Captain Ashby said, 'Glad to see you again, sir.' He was nodding grimly. 'More glad than I can say!'
Bolitho looked past him. 'Where is Colonel Cobban?'
A young infantry captain said quickly, 'He sent me, sir. He was, er, not able to get here.'
Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'No matter.' He saw the Spanish colonel sitting in the same chair as before, his uniform as fresh as if he had just been on parade. The Spaniard gave him a curt nod and then stared at his boots.
Captain Dash said heavily, 'Er, if you're ready to begin, Bolitho?'
Bolitho turned to face the others. Dash had not made it public that he was handing over his control to him.
He said quietly, 'There is not much time. We are to begin total evacuation at once.' They looked at each other as he spoke. Surprise? Relief? It was hard to tell. He continued, 'We will make a general signal to the squadron for boats. We can start with the wounded. Are there many?'
The soldier replied crisply, 'Over four hundred, sir.'
'Very well. Get them down to the Erebus and the Welland without delay. Captain Dash will make all the necessary arrangements for extra help from our own seamen.'
He looked quickly at Dash, half-expecting some argument, some small spark of pride. But he merely nodded and muttered, 'I'11 do that right away.'
Bolitho watched him pass. God, he's glad to go, he thought wearily.
Then he forgot Dash as Labouret asked quietly, 'What will I tell my people, Captain? How can I face them now?' It was obvious that he knew or guessed what was in Pomfret's orders.
Bolitho faced him. 'By the time you have enquired how many of your people want to leave with us the boats will have evacuated all the wounded, m'sieu.' He saw the Frenchman's lip quiver as he added, 'All who want to go can get into the boats. I cannot promise you much, my friend. But at least your lives will be safe!'
Labouret stared at him for several seconds, searching his face as if to unlock some inner secret. Then he said thickly, 'We will never forget, Captain! Never!' Then he was gone.
Bolitho said, 'The Harvester will be here soon with the convicts. They can be spread amongst the two transports, too.'
The Spanish colonel jerked upright in his seat, his eyes flashing dangerously. 'What is this you say? Convicts on top of wounded and wretched peasants! What about my horses,. Captain? How can I get them aboard two ships?
The infantry captain added uncertainly, 'And the artillery's guns, sir?'
Bolitho looked through the door as a marine showed Aliday up the staircase towards Pomfret's room. He said flatly, 'They will have to be left behind, gentlemen. The people come first.' He held their combined stares until they looked away. 'Just this once, they come first!'
The colonel stood up and walked towards the door. Over his shoulder he said harshly, 'I think you are a fool, Captain! But brave certainly!'
They heard his horse trotting away through the gates, and Bolitho said, 'Now show me where the soldiers are in position, if you will. This operation will have to be smooth and without any sort of panic, if it is to succeed at all!'
Thirty minutes later he watched the others depart. All except Ashby. 'Well, is there something you need explaining?' Bolitho felt completely drained.
Ashby pulled down his tunic and fumbled with his belt. Then he said, 'I had no time to tell you, sir. But Miss Seton is still here in St. Clan'
Bolitho stared at him. 'What?'
'I tried to put her aboard the Vanessa, sir.' Ashby looked wretched. 'But she insisted; on staying. She's been helping at the hospital.' His eyes gleamed in the dusty sunlight. 'She's been an example to everyone, sir.'
Bolitho replied quietly, 'Thank you, Ashby. I will see her. myself.' Then he picked up his hat and walked out into the noise.
16
A FACE IN THE CROWD
Bolitho reined his borrowed horse to a halt behind a massive stone barn and lowered himself to the ground. Ashby, who had stayed with him all afternoon, also dismounted and leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion.
It was early evening, but so thick was the drifting smoke that it could have been nightfall, and in the deepening shadows the savage gun-flashes and the sharper pinpoints of musket-fire seemed to ring the small town with an unceasing bombardment.
Ashby said, 'This is as far as we go, sir.' He gestured towards the pale line of the road. 'The French are within a hundred yards of us here.'
Bolitho moved along the wall and ducked behind a rough barricade of wagons and earth-filled barrels. He could see the scattered line of soldiers spreading away on either hand, their movements slow but regulated as they loaded and fired towards the road, their red tunics dark against the dust and loose stones.
A young lieutenant crawled from behind an upended farm cart and ran swiftly to Bolitho's side. Like his men he was bedraggled and filthy, but his voice was quite calm as he pointed' towards the deeply shadowed hills beyond the road.
'We've come back about fifty yards in the past hour, sir. He ducked as a musket-ball whimpered overhead. 'I can't hold on here much longer. I've lost half of my men, and those which are still able to fight are down to their last powder and shot.'
Bolitho opened a small telescope and peered above the barricade. It was already darker, and as he stared towards the bright flashes he saw too the spreadeagled bodies, the white crossbelts which marked every yard of the retreat. Here and there an arm moved, and once in a brief lull he heard a cracked voice calling for water.
He found himself thinking of the makeshift hospital by the jetty. He had seen the girl working beside two army surgeons and the town's solitary doctor, her dress stained with blood, her hair pulled back from her face with a piece of bandage. It was not like the enclosed horror of the Hyperion's orlop, but in some ways it had seemed worse because of its primitive desolation. The crowded ranks of wounded, the stench and -the pitiful cries, a never-ending stream of limping figures coming down the street from the firing line, and from the look of the doctors' haggard faces it had seemed to Bolitho that they worked with neither respite nor feeling, their eyes only on the wretched man who happened to be in front of them at any particular time.
Then she had seen him, and for a long moment their eyes had embraced above the bowed heads and agonised figures between them. Bolitho had told the senior surgeon what he intended to do, but all the while he had been looking at the girl. The surgeon had eyed him with something like disbelief. As yet another wounded man had been carried in he had said wearily, 'We'll get 'em to the boats, Captain! If we have to swim with each one on our backs!'
Bolitho had taken the girl aside to a small room, which appeared to have been a children's nursery at some time. Amidst the litter of soiled dressings and torn uniforms there were crude pictures painted and drawn by some of the children who were now trapped or dying in the beleaguered--town.
She had said, 'I knew you would come, Richard. I just knew!
He had held her against his chest, feeling the tautness in
her limbs, the sudden pressure of her head on his shoulder. 'You're exhausted! You should have gone in the Vanessa!' 'Not without seeing you, Richard.' She had lifted her chin
and studied his face. 'I'm all right, now.'
Outside the building the air had vibrated with gunfire and the sounds of running men. But in those few moments they had been alone, remote from the bitter reality and suffering around them.
Gently he had prised her hands from his coat. 'Seamen from the squadron will be here very soon. Everything will be done to get everyone away from St. Clar. Please tell me that you will go with the others?' He had searched her face, holding on to it with his mind. 'That is all I ask.'
She had nodded very slowly. 'Everyone is saying that you are responsible for the evacuation, Richard. They speak of nothing else. That you returned against orders to help us!' Her eyes had been shining with tears. 'I am glad I stayed behind, if only to see what you are really like!'
Bolitho had replied, 'We
are all in this together. There was no other way.'
A shake of the head, the gesture so dear in Bolitho's memory. 'You may say that, Richard, but I know you better than you think. Sir Edmund did nothing, and while others waited, all these men died to no purpose!'
'Do not be too hard on the admiral.' It had been strange to hear his own words. As if in the last few hours he had seen Pomfret through different eyes, had even understood him a little more. 'He and I wanted the same thing. Only our motives were different.'
Then the first sailors had appeared inside the hospital, their check shirts and clean, purposeful figures alien and unreal in that place of despair and death.
And now, as he crouched beside this pitiful barricade, he could still picture her as he had last seen her. A slim, defiant figure amidst the harvest of war, even managing to smile as he had mounted his horse and ridden to the other end of the town.
A soldier lurched back from a low wall, emitting a shrill scream before pitching headlong beside one of his comrades. The latter did not even turn his head to look at his dead companion, but continued with his loading and firing. Death had become too commonplace to mention. Survival merely a remote possibility.
Bolitho turned and stared behind him. There was the bridge, and below the ridge of earth and scorched grass lay the river. He made up his mind.
'Have you laid the charges, Lieutenant?' He saw the man nod with relief. 'Very well. Fall back across the river and blow the bridge.'
There was a sudden jangle of harness, and as he swung round Bolitho saw the Spanish colonel trotting calmly along the narrow track, and behind him, their breastplates and helmets glittering in the gun-flashes like silver, came the remnants of his cavalry.
Bolitho ducked and then ran back to the high barn. He snapped, 'What are you doing here, Colonel? I told you to prepare your men for evacuation!'
Don Joaquin Salgado sat quite motionless in his saddle, his teeth very white in the darkness. 'You have much to achieve before tomorrow, Captain. Be so kind as to give me the benefit of knowing my profession also.'
'There is nothing beyond this line of men but open ground and the enemy, Colonel!'
The Spaniard nodded. 'And as someone remarked earlier, if the enemy reach the southern headland before you get clear you are all dead men!' He leaned forward slightly, his saddle creaking beneath him. 'I am not leaving my horses to rot, Captain, nor am I going to shoot them. I am a soldier. I am sick and tired of this kind of warfare!' He straightened his back and drew out his curved sabre. 'Good luck, Captain!' Then without another glance he spurred his horse forward and galloped straight for the barricade. The effect on his men was instantaneous. Cheering and whooping like madmen they thundered in pursuit, the flying hoofs skimming past the dazed soldiers by the. barricade, their sabres gleaming like fire as they fanned out and headed for the enemy lines.
Bolitho shouted, 'Fall back now, Lieutenant! That fool has given you the chancel' As the soldiers struggled to their feet and retreated towards the bridge Bolitho turned to stare after the charging cavalry. 'And he said I was brave!'
In the darkness he heard the screams of wounded horses, the sharp exchange of shots, and above all the sudden blare of a cavalry trumpet. But the enemy barrage had stopped. There was no time to stand and marvel at any man's courage. Not now. But later . . . Bolitho shook himself from his thoughts and ran to his horse.
Ashby yelled, 'None of 'em will live through that, sirl By God, that man must be mad!'
Bolitho nudged the horse towards the bridge. 'Angry, Captain Ashby! And I cannot find it in my heart to blame him.'
When they reached the waterfront they were greeted with even greater confusion. Along the jetty there were boats of every shape and size, and pigtailed sailors were passing women and children down from the steps and out to their comrades without pause, as if they had been doing nothing else for years.
Voices called on every side, officers shouting orders to their men, seamen and marines urging or pleading with some of the civilians who seemed determined to take as much furniture and baggage as the boats would hold.
Bolitho saw a petty officer dragging an old woman away from a tethered calf, saying gruffly, 'No, you can't take that one, Mother! There's little enough room as it is!' But the old woman did not understand and was still struggling and weeping as the seamen carried her to a waiting boat.
And why should she understand? Bolitho stood watching in silence. The calf was probably all she owned in the whole world.
Lieutenant Inch pushed through the surging crowd and touched, his hat. 'The wounded are away, sir!' He was shouting above the din. 'These are the last of the townspeople who want to go!'
Bolitho nodded. 'And the rest?'
'Hiding most likely, sir.' He winced as a sudden explosion rocked the buildings above the jetty. 'What was that?'
'The bridge.' Bolitho walked to the edge of the stonework and watched the boats gliding downstream.
Another lieutenant reported at his side, 'Harvester has unloaded the, er, convicts, sir.' He seemed stunned by the noise and chaotic activity.
'Very well.' Bolitho tore his eyes from the hurrying figures, the despair and sudden desperation of escape. 'I'll come and speak to them.'
The convicts were herded into a low-beamed shed behind the jetty. Bolitho recognised Captain Poole of the transport Erebus as he stood uncertainly looking at his extra passengers.
He said, 'Are they all ready to leave?'
Poole grinned. 'My ship is like nothing on earth, Captain! You can hardly move a belaying pin for people!' He saw the strain on Bolitho's face and added firmly, 'But never fear, I'll get 'em away from here!'
Bolitho mounted a discarded case and looked around the watching faces. Even in the feeble lantern light he could see that most of the convicts looked fitter than when he had last seen them. He had to force his mind back again. How long was that? Could it really be only four months?
He said, 'You are leaving now aboard the Erebus. There are no guards or manacles.' He saw the sudden shiver of excitement move through the packed figures below him. 'Captain Poole has written orders from Rear-Admiral Pomfret which he will hand to the senior officer at Gibraltar.' How easy the lie came to him. The orders were sealed with Pomfret's crest, but the signature was his own. 'I have no doubt that many of you will be pardoned, although some may wish to await the next convoy to New Holland to try and carve out a new life in a different country.' He felt dizzy with fatigue but continued, 'You have behaved with dignity, and no little courage. That at least is worth rewarding!'
He turned to leave, but a voice called, 'A moment, Captain Bolithol'
When he faced them again they were all staring at him, their eyes glittering in the lamplight.
The voice said, 'We know what you have done for us, Captain! Don't we, lads?' There was an answering rumble of assent. 'Some would have left us to rot in Cozar, but you had us took off! We just want you to know that you've give us back more than a hope o' freedom, Captain! You've give us back our respect!'
Bolitho walked blindly into the darkness, the great wave of cheering following him like surf roaring on a reef. Poole was grinning openly, but his words were lost in the noise.
Then Bolitho saw Midshipman Seton standing beside the jetty, one hand in a bandage, the other holding an exhausted horse by the bridle.
The boy said, 'May I rejoin the ship, sir?'
Bolitho touched his shoulder. 'Thank God you're safe! I have been searching for you this afternoon.'
Seton looked embarrassed. 'I g-got lost, sir. Actually, the horse bolted, and it t-took me two days to get back through the French lines.'
Bolitho smiled wearily. 'Mr. Piper will be glad to learn of that, he was expecting you to meet with some difficulty on your own!'
He looked back as the convicts poured down the stairs and into the next batch of boats. 'Stay here and help these men, Seton. When they are clear you can come to the admiral's headquarters. I will be there.'
Th
e midshipman asked, 'Is it over, sir?
`Nearly so.' The words sounded final. 'At dawn tomorrow we will take off the last of the soldiers.' He shrugged. 'It will be a day for you to remember.'
Seton nodded, suddenly grave. 'I saw my sister before she left, sir. She told me e-everything.' He shifted his feet. 'Everything th-that has happened, sir!'
Bolitho saw Ashby waiting by the horses and replied quietly, 'Now then, Mr. Seton, you are starting to stutter again!' As he walked away he saw that the boy was still staring after him.
The square beside Pomfret's headquarters was deserted but for a few marines and a scavenging dog. He noticed that the enemy's bombardment had stopped and there was a great silence over the battered town, as if it was holding its breath for the coming of daylight and the final act of misery.
He entered the house and found the panelled study empty and strangely forlorn, the map lying on the floor beside Pomfret's desk. As he slumped into a chair he saw Allday watching him from the door.
He said, 'The admiral's sleeping, Captain. I've got him cleaned up, and Mr. Fanshawe is up there watching over him.'. He added firmly, 'I think you should get a bit of sleep too, Captain. You look worn out, if I may say so.'
'You may not, Allday!' But he could not find the strength to resist as Allday bent to pull off his shoes and unbluckle his swordbelt.
The coxswain added, 'I've got some soup, Captain. That should put a sparkle back inside you.'
He padded away whistling to himself, and Bolitho let his head loll against the chairback, his whole frame suddenly empty of feeling. There was such a lot still to do. He had not yet found Cobban, or arranged for the final destruction of the port's meagre installations.
Bolitho thought of the girl's face and the brightness in her eyes when they had parted. At first light the ships would sail, leaving only men-of-war to watch over the final phase of retreat.
Retreat. The word hung over him like an insult. It was never easy to accept, no matter how valid the reason.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 29