than risk that the unwieldy lump of metal should roll off the cat’s cradle and should have to be laboriously manoeuvred back into position.
“Now, all of you together when I give the word. Lift!”
The gun rose a foot from the ground as every man exerted himself.
“March! Belay that, sergeant.”
The sergeant had begun to call the step, but on this irregular ground with every man supporting eighty pounds of weight it was better that they should not try to keep step.
“Halt! Lower!”
The gun had moved twenty yards towards the position Bush had selected for it.
“Carry on, sergeant. Keep ’em moving. Not too fast.”
Marines were only dumb animals, not even machines, and were liable to tire. It was better be conservative with their strength. But while they laboured at carrying the gun the necessary half mile up to the crest the seamen could work at hauling up the rest of the stores from the launches. Nothing would be as difficult as the gun. The gun carriage was a feather‑weight by comparison; even the nets, each holding twenty nine‑pound cannon balls, were easy to handle. Rammers, sponges, and wad‑hooks, two of each in case of accidents; wads; and now the powder charges. With only two and a half pounds of powder in each they seemed tiny compared with the eight‑pound charges Bush had grown accustomed to on the lower gundeck. Last of all came the heavy timbers destined to form a smooth floor upon which the gun could be worked. They were awkward things to carry, but with each timber on the shoulders of four men they could be carried up the gentle slope fast enough, overtaking the unfortunate marines, who, streaming with sweat, were lifting and carrying, lifting and carrying, on their way up.
Bush stood for a moment at the cliff edge checking over the stores with James’ assistance. Linstocks and slow match; primers and quills; barricoes of water; handspikes, hammers, and nails; everything necessary, he decided — not merely his professional reputation but his self‑respect depended on his having omitted nothing. He waved his flag, and received an answer from the launches. The second launch cast off her mooring line, and then, hauling up her anchor, she went off with her consort to pull back round Samaná Point to rejoin Renown — in the ship they would be most desperately shorthanded until the launches’ crews should come on board again. From the trees to which it was secured, over Bush’s head, the rope hung down to the buoy, neglected unless it should be needed again; Bush hardly spared it a glance. Now he was free to walk up the crest and prepare for action; a glance at the sun assured him that it was less than three hours since sunrise even now.
He organised the final carrying party and started up to the crest. When he reached it the bay opened below him. He put his glass to his eye: the three vessels were lying at anchor within easy cannon shot of where he stood, and when he swung the glass to his left he could just make out, far, far away, the two specks which were the flags flying over the fort — the swell of the land hid the body of the building from his sight. He closed the glass and applied himself to the selection of a level piece of ground on which to lay the timbers for the platform. Already the men with the lightest loads were around him, chattering and pointing excitedly until with a growl he silenced them.
The hammers thumped upon the nails as the crosspieces were nailed into position on the timbers. No sooner had they ceased than the gun carriage was swung up on to it by the lusty efforts of half a dozen men. They attached the tackles and saw to it that the gun‑trucks ran easily before chocking them. The marines came staggering up, sweating and gasping under their monstrous burden. Now was the moment for the trickiest piece of work in the morning’s programme. Bush distributed his steadiest men round the carrying ropes, a reliable petty officer on either side to watch that accurate balance was maintained.