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 as Lysander's heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wave crests 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 outline 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 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 same.
Someone lost the stroke in one of the cutters and he heard Steere, the fifth lieutenant, call anxiously 'Easy there! Together!'
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’twant Mr.
