“Send it round in the launch, sir, with tackle and cables, near to where we landed yesterday. The cliff’s steep there. And there are big trees to attach the cables to. We could sway the gun up easy enough. Those ninepounders only weigh a ton.”
“I know that,” said Buckland, sharply.
It was one thing to make unexpected suggestions, but it was quite another to tell a veteran officer facts with which he was well acquainted.
“Yes, of course, sir. But with a ninepounder at the top of the cliff it wouldn’t be so difficult to move it across the neck of land until we had the upper bay under our fire. We wouldn’t have to cross any gullies. Half a mile—uphill, but not too steep, sir—and it would be done.”
“And what d’you think would happen then?”
“We’d have those ships under fire, sir. Only a ninepounder, I know, but they’re not built to take punishment. We could batter ‘em into wrecks in twelve hours’ steady fire. Less than that, perhaps. An’ I suppose we could heat the shot if we wanted to, but we wouldn’t have to. All we’d have to do would be to open fire, I think, sir.”
“Why?”
“The Dons wouldn’t risk those ships, sir. Ortega spoke very big about making an alliance with the blacks, but that was only talking big, sir. Give the blacks a chance an’ they’ll cut every white throat they can. An’ I don’t blame ‘em—excuse me, sir.”
“Well?”
“Those ships are the Dons’ only way of escape. If they see they’re going to be destroyed they’ll be frightened. It would mean surrendering to the blacks—that or being killed to the last man. And woman, sir. They’d rather surrender to us.”