pointed with his dirk, his voice as shrill as a woman's.
'here's the captain! Hold him, you lads!'
Bolitho caught the gunwale and gasped, 'Help Mr. Fowler and Seton!'
The water was surprisingly cold, he thought vaguely, and when he looked up he saw that above the billowing smoke the sky was pale and devoid of stars, and the gulls which circled angrily high above the harbour were touched with gold. Not from the fires, but from the sun. While men had died and the ships had burned the dawn had crept across the distant horizon. He was even more astonished when he turned his head, for where the church tower should have been was the tall side of a headland and above it, gleaming white below its lantern, stood the beacon.
He bit back the pain as more hands hauled him inboard to lie panting beside Allday and the others. He wanted to close his eyes, to give in to the sweeping curtain of darkness which waited to ease his growing agony. To shut out the sounds of exploding gunpowder and the crash of falling spars as the Saphir started to settle down, her gunports already awash, her maindeck ablaze from stem to stern.
'How many have we lost?' He clutched at Allday's knee while Piper struggled to stem the blood on his arm. 'Tell me man!'
Allday's plain face was shining with frail sunlight and when he looked down at Bolitho he seemed somehow remote and indestructible. He said quietly, 'Never you fear, Captain. Whatever the cost, it was worth it to see this.' Then with Piper's help he lifted Bolitho's shoulders above the smoke blackened gunwale while the oarsmen rested on their looms and watched his face with a kind of awe.
The Saphir was almost gone and there was little left of the once proud ship. With the sloop she had drifted the full length of the harbour, and now gutted and blazing she was hard aground below the captured beacon.
But Bolitho had no eyes for her, nor even for the few pieces of flotsam bobbing on the current to mark the passing of the Fairfax 's final remains. In the centre of the channel, with all but her topsails and jib clewed up, his ship, his old Hyperion was entering harbour. Her ports were open, and as she edged slightly towards the anchorage the dawn sunlight lanced along her double line of guns and painted her, rounded hull with gold.
Bolitho licked his dry lips and tried to smile as he saw Ashby's marines in a tight square across the quarterdeck and heard the faint strains from the ship's small band. It was faint because of the cheering.
Cheering from the men who lined the yards and those who waited to drop the great anchor. From the gunners in their bright head-scarves and the marksmen in the tops.
As the old seventy-four's shadow passed the severed boom he saw Inch standing in his cutter waving his hat, his voice lost in distance, but his pride and relief all the more obvious.
Allday said gently, 'Look yonder, Captain.' He was pointing to the headland where the artillery breastworks of raw earth and stones stood out like scars against the rain-soaked grass.
A flag had risen above the hidden guns, but not the Tricolour. It was pale and fragile and lifted easily in the dying wind, so that the sunlight showed clearly the golden insignia of the fleur-de-lis.
Allday said, 'You gave 'em their gesture, Captain! There is your answer!'
Fowler muttered thickly beneath the bloodied shirt. 'My face! Oh Jesus, my face!'
But Bblitho was looking once more at his ship as she swung sedately into the wind, her sails flapping like banners as the anchor splashed down within yards of the spot where the Saphir had been moored.
Boats were moving cautiously from the land, each with its royalist flag, and every one crowded with waving and cheering townspeople.
Allday said, 'Out oars! Give way together!' And to the boat at large added, 'They are coming to see the captain, lads!' Then he looked down at Bolitho and smiled. 'And so they
shall!'
13. RETURN TO COZAR
The barge crew tossed their oars and sat motionless on the thwarts as the boat slid neatly alongside the jetty where it was instantly made fast to the great rusting iron rings.
Bolitho gathered his cloak around him and stepped carefully on to the worn steps, then he stood for a few moments looking back at the crowded harbour. It was evening, and in the purple twilight the anchored ships looked at peace, even gay, with their twinkling lanterns and glowing gunports, the latter thrown open to clear the heat and humidity of the day. The flagship Tenacious anchored in the centre of the stream had strings of coloured lanterns along her poop, and as he stood on the old jetty Bolitho could hear some of her people singing one of the sad songs beloved by sailors the world over.
Now, looking round, it was hard to believe so much had happened, that at dawn this very day the Hyperion had sailed past the burning Saphir to take command of the port. He eased his arm painfully beneath his cloak and felt the stab of agony lance through him like fire. Without effort he could relive the sickening minutes as Rowlstone had cut the coat sleeve and shirt from the gaping wound, the blood pouring afresh as he had pulled the remnants of cloth from the deep slash left by the French lieutenant's blade. Tentatively he moved each finger in turn, gritting his teeth against the immediate pain, but thanking God that the surgeon had not found it necessary to amputate his arm.
Herrick climbed up from the boat and stood beside him. He said, 'It's difficult to grasp that we're in France, sir. The ships look as if they belong here.'
It was true. Within hours of Pomfret's squadron arriving in the inlet the transports had been unloaded, and gratefully the soldiers had formed up in the bright sunlight before marching through the town inland to the hills and to positions abreast the coast road. In addition to Colonel Cobban's infantry and a small detachment of light artillery there had been a thousand Spanish troops and a full squadron of their cavalry. The latter had looked resplendent and proud in their pale yellow tunics. On perfect horses they had cantered through the narrow streets, watched with fascinated awe by crowds of townspeople and cheered by the many children along the route.
But now the town was like a dead place, for as soon as the landing force had cleared the streets Pomfret had ordered a curfew. The narrow lanes, the bridge across the river and most of the main buildings were guarded by some of the two hundred and fifty marines landed by Pomfret's ships, and foot patrols moved constantly about the town to enforce his orders.
The boom across the entrance had not been replaced, but half a dozen guardboats rowed back and forth in regular sweeps, with the gutted hulk of the Saphir close by to remind them of the price of negligence and over- confidence.
Bolitho said, 'Carry on back to the ship, Allday. I will signal for the barge when I require it.'
Aiday stood in the boat and touched his hat. 'Aye, aye, Captain.'
He sounded worried, and Bolitho added quietly, 'I do not think that this visit will-be prolonged.'
It was strange how Allday fretted about him, he thought. Had he been present aboard the flagship when he had reported to Pomfret he might have been even more disturbed.
The admiral's reception had been cool, to say the least. He had listened in silence to Bolitho's account of the raid and the events leading up to it, his face completely expressionless.
Then he had said shortly, 'You take too much upon yourself! You knew my orders, yet you decided to act entirely on your own.' He had begun to pace the cabin. 'The French might have been trying to play a double game. All this socalled ardour for their dead king could be a mere tactic to delay our own operations!'
Bolitho had remembered Charlois, his desperate determination to warn him.
'Charlois gave his life, sir. I acted as I thought fit to prevent what might have been a military disaster and a great loss of life
Pomfret had regarded him searchingly. 'And you entered harbour first, Bolitho. Before me and the squadron. Very convenient!'
Bolitho had replied, 'I could not contact you in time, sir. I had to do what I did.'
There is a point when tenacity becomes stupidity!' Pomfret had not proceeded further with the matter for at that moment Captain Dash had entered to announce that the soldiers were ready to disembark.
Bolitho had been too weary, too sick with pain and effort to care about Pomfret's anger. Looking back, it seemed as if the admiral actually suspected he had planned and carried out his attack on the Saphir merely to gain
