moments they had been alone, remote from the bitter reality and suffering around them.
Gently he had prised her hands from his coat. 'Seamen from the squadron will be here very soon. Everything will be done to get everyone away from St. Clar. Please tell me that you will go with the others?' He had searched her face, holding on to it with his mind. 'That is all I ask.'
She had nodded very slowly. 'Everyone is saying that you are responsible for the evacuation, Richard. They speak of nothing else. That you returned against orders to help us!' Her eyes had been shining with tears. 'I am glad I stayed behind, if only to see what you are really like!'
Bolitho had replied, 'We are all in this together. There was no other way.'
A shake of the head, the gesture so dear in Bolitho's memory. 'You may say that, Richard, but I know you better than you think. Sir Edmund did nothing, and while others waited, all these men died to no purpose!'
'Do not be too hard on the admiral.' It had been strange to hear his own words. As if in the last few hours he had seen Pomfret through different eyes, had even understood him a little more. 'He and I wanted the same thing. Only our motives were different.'
Then the first sailors had appeared inside the hospital, their check shirts and clean, purposeful figures alien and unreal in that place of despair and death.
And now, as he crouched beside this pitiful barricade, he could still picture her as he had last seen her. A slim, defiant figure amidst the harvest of war, even managing to smile as he had mounted his horse and ridden to the other end of the town.
A soldier lurched back from a low wall, emitting a shrill scream before pitching headlong beside one of his comrades. The latter did not even turn his head to look at his dead companion, but continued with his loading and firing. Death had become too commonplace to mention. Survival merely a remote possibility.
Bolitho turned and stared behind him. There was the bridge, and below the ridge of earth and scorched grass lay the river. He made up his mind.
'Have you laid the charges, Lieutenant?' He saw the man nod with relief. 'Very well. Fall back across the river and blow the bridge.'
There was a sudden jangle of harness, and as he swung round Bolitho saw the Spanish colonel trotting calmly along the narrow track, and behind him, their breastplates and helmets glittering in the gun-flashes like silver, came the remnants of his cavalry.
Bolitho ducked and then ran back to the high barn. He snapped, 'What are you doing here, Colonel? I told you to prepare your men for evacuation!'
Don Joaquin Salgado sat quite motionless in his saddle, his teeth very white in the darkness. 'You have much to achieve before tomorrow, Captain. Be so kind as to give me the benefit of knowing my profession also.'
'There is nothing beyond this line of men but open ground and the enemy, Colonel!'
The Spaniard nodded. 'And as someone remarked earlier, if the enemy reach the southern headland before you get clear you are all dead men!' He leaned forward slightly, his saddle creaking beneath him. 'I am not leaving my horses to rot, Captain, nor am I going to shoot them. I am a soldier. I am sick and tired of this kind of warfare!' He straightened his back and drew out his curved sabre. 'Good luck, Captain!' Then without another glance he spurred his horse forward and galloped straight for the barricade. The effect on his men was instantaneous. Cheering and whooping like madmen they thundered in pursuit, the flying hoofs skimming past the dazed soldiers by the. barricade, their sabres gleaming like fire as they fanned out and headed for the enemy lines.
Bolitho shouted, 'Fall back now, Lieutenant! That fool has given you the chancel' As the soldiers struggled to their feet and retreated towards the bridge Bolitho turned to stare after the charging cavalry. 'And he said I was brave!'
In the darkness he heard the screams of wounded horses, the sharp exchange of shots, and above all the sudden blare of a cavalry trumpet. But the enemy barrage had stopped. There was no time to stand and marvel at any man's courage. Not now. But later… Bolitho shook himself from his thoughts and ran to his horse.
Ashby yelled, 'None of 'em will live through that, sirl By God, that man must be mad!'
Bolitho nudged the horse towards the bridge. 'Angry, Captain Ashby! And I cannot find it in my heart to blame him.'
When they reached the waterfront they were greeted with even greater confusion. Along the jetty there were boats of every shape and size, and pigtailed sailors were passing women and children down from the steps and out to their comrades without pause, as if they had been doing nothing else for years.
Voices called on every side, officers shouting orders to their men, seamen and marines urging or pleading with some of the civilians who seemed determined to take as much furniture and baggage as the boats would hold.
Bolitho saw a petty officer dragging an old woman away from a tethered calf, saying gruffly, 'No, you can't take that one, Mother! There's little enough room as it is!' But the old woman did not understand and was still struggling and weeping as the seamen carried her to a waiting boat.
And why should she understand? Bolitho stood watching in silence. The calf was probably all she owned in the whole world.
Lieutenant Inch pushed through the surging crowd and touched, his hat. 'The wounded are away, sir!' He was shouting above the din. 'These are the last of the townspeople who want to go!'
Bolitho nodded. 'And the rest?'
'Hiding most likely, sir.' He winced as a sudden explosion rocked the buildings above the jetty. 'What was that?'
'The bridge.' Bolitho walked to the edge of the stonework and watched the boats gliding downstream.
Another lieutenant reported at his side, 'Harvester has unloaded the, er, convicts, sir.' He seemed stunned by the noise and chaotic activity.
'Very well.' Bolitho tore his eyes from the hurrying figures, the despair and sudden desperation of escape. 'I'll come and speak to them.'
The convicts were herded into a low-beamed shed behind the jetty. Bolitho recognised Captain Poole of the transport Erebus as he stood uncertainly looking at his extra passengers.
He said, 'Are they all ready to leave?'
Poole grinned. 'My ship is like nothing on earth, Captain! You can hardly move a belaying pin for people!' He saw the strain on Bolitho's face and added firmly, 'But never fear, I'll get 'em away from here!'
Bolitho mounted a discarded case and looked around the watching faces. Even in the feeble lantern light he could see that most of the convicts looked fitter than when he had last seen them. He had to force his mind back again. How long was that? Could it really be only four months?
He said, 'You are leaving now aboard the Erebus. There are no guards or manacles.' He saw the sudden shiver of excitement move through the packed figures below him. 'Captain Poole has written orders from Rear-Admiral Pomfret which he will hand to the senior officer at Gibraltar.' How easy the lie came to him. The orders were sealed with Pomfret's crest, but the signature was his own. 'I have no doubt that many of you will be pardoned, although some may wish to await the next convoy to New Holland to try and carve out a new life in a different country.' He felt dizzy with fatigue but continued, 'You have behaved with dignity, and no little courage. That at least is worth rewarding!'
He turned to leave, but a voice called, 'A moment, Captain Bolithol'
When he faced them again they were all staring at him, their eyes glittering in the lamplight.
The voice said, 'We know what you have done for us, Captain! Don't we, lads?' There was an answering rumble of assent. 'Some would have left us to rot in Cozar, but you had us took off! We just want you to know that you've give us back more than a hope o' freedom, Captain! You've give us back our respect!'
Bolitho walked blindly into the darkness, the great wave of cheering following him like surf roaring on a reef. Poole was grinning openly, but his words were lost in the noise.
Then Bolitho saw Midshipman Seton standing beside the jetty, one hand in a bandage, the other holding an exhausted horse by the bridle.
The boy said, 'May I rejoin the ship, sir?'
Bolitho touched his shoulder. 'Thank God you're safe! I have been searching for you this afternoon.'
Seton looked embarrassed. 'I g-got lost, sir. Actually, the horse bolted, and it t-took me two days to get back through the French lines.'
Bolitho smiled wearily. 'Mr. Piper will be glad to learn of that, he was expecting you to meet with some difficulty on your own!'
