"Not that our Dick"d-" He broke off and grinned. "Beg, pardon, I was forgetting my place."
"Go on. Please."
Allday shrugged. "I’ve sailed with your uncle for a long time." His voice was far away. "We’ve seen and done a lot together. I’ve watched him ache for the brave lads who’ve fallen at his bidding. Seen him walk about a deck as if in a dream, while the planks have spouted splinters from sharpshooters trying to mark him down. "He shook himself, ashamed at betraying a deeply guarded confidence. "He would not risk his people even for you."
Pascoe scrambled to his feet and crossed to his side. "For us, you mean."
Allday smiled. "Ah well, it's good of you to put it like that. But cox"ns are easier to get than blood relations!" Pascoe sighed.*"I wish I could do something for him." A shouted challenge made Allday peer through the flap again.
"There's a rider dashing into the camp as if the goblins of Exmoor were at his tail!"
Pascoe said, "Let me look."
Together they watched San Martin as he stood outside his tent, his dark head lowered as he squinted at a mounted trooper who was gasping for breath and shouting his message from the track below the tents.
Allday muttered, 'something's afoot."
Pascoe gripped his arm. "I understand a little Spanish." Something in his tone made Allday forget the scene by the tents.
Pascoe added quietly, "A fisherman has sighted a ship, a big ship."
They stared at each other for several seconds.
Then Allday said thickly, "If it's one ship on her own, we know which one she’ll be, don’twe, Mr. Pascoe?"
They turned back to the sunlight as San Martin yelled a stream of orders which were terminated by the urgent blare of a trumpet..
Allday thought of the headland battery, the one bitter turn of luck which had let a Spanish fisherman send a warning.
You just said you wished you could do something?" He saw Pascoe nod with slow understanding. 'so be it then. For if Lysander, or any other King's ship pokes her beakhead into the bay now, it’ll be the last damn thing she does on this earth, an" that's no error!"
San Martin's voice was suddenly very close, and Pascoe said quickly, "We’ll have some wine." He thrust a full mug into Allday's fist." 'say something!"
Allday gulped on the wine and nearly choked. "I can remember as if it was yesterday when I was in the old Hyperion and-"
San Martin threw open the tent flap and strode into the shade.
"Good." He looked at the wine and the bread. "Good." Pascoe asked, "The trumpet, sir. Does it mean danger?"
San Martin studied him searchingly. "Of no importance. To you." He moved round the tent like a trapped animal. "I was going to have you put aboard a ship today. But I will have to wait until tomorrow. I am sending you to Toulon. The French admiral has more time than I to deal with such matters."
Allday said gravely, "It is war, sir."
San Martin regarded him for a long moment. "Riding a fine mount into battle is war. Commanding this miserable rabble is not."
He paused by the entrance. "I will probably not see you again. "
They waited until his footsteps had receded and then Allday said, "Thank God for that!"
Pascoe ran his fingers through his hair, combing out grit and sand.
"He is keeping the ships here until tomorrow." He was thinking aloud. 'so our ship must be very near."
Allday watched the side of the tent as it pressed inwards with the hot wind.
"If the wind holds as it stands now, Mr. Pascoe, Lysander will be.standing inshore right enough."
"You"re sure it will be Lysander?" The youth watched him gravely.
"And aren"t you?"
He nodded. "Yes." "Then it will be tonight or first light, I reckon." Allday swallowed another mouthful of wine. 'so we"d best put our heads together and think of some way to warn her off."
He remembered what Pascoe had said earlier. We’ll not see England again for a long while. If ever. Whatever they could do to warn the ship, and whatever the result of their sacrifice might be, one thing was certain. They would both pay for it dearly.
5. The Only Way Out
BOLITHO tugged his hat firmly over his forehead as Lysander's heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wave crests and soaked the occupants with spray. He peered astern but the ship was already lost in darkness, while on either quarter he could see the white splashes from oars as the two cutters held their station on him. Despite the careful preparations, oak looms tied with greased rags and the tight stowage of weapons and equipment, the combined sounds seemed tremendous.
He turned his attention ahead of the launch, and could just discern the outline of the gig, the occasional splash of phosphorescence as a seaman in her* bows marked their progress with a boat's lead and line.
The gig was commanded by Lysander's senior master's mate, named Plowman, who had been highly recommended by the master himself. Bolitho thought that if Grubb could not take part in the raid personally, then Plowman was the next best choice. Grubb had confided in his thick, wheezing voice that Plowman had served in a Welsh trader along these shores in happier times. "Leastways, that's what "e says, sir. I reckon "e was doin" a bit of blackbirdin" with the Arabs!"
Slaver or not, Plowman was taking the little procession of overcrowded boats straight inshore without the slightest show of hesitation.
It was strange that the more important the work, the lowlier the man who was most needed.
He felt Gilchrist shifting his bony figure beside him, the quick nervous breathing as he clutched his sword between his knees.
Bolitho tried not to think of the possibility of disaster. That already, out there in the blackness, muskets and blades were waiting to cut them down in the shallows. Perhaps Gilchrist was thinking much the same.
Someone lost the stroke in one of the cutters and he heard Steere, the fifth lieutenant, call anxiously "Easy there! Together!"
The boats were so heavily laden with marines as well as their oarsmen that it took plenty of brawn to pull them. The resulting splashes and creaks, grunts and curses were only to be expected.
The bowman called, "Gig's "eaved-to, sir!"
Bolitho leaned forward, suddenly aware that the white, writhing patterns no longer came from Plowman's oars but from sea against land.
"Easy all!" The launch's coxswain tensed over his tiller bar. 'stand by in the boat!"
Gilchrist snapped, "I can"t see a damn thing!"
The two cutters were backing water vigorously, their pale hulls gleaming in the darkness as an offshore swell swung them in a dance.
Metal rasped and boots shuffled as the marines prepared to quit the boats. It only needed one of them to loose off his musket or fall against the seaman who was holding the lanyard of a stem-mounted swivel gun and stealth would go by the board. Bolitho held his breath, watching Plowman's gig loom from the darkness and touch the launch with barely a shudder. Hands reached out to hold them together, and after a few more fumbling thuds Plowman appeared in the sternsheets, his teeth very white as he muttered, "There seems a fair beach up yonder, sir. "His breathing was even, as if he was actually enjoying himself. Remembering perhaps when he and his men had gone after live cargo. "Not very big, but by the looks of the water I’d say we"re safer here than gropin" to the next bay."