His head drooped, the weariness closing over him like a cloak. But dimly he heard Allday re-enter the room and felt him wrap a blanket around his aching body.
As if from far away he heard Allday mutter, 'That's right, Captain, you sleep. There's many who'll sleep in safety because of you. I hope to God Almighty they know who saved 'em!'
Bolitho wanted to speak, but nothing came. Seconds later he surrendered to the waiting darkness.
Lieutenant Herrick thrust himself away from the quarterdeck rail and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Another second and he knew he would have fallen asleep on his feet. Around him the darkened ship seemed to be sleeping, and apart from the occasional shuffle from one of the watchkeepers or sentries and the gentle moan of wind through the shrouds, a great silence hung over the sheltered inlet.
The sky had clouded during the night, and as he walked slowly towards the poop ladder he felt a brief touch of rain across his cheek. The dawn was not far away, and already there was an uncertain lightening to mark the distant horizon like dull pewter.
He heard Tomlin, the boatswain, speaking angrily in the darkness, and guessed that he had stumbled upon some unfortunate seaman asleep at his station. It was hardly surprising. The men had worked like demons until the fading light had shown the last of the squadron's boats pulling wearily from the town to disperse amongst the anchored ships. What had seemed an impossible and hopeless task had been achieved, but no one really knew how it had been accomplished in such a short time. Men, women and children. Wounded soldiers and hastily recalled troops from beyond the bridge. Somehow they had been crammed aboard the transports, but Herrick doubted if any had been able to sleep. Each gust of offshore wind brought the smell of fire and death to. remind them of that which they would soon leave behind.
And somewhere out there beyond the dark edge of land Bolitho was still busy, he thought grimly. Taking upon his own, shoulders what others should have done.
There was a step beside him and he saw Gossett's massive shape outlined against the pale deck shrouded in a tarpaulin Coat.
The master said quietly, 'Not long now, Mr. 'Errick.'
'So you could not sleep either?' Herrick banged his hands together to restore the circulation. 'God, this has been a long night!'
Gossett grunted. 'I'll not rest easy until our own people are inboard once more.' He held up his hand as a pipe shrilled across the water like a disturbed bird. 'They're callin' the hands aboard the transports. They'll be weighin' very shortly.'
'Good.' Herrick squinted against the cool wind to watch a small lantern moving along one of the transport's decks. When daylight once more laid bare the ruin of St. Clar the little convoy would be clear out ' to sea. The Spanish Princesa was to act as the main escort, with the frigate Bat and one of the sloops for additional support as far as Gibraltar.
Gossett seemed to read his thoughts. 'At least we can depend on the Princesa this time. She'll be headin' for her own
waters and'll need no encouragement to get a move on!' He sounded bitter.
They both started as a voice challenged from the starboard gangway, 'Boat ahoy?'
Back from the gloom came the instant response, 'Aye, aye!'
Gossett murmured, 'That's odd. It looks like the barge, but the cap'n's not aboard 'er.'
Herrick nodded and strode quickly to the ladder. 'He'll not come until everyone else is away, Mr. Gossett.'
The master sighed. `You do not have to tell me that!'
The barge booked on to the main chains, and within seconds Allday was pulling himself through the entry port. He saw the lieutenant and knuckled his forehead.
'Captain's compliments, sir.' He peered back into the barge and hissed, 'Hold your noise, damn you!' Then to Herrick he continued, 'Would you give a hand to take the admiral aft, sir?'
Herrick stared at him. 'The admiral?' He saw Rowlstone climbing through the port and the smaller shape of Midshipman Piper close behind him.
Allday said calmly, 'The captain's orders are that Sir Edmund is to be put in his sleeping cabin, sir.' He saw Herrick peering round for the master's mate of the watch and added sharply, 'He said there was to be no fuss! Nobody's to see the admiral until he's on his feet again!'
Herrick nodded, the realisation sweeping over him.- He knew Allday of old. He had never known him to panic or get his orders confused. If Bolitho wanted Pomfret's transfer kept quiet, there was a very good reason.
He beckoned to Gossett. 'Here, give a hand!'
Like conspirators they manhandled Pomfret's blanketed figure through the entry port and aft to the quarterdeck. The admiral's aide was assisting with the rough stretcher, and from his dragging footsteps Herrick imagined that he too had been awake all night.
Allday watched the small group groping its way beneath the poop before adding, 'The captain is coming off with the rearguard, sir.' He rubbed his hand across his chin with a loud rasping sound. 'It will have to be quick.'
Herrick nodded. 'We will be ready.' He reached out as Allday turned to rejoin his barge crew. 'Tell Captain Bolitho . He broke off, not knowing how to express his true feelings.
Aliday grinned in the darkness. 'I don't have to tell him anything, sir. He'll be knowing what you think, I shouldn't wonder.'
Herrick watched the barge as it backed away from the side. The stroke slow and weary, like the men.
Aloud he muttered, 'I expect he will..'
A seamen called, 'Transports is shortenin' their cables, sir! I kin see the old Erebus breakin' out 'er foretops'l already!'
.'Very well.' Herrick watched the pale patches of sail giving shape and identity to the other ships as one after the other they prepared to weigh anchor. He said, `Tell Mr. Tomlin to call our people in fifteen minutes, and see that the cooks have got their fires alight.' He shivered slightly. `It'll be a while before we get another cooked meal, if I'm any judge!'
Gossett rejoined him at the rail. 'What does it all mean, Mr. 'Errick? Why is Sir Edmund aboard us instead o' the flagship?'
Herrick glanced briefly at the anchored Tenacious before replying. 'The reasons are not our concern. But at dawn we will hoist Sir Edmund's flag at the mizzen.' He knew Gossett was staring at him. 'The responsibility shifts with the flag, of that I am sure!'
As the first sunlight touched the hills and filtered down between the rubble-strewn streets the enemy guns reopened fire. Black columns of smoke poured from the jetty, the bright sparks and drifting ashes marking the last stages of destruction as small groups of soldiers threw pii-soaked rags into the moored fishing boats and storage sheds before setting them ablaze.
Captain Ashby stood grim faced beside his square of marines watching the remaining files of soldiers hurrying back from the firing line, some carrying wounded comrades, others using their muskets as crutches as they headed for the water and the waiting boats.
In the big house Bolitho stood by one of the open windows, his hands resting on the sill while he studied the hills beyond the town. He heard the crunch of boots below him and saw the young infantry officer peering up at him.
'Is everything completed?'
The soldier nodded. 'The last picket is falling back now, sir.' He turned and drew his smoke-blackened figure to attention as a young lieutenant and three armed soldiers marched around a bend in the road, their step measured and correct, as if they were on parade. The lieutenant was carrying the regiment's colour, and as he passed Bolitho saw there were real tears "running down his face, cutting through the grime like painted lines.
Bolitho walked back across the room. The house already seemed lost, and derelict, with little to show it had once been Pomfret's 'stepping-stone to Paris'.
In the square Ashby greeted him formally. `The charges are laid, sir. The Frogs will be here at any time now.'
Bolitho nodded, listening to the creeping murmur of heavy guns as the enemy put down a final barrage on the waiting line of redcoats. Without effort he could still see the crouching figures along the edge of the barricades and earthwo
rks, apparently ready and resolved to withstand the last attack. It was almost the worst part of the whole wretched business, he thought. Just before dawn, while the weary troops had crept back from their positions, Lieutenant Inch and a party of seamen had prepared the last rearguard under his direction.
But when the French ceased their bombardment and entered the town the soldiers would not shoot back, nor would they surrender, for they were already dead. From the field hospital and the battered earthworks the seamen had gathered up their unprotesting bodies, had arranged them with their muskets in a silent array. There was even a flag above their sightless faces, a last grim mockery.
Bolitho shook himself from his brooding. Dead men could not suffer twice. The living had to be saved.
He snapped, `Carry on, Ashby! Fire the fuses!'
He heard the blare of a bugle and a sudden wave of cheering as, the first French soldiers charged down from the coast road. Around him .the marines were breaking up into sections, falling back towards the shattered jetty, their bayonets still trained towards the shadowed streets.
There were no signs of the inhabitants who had chosen to remain in St. Clar. They were hiding and holding their breaths, and when the first wave of fury and bloodshed had passed they would come out into the open to make their peace with their countrymen, Bolitho thought. Friends, even relatives would be denounced as proof of loyalty to the Revolution. The reckoning would be harsh and prolonged.
Right now the first French troops would be staring at. the dead defenders, possibly wondering at the meaning of this macabre attempt to delay their final victory.
At that instant the first fuse reached its target, and the whole town seemed to rock on its foundations from the force of the explosion.
Ashby said hoarsely, `That's the main magazine, sir! That'll have caught some of the bastards!' He waved his sword. `Into the boats!'
As yet another great explosion ravaged the town the marines hurled themselves into the boats to follow those already pulling away downstream. A few French sharpshooters must have infiltrated the harbour buildings, and here and there the water spouted with tall feathers of spray as they fired after the retreating boats.
Ashby watched his lieutenant running towards him from the square, hatless, and carrying a smoking slow match. `All done, Shanks?T
'The last fuse is just going, sir!' Shanks grimaced as a violent detonation brought down a complete house across the entrance of a narrow street, the shockwave almost hurliing him bodily into the water.
The barge was hooked on to the jetty piles, and as the last marines clambered down Allday yelled, `Here come the cavalry, Captain!'
There were about a dozen of them. They burst from a sidestreet, and as they sighted the barge at the jetty stairs they charged full tilt through the smoke of the last explosion.
Bolitho took a quick look round and then jumped for the gunwale.
As the boat backed clear the crouching seaman in the bows laid his eye against the mounted swivel gun and then stood clear. With a jerk on the lanyard the gun fired, the final shot of the retreat.
Bolitho clutched the gunwale as the tiller went over, and the roofless houses crept out to hide the tangled, bloody remains of horses and riders cut down by the double charge of cannister.
It was all but over. Briefly he found time to wonder about Colonel Cobban, but in his heart could find no pity for him.
During the night, as he had lain sleeping in Pomfret's deserted study, a messenger had burst in to tell him that Cobban had gone under a flag of truce to the French commander. To arrange a 'peace with honour' as he had described it.
Now, in the grim reality of daylight the French would probably see Cobban's pitiful attempt to save his own skin merely as a delaying tactic to cover the British evacuation. It was grotesque to realise that Cobban might even be remembered as a selfless and courageous officer because of it.
The boats were already gliding into the deeper waters of the inlet, and Bolitho levered his aching body upright in the sternsheets as he watched the two ships of the line waiting to receive them. Then he saw Pomfret's flag flapping gaily from the Hyperion's mizzen and knew that Herrick understood, even if he did not agree with what he was doing.
Within half an hour both ships had weighed, and as the wind freshened to drive the smoke seaward from the burning town Bolitho stood by the nettings, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the reflected fires inside the harbour.
But when the Hyperion spread her sails and heeled towards the wide entrance there was one final act, as if it had been set and timed for this single moment.
A solitary horseman appeared high on the southern headland, his yellow uniform shining in the pale light while he stood watching the departing ships. Bolitho did not need a glass to see that it was the Spanish colonel. No wonder there had been no sudden bombardment from the headland. Salgado's cavalry had done their work well, but the cost was plain because of this one, lonely figure.
Even as he watched he saw the Spaniard fall sideways from his saddle to lie within feet of the edge. Whether it was from some unheard musket-shot, or from wounds already suffered, in battle, no one knew.
Salgado's horse moved towards the edge of the headland, nuzzling its master as if to return him to life. Long after the ships had cleared the land the horse still stood outlined against the clouded sky. Like a monument.
Bolitho looked away. A memorial to all of us, he thought.
Then he glanced at Herrick, his eyes dull and unseeing. 'As soon as Harvester and Chanticleer are in company we will lay a course to round Cozar, Mr. Herrick.'
Herrick watched him sadly. 'We are rejoining the fleet, sir?'
Bolitho nodded and then turned towards the rolling bank of smoke. `There is nothing left for us here.'
Ashby waited until Bolitho had left the quarterdeck and then said quietly, `But by God the French will remember our visit, Mr. Herrick!'
Herrick sighed deeply. 'So will I, Captain Ashby. So will 1!'
Then he opened his glass and trained it on the Tenacious, as obedient to the flag she tacked ponderously to take station astern.
In his cabin Bolitho stood by the stern windows also watching the three-decker, her sails very white in the morning light. He wondered vaguely what Dash would think now, and whether he would remember where his loyalty lay when the aftermath of battle and retreat cooled to investigation or the search for a scrapegoat.
He looked round as Inch appeared in the doorway. 'Do you wish to see me?'
Inch was still grimy from the dust and smoke of St. Clar and his horse face was drooping with fatigue. 'I am very sorry, sir.' He fumbled in his pocket. 'But in the heat of the fighting and that terrible work with those dead soldiers,' he brought out something which shone in the reflections' from the dancing water, 'I simply forgot to give this to you.'
Bolitho stared, hardly understanding what he saw. Tautly he asked, 'Where did you get this?'
Inch replied, 'It was one of the convicts, sir. Just before the last of 'em went into the boats for the Erebus.'
Bolitho took the ring and held it in the palm of his hand.
Inch was watching him curiously. 'This fellow came up to me at the very last second. He gave me the ring and said I was to hand it to you personally.' He faltered. 'He said that he wanted you to have it for your, er, bride, sir!'
Bolitho felt the cabin closing in around him. It was not possible.
Inch asked awkwardly, 'Have you seen it before, sir?
Bolitho did not answer. 'This man. Did you get a good look at him?' He took a pace towards him. 'Well, did you?'
Inch recoiled. 'It was dark, sir.' He screwed up his eyes. 'He was very grey, but quite a gentleman I should say ...'
He fell silent as Bolitho pushed past him and ran out to the quarterdeck. He saw Herrick staring at him but did not care. Snatching a glass from a startled midshipman he climbed into the mizzen shrouds, his heart pounding his ribs like a drum.
Then he saw the convoy
, far off below the horizon and almost lost from view. In a week or so they would reach Gibraltar and the human cargo would scatter to the winds for ever.
He climbed unsteadily back to the deck and stood looking at the ring. The man had been grey, Inch had said. But then he was getting grey the last time he had seen him. Ten, no eleven years ago. And to think that all these months he must have watched him from amongst the other convicts, while he had known nothing, had still believed his brother to be dead.
But if he had known, what could he have done? Hugh must have been on his way to New Holland for some minor crime like the others. One sign of recognition and he would have been seized for what he really was, a deserter from the King's Navy, a traitor to his country. And Bolitho's own life would have been laid in ruins had he lifted a finger to aid his deception.
So Hugh had waited, had bided his time until the last possible moment before sending his own private message, when there was no chance of facing him. The one possession which he knew would mean more than any words.
Herrick crossed to his side and looked down at the ring. `That is a fine piece of work; sir.'
Bolitho stared through him. 'It belonged to my mother.' Then without another word he walked aft towards his cabin.
17
'THE FRENCH ARE OUT!'
As eight bells chimed out to announce the beginning of yet another forenoon watch Bolitho walked from beneath the poop and took his usual position on the weather side of the quarterdeck. The sky was overcast with low, fast-moving clouds, and the wind which came almost directly towards the larboard beam was heavy with a promise of rain.
He wriggled his shoulders inside his coat and turned to study the Tenacious. During the night she had shortened sail to avoid running down on her slower consort, and now lay some two miles clear on the starboard quarter. There was no horizon, and against the dull clouds and lead-coloured sea the big three-decker seemed to shine as if held in some unearthly light.
Bolitho gripped the nettings and turned his head once more into the wind. There was Cozar Island about six miles off the larboard beam, its grim outline shrouded in cloud and spray. While he had sat restlessly toying with his breakfast Bolitho had imagined how it would look, had pondered over the hopes and follies the island's name had come to represent to him.
Form Line Of Battle! Page 30