He saw the marines plodding past again, muskets slung, heads bowed as they watched the legs of the men in front. Most of them did not know where they were, let alone what they were doing here. Trust. The word came at him like a shout. It was all they had, and he had thrown it back at them.
Gilchrist said in a dull voice, "It is what follows that troubles me, sir." He turned to take up his position with the next file of marines.
Leroux snapped, "That man puts an edge to my patience, sir. "
Bolitho glanced at him. "Captain Herrick is satisfied with his competence."
Leroux slashed at a gorse bush with his curved hanger and replied, "It is not for me to speak of others behind their backs, sir. "
"Remember that word we were using, Major?" Bolitho heard the hanger cut angrily at another patch of gorse. "However?"
"I know that Captain Herrick has served with you before, sir. The whole squadron knows it. He is a fine man, and a fair one. It is hard to be either in a ship of the line, from my experience. "
"I will agree to that, Major. Thomas Herrick has been my friend since the American Revolution. He has saved my life more than once."
"And you his, to all accounts, sir." Leroux darted a swift glance at his panting file of marines. "He has a sister, sir, did you know that?"
"Yes. She means a lot to Captain Herrick. The poor girl has had much to endure, that I also know."
"Yes. She is a cripple. I met her once when I went to Kent on a mission for the captain when we were refitting Lysander. To see a face so fair, and so betrayed by her useless limbs, is enough to break a man's heart." He added slowly, "Mr. Gilchrist has asked for her hand in marriage."
Bolitho gripped his sword hilt and stared into the darkness until his eyes hurt him. He had been so "busy with his own affairs he had not once considered Herrick's other world. Herrick had begun his service as a poor man without privileges. Compared with officers like Farquhar, or himself for that matter, he still was poor. But over the years he had managed to save, to swell his meagre beginnings with prize money and the reward from his promotion to post-captain.
Leroux said, "Captain Herrick's mother died just before we sailed from Spithead. So you see, sir, his sister is all alone now."
"He did not tell me." Bolitho's mind went back over those first moments when he had joined Lysanderat Gibraltar. "But maybe I gave him no chance."
He fell silent, and Leroux hurried on towards his scouts, leaving him to his thoughts.
Herrick loved his sister dearly. To find her a husband would be more important than almost anything. Even his loyalty to him. He thought, too, of Gilchrist's hostility, and forced himself to ask why he should want to marry a crippled girl. He could find an explanation for neither.
He lifted his head and stared up at the stars. So cool and aloof from all their pathetic efforts on earth.
So often in the past when he had served, fretting and impatient under his superior officers, he had told himself he could do better. But they had had fleets to command, great events to consider and manipulate. He had been given just one small chance to show his ability, to prove that he could now join that elite group of men whose flags flew with pride for all to see and obey.
As he listened to the weary, dragging boots of the marines at his side he knew he had failed.
"What can you see now?" Pascoe kept his voice to a whisper as he watched the sentry outside the tent flap.
At the back of the tent Allday was bent almost double while he peered through a small hole cut with an improvised blade which he had fashioned from a drinking cup.
Allday held up his hand to silence him. From the rear of the tent he could see part of the beach below the camp, the glitter of stars on choppy water and a riding light from one of the ships. There was no moon, so that any small glow from fire or lantern shone out with false brightness, even from as far as the other headland.
It was past midnight, from what he could judge, but there had been plenty of activity in and around the camp with barely a pause since that trumpet call.
It was quieter now, but above the headland he could see a few pin-pricks from lanterns, and guessed that the battery was fully manned and getting ready for the dawn. Something red wavered for just a few seconds and then died as quickly.
He felt sweat on his neck and chest. That was a furnace door being opened and closed. They were heating shot to welcome the ship with fire.
He ducked down, and together the two of them lay side by side on the ground, faces almost touching.
Allday whispered, "The battery's heating shot. That must be why we’ve got a native trooper as a sentry. Every Don in the camp will be an artilleryman, and needed for those damned cannon. "
Pascoe's face was pale in the darkness. "What shall we do?"
Allday gestured at the flap. "Just one guard, is there?" "Aye. They seem to think we"re safe enough."
Allday grinned in spite of the mounting tension. "With good reason, Mr. Pascoe! Not much harm we can do if we start walking, is there?"
"I know-" It sounded like a sob.
"Easy." He touched his shoulder, feeling the rawness left by the sun. "If we can make an explosion, like the way we spoke of, we might be able to drive the ship away." Pascoe nodded firmly. "How can we cross the camp? It must be all of a mile to the other side."
Allday looked at the rear of the tent. "If there is more than one guard, we are dead before we begin." He let his words sink in. "But if I take this one before he shouts for aid, one of us can wear his uniform."
Pascoe wriggled on his stomach to the flap again. "He's sitting down." He came back again, moving like a poacher. "I think he may be asleep. But take care. "He touched his wrist. "There could be more guards close by."
Allday examined his crude knife and said, "If I get taken before I can do anything, you stay still and pretend to be asleep. Don’t let on that we were doing it together."
Pascoe showed his teeth. "The hell with you, Allday!" Allday smiled. "That's more the sound of it, Mr. Pascoe!" Pascoe stayed by the flap, shutting his ears to the steady scraping sound of Allday cutting through the tough canvas. The sentry did not move, and Pascoe was certain that some- one would hear the steady thud of his heart against his ribs.
The noise stopped and he took a quick glance across his shoulder..
"Are you going now?"
But he was alone.
He rose on one knee, holding his breath as Allday's shadow flitted round the side of the tent, his bare feet soundless on the sand. It was as if he had transformed himself into a great, enveloping cloak. One moment he stood there, towering above the dozing soldier. Then he was down and around him, merging the shadows into one, with little more noise than a brief yawn.
He tugged open the flap as Allday came back through the narrow entrance, dragging the inert soldier behind him.
Allday spoke through his teeth. "Dare not light a lantern.
You’ll have to dress best you can. Here, pull his tunic off while I get his breeches. He stinks like a sow." He groped quickly for a belt. "Ah, he has a pistol, too."
Pascoe felt the man's skin under his fingers. It was clammy and hot, but unmoving.
Allday muttered, "I think I broke the bastard's neck." Pascoe stared at him and tore off his own breeches. He stood naked for a few hesitant seconds before struggling into the dead soldier's. His own breeches were almost tom to shreds, but they were part of his remaining link. He tightened his lips. There was no link any more.