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 sarne,
Someone lost the stroke in one of the cutters and he heard Steere, the fifth lieutenant, call anxiously 'Easy there! Together 1 .'
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.'
'I agree.'
Bolitho tried not to think of the time. It was like a mental hour-glass, the sand running away remorselessly. Plowman added, 'I'll lead then.'
He made to turn towards the bows but stopped as Bolitho said, 'Once we are ashore you will take charge of the boats. You have done well, Mr. Plowman, to get us this far. I'll see it's not forgotten.'
Plowman protested, 'I could put one of my lads in charge, sir.'
'No. We will need you again later. I don't want Mr. Grubb's right-hand man getting lost in Spain 1 The master would never pardon me!'
Several men chuckled and Plowman sighed. 'That's true, sir.'
Fifteen minutes later the gig and then the big launch thrust into hard sand, and while seamen stumbled waist-deep in water alongside, and oars and weapons went in all directions, Bolitho ran with Gilchrist up the beach, their swords in their hands.
This would be the moment. Bolitho halted by some scattered rocks, his eyes straining in the darkness, trying to pitch his ears above wind and sea.
But no challenge came, no ripple of flashes from the higher darkness above the beach. And with each precious minute more and more men were squelching out of the shallows and hurrying to their allotted positions. The crossbelts grew in numbers, and when the cutters, which had watched warily for any sign of attack, came in also, the small cove seemed to be full of silent figures.
Major Leroux strode up the beach. 'All mustered, sir.'
'Very well. Have the boats stand off. Pass the word to Mr. Plowman to remain close inshore for one hour and then, return to the ship as arranged.'
He watched Leroux beckoning to his orderly. One hour. It should be long enough to know if they had an even chance of success.
As the boats and their depleted crews splashed astern from the beach, Bolitho could sense the uncertainty around him. Despite their military code, the marines were not land animals. The thought of being left in foreign territory, denied a link with their ship and the only way of life most of them understood would be uppermost in their minds.
He said, 'Send out your scouts, Major Leroux.'
The marine nodded. 'We will need some good men to flank us,
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 sarne,
Someone lost the stroke in one of the cutters and he heard Steere, the fifth lieutenant, call anxiously 'Easy there! Together 1 .'
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.'
'I agree.'
Bolitho tried not to think of the time. It was like a mental hour-glass, the sand running away remorselessly. Plowman added, 'I'll lead then.'
He made to turn towards the bows but stopped as Bolitho said, 'Once we are ashore you will take charge of the boats. You have done well, Mr. Plowman, to get us this far. I'll see it's not forgotten.'
Plowman protested, 'I could put one of my lads in charge, sir.'
'No. We will need you again later. I don't want Mr. Grubb's right-hand man getting lost in Spain 1 The master would never pardon me!'
Several men chuckled and Plowman sighed. 'That's true, sir.'
Fifteen minutes later the gig and then the big launch thrust into hard sand, and while seamen stumbled waist-deep in water alongside, and oars and weapons went in all directions, Bolitho ran with Gilchrist up the beach, their swords in their hands.
This would be the moment. Bolitho halted by some scattered rocks, his eyes straining in the darkness, trying to pitch his ears above wind and sea.
But no challenge came, no ripple of flashes from the higher darkness above the beach. And with each precious minute more and more men were squelching out of the shallows and hurrying to their allotted positions. The crossbelts grew in numbers, and when the cutters, which had watched warily for any sign of attack, came in also, the small cove seemed to be full of silent figures.
Major Leroux strode up the beach. 'All mustered, sir.'
'Very well. Have the boats stand off. Pass the word to Mr. Plowman to remain close inshore for one hour and then, return to the ship as arranged.'
He watched Leroux beckoning to his orderly. One hour. It should be long enough to know if they had an even chance of success.
As the boats and their depleted crews splashed astern from the beach, Bolitho could sense the uncertainty around him. Despite their military code, the marines were not land animals. The thought of being left in foreign territory, denied a link with their ship and the only way of life most of them understood would be uppermost in their minds.
He said, 'Send out your scouts, Major Leroux.'
The marine nodded. 'We will need some good men to flank us,
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