FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

15. THE PEOPLE COME FIRST

If Bolitho had been prepared and ready to bolster his ship's morale in the face of Pomfret's imposed isolation the reality was far worse than even he had expected. As one week followed another the Hyperion maintained her seemingly endless patrol, a great, empty rectangle of open sea, broken only occasionally by the distant coast of France or the brooding shadow of Cozar Island.

Twice they met with the sloop Chanticleer, but Bolitho learned little to ease his mounting apprehension. The sloop's role was almost as wretched as his own, for the unpredictable Mediterranean weather with its sudden squalls and maddening calms played havoc with so small a vessel. Bellamy, her commander, was as perplexed as he was by the complete lack of news from Pomfret's headquarters. There was more rumour than fact. It was said the French were bombarding St. Clar with siege guns, that the fighting had moved so close to the town it was hardly safe to walk in the streets.

But aboard Hyperion the vague speculation was as unimportant as it was remote, for on her crowded decks the reality was only today, and the day after that. And Bolitho knew that his men had tried hard not to show their disappointment and resentment. They had fallen in with his wishes, and for a full month the ship had been live with contests and friendly rivalry of every shape and form. Prizes had been given for the,best scrimshaw work and carved models, for hornpipes and jigs, even for the countless small objects made with loving care by the older hands. Tiny, delicate snuff-boxes, cut and polished from hardened nuggets of salt beef, combs and brooches, constructed from little more than bones and pieces of glass.

But it could not last. Small arguments flared into fights, complaints grew and fanned through the ship's tight community, and once a petty officer was struck in the face by an enraged seaman. The latter, of course, resulted in a flogging. It was soon followed by others.

And the officers were not immune from the spreading disease of dissatisfaction and- unrest. There had been a card game in the wardroom when Rooke had accused the purser of cheating. But for Herrick's firm intervention they might have drawn blood. But even his watchful eye could not see everything.

Bolitho's one ally was the weather. As the weeks dragged by it worsened considerably, and often the seamen were too weary from setting sails and then reefing again within the hour, to have the energy even for eating. Not that there was anything worth eating now. What fresh food Bolitho had obtained from St. Clar had soon vanished, and the whole ship was down to basic rations of salted beef or pork, to weevily biscuit and little else.

On the eleventh week, as the Hyperion plunged closehauled on the southerly leg of her patrol, the sharp gale which had been with them for several days eased and backed, and with the change came the rain.

Bolitho stood at the weather side of the quarterdeck and watched the rain advancing towards and over his ship like a steel curtain. He was wearing neither coat nor hat, and allowed the rain to soak hard across his face and chest until he was completely drenched. After the ship's rancid water the rain felt and tasted like pure wine, and as he stood squinting into the wind he noticed that some of his men working along the upper deck were also standing in the downpour like himself, as if to cleanse themselves of their despair.

Tomlin, the boatswain, stood by the forecastle supervising the hastily spread canvas scoops, while Crane, the cooper, was shouting at his assistants to prepare the empty casks for filling before the rain ceased. So now there would not even be the excuse of gathering fresh water to allow him to return to port, Bolitho thought wryly. How quickly an ally could become an enemy.

Herrick crossed the deck, his hair streaming and plastered across his forehead. 'When this clears we should sight Cozar off the larboard bow, sir.' He grimaced. 'It seems as if I am always saying that.'

He was right. Sighting the island meant nothing more than the end of the leg. Then Hyperion wheeled round towards the mainland for the next slow haul.

Bolitho leaned out over the rail as the ship heeled heavily to the wind, heedless of the rain and spray across his spine and legs. When the old ship tilted he saw without effort the great streamers of dragging weed floating up from her bilges. It was like a small submarine jungle, he thought bitterly. No Wonder Hyperion was so slow. There were years of sea growth. Each weed meant a mile or so of ocean under that pitted keel, every barnacle and gnawing fungus a hundred turns of the wheel. He tasted salt between his teeth, and when he looked up he saw that the rain had passed on, ruffling the sharp wave crests as it drove on and away to the east.

`Deck there!' The masthead lookout's voice carried above the wind. `Sail on the larboard bow!'

Bolitho looked at Herrick. Both had been expecting the man to sight Cozar. A ship was so uncommon as to be a major happening.

Bolitho said quickly, `Shake out the second reef, Mr. Herrick! We will run down on her and take a look!'

But there was no chance of missing the unexpected ship, for as her topsails lifted brightly in a sudden shaft of watery sunlight she went about and headed for the Hyperion.

Piper was already in the mizzen shrouds with his glass when the first flags broke from the other ship's yards. 'She's the Harvester, sir!' He spluttered as a burst of spray lifted over the weather bulwark and all but threw him from his perch. He gasped, 'Harvester to Hyperion. Have despatches on board!'

Bolitho shivered, hardly daring to hope for anything just yet. 'Stand by to heave to, Mr. Herrick! We will let Captain Leach do all the work for us!'

Almost before the Hyperion had completed her manoeuvre, her wet sails cracking like guns in the face of the wind, the graceful frigate was near enough for them to see the great streaks of salt on her hull, the patches of bared wood where the relentless sea had pared away her paint as if with a knife.

Bolitho watched as the frigate's yards swung dizzily in the wind, her sleek deck canting towards him as Leach flung his ship round to ride unsteadily under Hyperion's lee.

Herrick said, 'That's odd,, sir. He could have drifted the despatches over on a line. It'll be a hard pull for any boat in this wind.'

But Harvester was already lowering a boat, and when it eventually managed to clear the frigate's side Bolitho saw that it was no mere midshipman in the sternsheets, but Captain

Leach himself,

'It must be important.' Bolitho bit his lip as a savage white-backed wave threw the boat almost beam-on to the sea. 'Tell Mr. Tomlin to have his men ready to take her alongside!'

When Leach finally appeared up the Hyperion's side he hardly paused to regain his breath before hurrying aft to the quarterdeck, his dripping hat awry, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue.

Bolitho strode to meet him. 'Welcome aboard! It is some time since I have witnessed such a fine piece of shiphandling!'

Leach stared at Bolitho's soiled shirt and unruly hair as if he had only just recognised him. But he did not smile. He said, 'Can I see you alone, sir?'

Bolitho turned towards the poop, aware of his watching officers, the sudden wave of commotion the frigate's appearance had caused.

In the swaying cabin he made Leach drink a full glass of brandy and then asked, 'What is it which brings you out here?

Leach sat down on one of the green leather chairs and swallowed hard. 'I have come to request that you return to St Clar, sir.' He touched his salt-cracked lips as the neat spirit bit deeply into the flesh.

Bolitho said, 'The despatches. Are they from the admiral?'

Leach looked at the desk, his face lined with worry. 'There are no despatches, sir. But I had to give some reason. There is enough trouble as it is without worrying our own people.'

Bolitho sat down. 'Take your time, Leach. Have you come from St. Clar?'

Leach shook his head. 'From Cozar. I have just taken off the last handful of soldiers.' He looked up, his eyes desperate. 'After doing that I was ordered to find you, sir. I have been searching for two days.' He watched Bolitho pouring him another glass. 'I don't know if I am doing rightly, or committing an act of mutiny! It is getting so that I don't even trust my own judgement!'

Bolitho breathed out very slowly, willing his taut muscles to relax. 'St. Clar is in trouble, I take it?'

Leach nodded. The French have been hammering the port for weeks. I have been on patrol to the south'rd, but each time I put into harbour it was getting worse. The enemy made a feint attack from the south-west, and somehow managed to lure the Spanish troops from their positions.' He sighed. 'The enemy cavalry cut them to pieces! It was a massacre! Nobody even seemed to realise that the French had any cavalry there. And these were crack troops, dragoons from Toulouse!'

'What does the admiral intend to do, Leach?' Bolitho's voice was calm, but inwardly he was seething as he pictured the scattered infantry running and dying under the pitiless sabres.

Leach stood up suddenly, his face wooden. `That is just it,. sir. Sir Edmund has said nothing! There are no orders, no arrangements for a counter-attack or evacuation!' He was watching Bolitho with something like despair. 'Captain Dash seems to be in charge. He asked me to find you and bring you back.'

'Have you seen Sir Edmund?'

'No, sir.' Leach spread his hands helplessly. 'I believe he is ill, but Dash told me very little.' He leaned forward. 'The situation is desperate, sir! There is panic everywhere, and unless something is done soon the whole force will fall to the enemy!'

Bolitho stood up and crossed to the table. 'You say you have the people from Cozar aboard?'

Leach sounded weary. 'There was only some young ensign, and a few foot soldiers, sir.'

'What about the convicts?'

Bolitho turned as Leach replied emptily, 'I had no orders about them. So I left without them.'

Bolitho pressed his lips into a tight line. It was easy enough to condemn Leach as a heartless fool. It was even easier to see the difficulties and anxieties with which he was faced. Dash was the flag captain, but without signed orders from Pomfret he-had already laid himself open to court martial and perhaps worse.

He said quietly, 'Thank you for being honest with me. I will return to St. Clar immediately.' He listened to his own words without emotion. By agreeing with Leach's suggestion he was no longer an onlooker but a conspirator. He sharpened his voice. 'But before joining me you will return to Cozar and take off every single convict, do you understand?'

Leach nodded. 'If that is your wish, sir.'

'It is an order! I gave my word to them. They had no part in all this. I'll not make them suffer any more!'

There was a tap on the door and Herrick said, 'Your pardon, sir, but the wind is getting up again. It will soon be too rough for a boat to return to the Harvester.'

Bolitho nodded. 'Captain Leach is leaving now.' He met Herrick's enquiring eyes and added, 'As soon as he is gone you will wear ship and lay a course for St. Clar. I want every stitch of canvas she can carry, understand?'

Herrick darted away and Leach said tonelessly, `Thank you, sir. Whatever happens now I'll not regret my action in coming for you.'

Bolitho grasped his hand. 'I hope neither of us doesl'

As the frigate's boat pulled clear from the side the Hyperion's massive yards swung round, and while she laid over to the force of the wind the topmen swarmed aloft to fight the whipping canvas, their bodies bowed against the pressure, and hands like. claws as they struggled to keep from falling to the deck or into the creaming water alongside.

Herrick dashed the spray from his eyes and yelled, 'Is there more misfortune in St. Clar, sir?'

Bolitho felt the deck buck beneath his straddled legs. The old ship was taking it hard. He could hear the spars and stays squealing from the imposed strain, but as more and more canvas billowed and filled above the hull he shut their protests from his mind.

'I fear so, Thomas. It seems that the enemy are tightening their hold around the port.'

He walked to the weather rail before Herrick could ask him more. There was no point in telling him that -it now looked as if much of St. Clan's agony came from within. Herrick might resent being held at a distance, but if it came to a court martial he at least would be spared from involvement.

Gossett said, 'You'll not be wantin' the royals set, Mr. Herrick?'

Bolitho swung round. 'Well, I do, Mr. Gossett! You've boasted enough in the past about what this ship can do! Well, let me see you prove it'

Gossett opened his mouth as if to protest and then saw the set of Bolitho's shoulders and decided against it.

Herrick said, 'Pipe all hands again. And have the sailmaker standing by to replace any tom canvas.' He turned to watch Bolitho's figure striding back and forth across the tilting deck. He was soaked to the skin and his wounded arm, only recently freed from sutures and dressing, brushed against the nettings as he moved, yet he did not appear to notice it.

He carries us all, he thought. Worries for us at every turn, yet will let none of us help him.

He gripped the rail as a long roller lifted beneath the ship's quarter and roared hissing along either beam like breakers around a reef. The pumps were clanking louder than ever, and when he wiped his smarting eyes he saw that the yards were bending with the pressure and the belly of each straining sail looked as hard as beaten steel. But she was answering. God knows how, he wondered, but the old ship seems to understand Bolitho's urgency, when we do not.

It took another two frustrating days to reach St. Clar, with the ship clawing her way almost into the teeth of the wind, and no rest for anyone aboard. When the hands were not turned to trimming sails or working at the pumps they were faced by a mounting list of repairs to canvas and cordage, patching, and splicing as if their lives depended on it, which well they might. For as the wind howled against the straining sails and the Hyperion swayed over at a sickening angle with her lower gunports awash, Bolitho drove the ship without respite or concession. It was a contest between ship and captain, with the angry sea and wind common enemies to both.

Officers and seamen alike stopped watching the bending yards or listening to the agonised whine of rigging. It had gone beyond that. If they had the time or the strength to wonder at all they saved it for Bolitho as he handled his ship through one crisis after another, marvelling that he could go on with neither break nor sleep.

During the forenoon watch of the second day the Hyperion rounded the northern headland and tacked gratefully into the inlet. Any hope of a breathing space was instantly dashed by the scene which greeted her tired company, and there were a few anxious moments until the anchor splashed down in deep water just inside the arms of the entrance. Sheltered from the wind's full force it was easy to hear the threatening rumble of artillery and the occasional crash of falling masonry as a wellaimed ball found a target in the town itself.

Bolitho swung his glass across the inlet, seeing the great pall of smoke beyond the huddled houses, the savage scars and holes in many of the roof-tops. He had been made to anchor in deep water because the outer harbour was filled with other vessels, driven from the sheltered reaches and jetty by the searching cannon-fire. Tenacious and the Spanish Princesa were nearest the town, and two transports swung to their anchors with hardly enough room to prevent a collision in any unexpected change of wind. He closed his glass with a snap.

Driven out. Made to lie in the last available shelter in the face of the enemy. They could not withdraw any more. There was only the sea at their backs.

He said sharply, 'My barge! I am going to the admiral's headquarters!' He had already seen that the Tenacious was without Pomfret's flag.

Herrick hurried aft. 'Shall I come with you, sir?'

He shook his head. `You will remain in command until I return. Keep a careful watch on the cable. I don't want her to drag and run ashore to join her old enemy.' He stared bleakly at the Saphir's charred remains below the beacon. 'It seems as if we have arrived only to witness the final curtain!'

Bolitho watched Allday as he guided the men at the tackles and his barge swung outboard across the lee gangway. He said,. 'I will want-Mr Inch and twelve good men. Have them armed and properly turned out. Whatever the truth may be, I don't want our people to look like a lot of rabble.'

Gossett said to nobody in particular, 'I see that the transport Vanessa 'as sailed. She's well out of it, if you ask me!'

Bolitho allowed Gimlet to help him on with his coat. The Vanessa's departure was the only break in the clouds, he thought grimly. He had left Ashby instructions to make sure the girl was put aboard the first ship for England. He had given her money and a letter for his sister at Falmouth. Whenever Cheney Seton reached there she would be well looked after.

'Barge ready, sir!' Lieutenant Rooke was watching him closely. `It looks as if it was all wasted, doesn't it, sir?'

Bolitho pulled his hat firmly over his forehead and replied, 'A calculated risk is never a waste entirely, Mr. Rooke. As a card player you should understand that!'

Then he hurried, down to the barge where Inch and his landing party were already jammed together like herrings in a cask.

As the boat pulled steadily past the other ships Bolitho could see their seamen standing at the gangways, or squatting in the tops, watching the town in silence. They probably realised that their ships were quite helpless now. All they could do was watch and wait for.the certain finality of retreat.

Another boom had been rigged further up the harbour, but not to prevent ships from entering. Here and there along its length Bolitho saw the broken remains of shattered fishing boats and other small craft, some of which were burned beyond recognition. The boom was there to stop any such wreck from drifting down upon the anchored ships. In that crowded inlet any such fireship would turn them into a tangled inferno.

The bargemen pulled in silence, their eyes moving from side to side as some fresh evidence of disaster moved to meet them. The houses along the northern side of the harbour were worst hit, and more than one was burning fiercely, apparently untended, while others gaped open to the sky, deserted and forlorn in the drifting smoke. By the jetty were the remains of some more boats, and as he reached for the steps Bolitho caught sight of a white upturned face pinned below the clear water, the eyes still staring towards the land of the living.

He snapped, 'Allday, remain here with the crew! I am going into the town.' He loosened his sword at his hip as Inch formed his seamen into a double line on the jetty. 'There may be trouble, so be prepared!'

Allday nodded and drew his cutlass. 'Aye, aye, Captain.' He sniffed at the air like a dog. 'Just call if you need us!'

Bolitho strode quickly up the sloping road, the seamen hurrying close on his heels. It was far worse than he had believed possible. He saw figures crouching like animals in the ruins, unwilling or too frightened to leave the remains of their homes, and more than one corpse in the rubble, already forgotten in the confusion. Above the crackle of flames and the grumbling cannon-fire he heard the occasional shriek of a heavy ball, followed instantly by yet another thudding crash.

Inch panted beside him, the sweat already pouring from beneath his hat. 'Sounds like heavy ordnance, sir! The Frogs must be in the hills to the sou'-west for them to reach this far!' He winced as another crash splintered against a nearby house and brought down an avalanche of broken bricks and dust.

At the corner of the square Bolitho saw a small detachment of grimy marines. They were grouped around a fire and staring in silence at a large black pot which they had hung across it on a piece of curtain rail. With a start he realised that they were some of his own men, and as the marines turned to stare he saw a tall sergeant spring to attention, an upraised mug still grasped in one hand.

Bolitho nodded. 'Sergeant Best! I am glad to see that you are making yourselves comfortable!'

The marine grinned through the dirt on his face. 'Aye, Sir. Cap'n Ashby 'as put our lads right round the 'eadquarters.'

He gestured towards the house. 'The Frog gunners keep tryin' to lay a broadside on the place, but the church is in the way.' He broke off as a ball sliced through the top of the church and severed the gleaming weathervane so that it fell like a dying bird to the street below. He remarked with nothing more than professional interest, `Better that time, I think!'

Bolitho grunted and hurried on towards the gates. There were more marines inside the wall. Some were sleeping beside their piled muskets, others stood or squatted along the steps in front of the house, their faces lined with fatigue and strain.

But as Bolitho approached a corporal rasped, 'Hyperion's, 'shun!' And like drugged men rising from some kind of trance the dusty marines staggered to attention, their resentment changing to something like joy as they recognised their captain.

A man called, 'Good to see you, sir! When can we get away from here?'

Bolitho brushed past them. 'I thought you were having too easy a time! So I've come to find you some real work!' It was unnerving the way they laughed at his stupid remark. They were so trusting, so. completely reassured now that they had seen him, as if his very familiarity and their own sense of belonging to one unit made all the difference:

He found Captain Dash sitting behind Pomfret's big desk, his head resting in his hands.

Bolitho said to Inch, 'Wait in the passage and stop the men from straying away.' Then he closed the door behind him and walked over to the desk.

Dash rubbed his eyes and stared at him. My God, I thought I was still dreaming!' He made to struggle to his feet. 'I am very glad to see you.'

Bolitho squatted on the edge of the desk. 'I would have been here sooner, but…' He shrugged. That was all in the past now. He added, 'How bad is it?'

Dash brushed his hand across the big map, the movement both weary and dispirited. 'It is hopeless, Bolitho! The enemy is getting more reinforcements every day.' He drew one finger around the town. 'Our men are hemmed in tight. We have lost the hills and the road. The whole line is falling back. By tomorrow we might be fighting in the streets.' He tapped the southern headland. 'If they push us off there, we're done for. Once the French get their guns on that headland they can pound our ships to boxwood in a matter of hours. We won't even be able to escape if that happens!'

Bolitho watched him closely. Dash had changed in some way, but he could not yet put his finger on it.

He asked quietly, `What is the admiral doing?'

He saw Dash start and some of the colour drain from his face. Then he replied, `Sir Edmund is ill. I thought you knew that?'

– 'I did. Leach told me.' He watched the quick, nervous movements of Dash's hands. `What is the matter with him?'

Dash stood up and walked to a window. 'A brig brought despatches from Toulon. The whole thing is finished. Lord Hood has ordered us to evacuate the port and destroy any facilities and shipping as we go.' He ducked involuntarily as a nearby explosion brought down a pattern of white dust from the ceilingl He added savagely, 'Not that there'll be much left by then!'

'And Toulon?' Bolitho felt the muscles tightening in his stomach. He already guessed the answer.

Dash shrugged heavily. 'The same there. They are pulling out completely in the next few weeks.'

Bolitho stood up and clasped his hands behind him. 'What did the admiral say about it?'

'I thought he was going to have a fit!' Dash turned, his face in shadow. 'He ranted and raved, shouted insults at everybody, including me, and then retired to his room.'

'When was this?' Bolitho was certain he had not yet heard the worst.

'Two weeks ago.'

'Two weeks!' Bolitho stared at Dash with undisguised astonishment. 'What-in God's name have you been doing?

Dash flushed. 'You must see it from my side, Bolitho. I'm no aristocrat, as you know. I pulled myself from the lower deck by my fingernails. To tell the truth, I never expected to get this far,' his voice hardened, 'but now that I have, I intend to hold on to what I've gained!'

Bolitho said coldly, 'Like it or not, you are in charge here just as long as Pomfret is sick.' He banged the desk. 'You must act! You have no choice in the matter.'

Dash waved his arms around the room. 'I cannot take the responsibility! What would Sir Edmund think of me? What would they say in England?'

Bolitho studied him for several seconds. In battle, Dash would fear nothing. With his ship in fragments and outnumbered by the enemy he would fight to the bitter end. But this was quite beyond him.

Then he remembered the battered town, the men like Fowler who had made that first victory possible. He said cruelly, 'Do you really think your career, even your life is so important?' He saw Dash recoil as if he had hit him, but continued, `Think of these people who are depending on you, and then tell me you can still hesitate!'

Dash said tightly, 'I sent for you, I wanted you to know…’

'I know why you needed me, Captain Dash!' Bolitho faced him across the dust-covered map. 'You want me to reassure you, to tell you that what you are doing is right.'.He turned away, sickened by Dash's uncertainty and the cruelty of his own words.

'I’ll not deny that.' Dash was finding it difficult to control his breathing. I've always been one to obey orders. Duty has always been enough. That I could understand.' He stared down at the map. 'I'm lost in all this, Bolitho. In God's name help me!'

'Very well.' Bolitho wanted to ease the hurt he had done to the man, but there was no time. No time at all. 'I am going to see Pomfret. While I'm doing that you must call a meeting.' He tried to clear the bitterness from his mind. 'All the senior officers, here, within the hour, can you do that? And fetch Labouret, the mayor, too!'

Dash muttered, 'Are you sure, Bolitho? If anything goes wrong now…'

Bolitho eyed him gravely. 'You will get the blame. And it will be no consolation to you to know that I am equally charged, I know that, too!'

He walked to the door and then added quietly, 'But one thing is sure, Captain Dash. If you sit there and do nothing you will never be able to face yourself again. It would mean that the responsibility you worked a lifetime. to achieve was too great for you. That you were failing at the one time it all really mattered!'

Then he turned and pushed through the door. To Inch he snapped, 'Report to Captain Dash. He'll be wanting messengers. See to it at once.' Then he ran up the curving stairway to where a marine stood at attention by one of the doors.

Inside the room it was dark enough to be night, and as Bolitho groped his way towards some curtains he felt something roll under his shoe and clink against the wall. But his nose had already told him the nature of Pomfret's illness, and when he opened the curtains and stared round the room he felt a sudden nausea rising to this throat. Pomfret lay spreadeagled across the big bed, his mouth wide open, his breathing slow and painful. Around the bed and across the rich carpet were empty bottles, broken glasses and various items of clothing and furniture which looked as if they had been torn apart with the admiral's bare hands.

Bolitho tightened his jaw and leaned forward across the bed. Pomfret's face was unshaven and waxy with sweat. There was vomit on the sheets, and the whole room stank like some filthy hovel. He took his shoulder and shook it, no longer fearing the consequences or caring for Pomfret's anger. It was like shaking a corpse.

'Wake up, damn you!' He shook him harder, and Pomfret emitted a dull groan but nothing more. Then Bolitho's eye fell on the crumpled papers lying on a bedside table. He could see the official seal, the familiar crest at the head of the neat writing.

He walked round the bed and began to read Pomfret's orders from Toulon. Once he stopped and turned his head to look at Pomfret's distorted features. It was all becoming clear now. Herrick's comments about Pomfret's last chance to make good, the admiral's own determination to force the St. Clar invasion to a victorious conclusion. And given help and the expected reinforcements he might have succeeded, he thought sadly.

He continued reading, each line adding to his sense of understanding and despair. There had never been any intention of holding St. Clar longer than necessary to produce some diversion away from Toulon. It was a cat's-paw, nothing more. Had the Toulon invasion proved successful, it might not have mattered so much. But with his own complications, and pressure to contend with, Lord Hood had no time to spare for Pomfret's worries. The orders gave firm instructions about destroying shipping and facilities before leaving, but Bolitho's eye fastened on the final wording, his heart chilling as he read the cold simplicity of the orders. 'In view of limited vessels and the close proximity of enemy forces, no civilian evacuation from St. Clar will be possible.'

Bolitho sat staring at the neat writing until it danced before his eyes like a mist. Pomfret must have sat here reading his orders, he thought. But he would have seen his own ruin as well amidst the formal list of requirements. He would be remembered as the man who had been forced to leave the St. Clar monarchists to their fate, to murder and retribution which was too terrible to contemplate. Bolitho turned again to stare at Pomfret's face. Aloud he said, 'And it was not your fault! God in heaven, it was never intended to mean anything at all!' With an oath he screwed the papers into a ball and hurled them across the room.

He recalled Herrick's surprise at Pomfret's refusal to take a drink. That, too, had given way. The conpleteness of Pomfret's collapse became more apparent and more terrible every moment.

And all the while, as men had died and families had been crushed under their shattered homes, two men had remained helpless and unwilling to act. Downstairs Dash had waited for orders to free him from responsibility, and God alone knew what Cobban was doing, or even if he was still alive.

As he stood up Bolitho caught sight of himself in a gilded mirror. He was wild-eyed and there were deep lines of strain around his mouth. He was a stranger.

He said, 'I was the one who started all this, not you!' On the bed Pomfret groaned and some spittle ran down his cheek.

Then Bolitho strode to the door and saw Fanshawe standing aimlessly beside one of the windows. 'Come over here!' The flag-lieutenant swung round as if he had been shot at. Bolitho faced him impassively, and when he spoke his voice was like ice. 'Go to the admiral and get that room cleaned up!'

Fanshawe's eyes darted nervously past the door. 'The servants have all gone, sir.'

Bolitho gripped his sleeve. 'You do it! When I come back I want to see it as it was. I will send my cox'n to give you a hand, but no one else is to see him, do you understand?' He shook his arm violently to drive home his words. 'Our people out there don't know about all this.' He dropped his voice. 'And God help them, they are depending on us!'

Without another word he walked down the stairs, his mind racing, his ears deaf to the menacing rumble of guns outside the town.

He made himself leave the house to walk round the building to clear his mind. He did not remember how many times he circled the house, but when he re-entered the panelled study the others were there waiting for him.

Labouret was sitting in a chair, chin on chest, but as Boli tho came through the door he rose to his feet and without a word grasped his two hands in his own.

Bolitho looked down at him, seeing too plainly the pain and the misery in his dark eyes. He said quietly, 'I know, Labouret! Believe me, I understand!'

Labouret nodded dully. 'It could have been a great victory, m'sieu.' He dropped his eyes, but not before Bolitho had seen the tears running unchecked down his face.

Captain Ashby said, 'Glad to see you again, sir.' He was nodding grimly. 'More glad than I can say!'

Bolitho looked past him. 'Where is Colonel Cobban?'

A young infantry captain said quickly, 'He sent me, sir. He was, er, not able to get here.'

Bolitho eyed him coldly. 'No matter.' He saw the Spanish colonel sitting in the same chair as before, his uniform as fresh as if he had just been on parade. The Spaniard gave him a curt nod and then stared at his boots.

Captain Dash said heavily, 'Er, if you're ready to begin, Bolitho?'

Bolitho turned to face the others. Dash had not made it public that he was handing over his control to him.

He said quietly, 'There is not much time. We are to begin total evacuation at once.' They looked at each other as he spoke. Surprise? Relief? It was hard to tell. He continued, 'We will make a general signal to the squadron for boats. We can start with the wounded. Are there many?'

The soldier replied crisply, 'Over four hundred, sir.'

'Very well. Get them down to the Erebus and the Welland without delay. Captain Dash will make all the necessary arrangements for extra help from our own seamen.'

He looked quickly at Dash, half-expecting some argument, some small spark of pride. But he merely nodded and muttered, 'I'11 do that right away.'

Bolitho watched him pass. God, he's glad to go, he thought wearily.

Then he forgot Dash as Labouret asked quietly, 'What will I tell my people, Captain? How can I face them now?' It was obvious that he knew or guessed what was in Pomfret's orders.

Bolitho faced him. 'By the time you have enquired how many of your people want to leave with us the boats will have evacuated all the wounded, m'sieu.' He saw the Frenchman's lip quiver as he added, 'All who want to go can get into the boats. I cannot promise you much, my friend. But at least your lives will be safe!'

Labouret stared at him for several seconds, searching his face as if to unlock some inner secret. Then he said thickly, 'We will never forget, Captain! Never!' Then he was gone.

Bolitho said, 'The Harvester will be here soon with the convicts. They can be spread amongst the two transports, too.'

The Spanish colonel jerked upright in his seat, his eyes flashing dangerously. 'What is this you say? Convicts on top of wounded and wretched peasants! What about my horses,. Captain? How can I get them aboard two ships?

The infantry captain added uncertainly, 'And the artillery's guns, sir?'

Bolitho looked through the door as a marine showed Aliday up the staircase towards Pomfret's room. He said flatly, 'They will have to be left behind, gentlemen. The people come first.' He held their combined stares until they looked away. 'Just this once, they come first!'

The colonel stood up and walked towards the door. Over his shoulder he said harshly, 'I think you are a fool, Captain! But brave certainly!'

They heard his horse trotting away through the gates, and Bolitho said, 'Now show me where the soldiers are in position, if you will. This operation will have to be smooth and without any sort of panic, if it is to succeed at all!'

Thirty minutes later he watched the others depart. All except Ashby. 'Well, is there something you need explaining?' Bolitho felt completely drained.

Ashby pulled down his tunic and fumbled with his belt. Then he said, 'I had no time to tell you, sir. But Miss Seton is still here in St. Clan'

Bolitho stared at him. 'What?'

'I tried to put her aboard the Vanessa, sir.' Ashby looked wretched. 'But she insisted; on staying. She's been helping at the hospital.' His eyes gleamed in the dusty sunlight. 'She's been an example to everyone, sir.'

Bolitho replied quietly, 'Thank you, Ashby. I will see her. myself.' Then he picked up his hat and walked out into the noise.