“And now you don’t think so?”
Buckland’s tone was a mixture of relief and disappointment—relief that he might not have to reach any further decisions, and disappointment that some easy way of gaining success was not being put forward. But Hornblower had had time now to sort out his ideas, and to think about times and distances. That showed in his face.
“I think something might well be tried, sir, as long as it was tried at once.”
“At once?” This was night, the crew were weary, and Buckland’s tone showed surprise at the suggestion of immediate activity. “You don’t mean tonight?”
“Tonight might be the best time, sir. The Dons have seen us driven off with our tail between our legs—excuse me, sir, but that’s how it’ll look to them, at least. The last they saw of us was beating out of Samaná Bay at sunset. They’ll be pleased with themselves. You know how they are, sir. An attack at dawn from another quarter, overland, would be the last thing they’d expect.”
That sounded like sense to Bush, and he made a small approving noise, the most he would venture towards making a contribution to the debate.
“How would you make this attack, Mr. Hornblower?” asked Buckland.
Hornblower had his ideas in order now; the weariness disappeared and there was a glow of enthusiasm in his face.
“The wind’s fair for Scotchman’s Bay, sir. We could be back there in less than two hours—before midnight. By the time we arrive we can have the landing party told off and prepared. A hundred seamen and the marines. There’s a good landing beach there—we saw it yesterday. The country inland must be marshy, before the hills of the peninsula start again, but we can land on the peninsula side of the marsh. I marked the place yesterday, sir.”
“Well?”