don't we, 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 . Lysander's heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wavecrests 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 oudine 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
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 . Lysander's heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wavecrests 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 oudine 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
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