Signal-Close Action!

4. The Captives

RICHARD BOLITHO stood by the quarterdeck rail and watched the sunset. It painted the sky in great rust-coloured patterns. and gave a sharp edge to the western horizon. Lysander moved comfortably under forecourse and topsails, her broad hull tilting hardly at all to the west wind which had followed her for most of the day.

He stared along the length of the ship, through stays and shrouds and beyond a greasy plume of smoke from the galley funnel. He could just make out the tiny outline of Harebell's sails as she moved ahead of her flagship, her yards holding the dying sun like uplifted crosses.

The rest of his ships had disappeared to the south that afternoon, and under Farquhar's command would even now be making more sail to beat their way around and ahead of Lysander's point of attack. He pictured the chart in his mind, collecting the scraps of information which had formed into a loose strategy. He could almost see the line of the shore, the hills behind the bay, the depths of the sea and places where there was no depth at all. Against that he had another list of items he did not know. What the enemy were doing there, or if indeed they were there for any purpose which warranted risking his ships. The main topsail billowed and flapped noisily as the wind dropped and then gathered strength again. The master's mate of the watch relaxed and made some joke with the helmsmen, and, at the lee side of the deck Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence readjusted his vigilant pose.

Bolitho tried not to let his mind drift from what he had to do. But with the ship so quiet, and with no questions to answer or problems to solve, he was unable to stay aloof from his anxiety.

Two days since he had returned on board, two further days since Javal's men had taken the schooner. She would be at Gibraltar by now, opposing winds or not, unless she had run foul of an enemy. She would be sold in a prize court, maybe taken into the King's service. Her few remaining crew members would either be sent to a prison hulk or offered an alternative fate, that of signing on aboard a British man o"war. After five years of conflict you" heard a dozen languages and dialects in any king's ship.

And Adam? He walked slowly to the nettings and stared "hard at the sea. The land was beyond even a lookout's vision, and the sky was already so dark that it was difficult to see the horizon's division, which moments ago had glowed like hot copper.

Another lieutenant had appeared on deck and was murmuring with Fitz-Clarence, while from forward and deeper in the fat hull he heard the shrill of a call, the pad of bare feet as the next watch prepared to take over the ship until midnight.

A freak breeze fanned the stench aft from the galley, and he realised just how empty his stomach was. But the thought of oatmeal gruel and greasy lumps of boiled meat, left-overs from the midday meal, were enough to revolt him against eating anything.

Herrick appeared through the cabin hatch and crossed the deck.

"I’ve told Mr. Gilchrist to muster all officers and senior warrants in the wardroom after eight bells, sir. "He hesitated, seeking out Bolitho's mood in the gloom. "They"re looking forward to meeting you very much. "

"Thank you, Thomas."

He turned slightly as a bosun's mate ran along the starboard gangway, followed by various other members of his watch.

A ship's boy was inspecting the flickering compass light, another the hour-glass nearby. Two stiff marines swayed gently at attention as they suffered a close scrutiny by their corporal. How black their red coats looked in the darkness, Bolitho thought. Made more so by their gleaming crossbelts and breeches. They were the sentries. One for* Herrick's quarters. One for his own.

The master was rumbling away to a midshipman. The latter seemed bent almost double to write something on his slate, the pencil very loud in the clammy stillness…

The newly arrived lieutenant straightened himself away from the rail and touched his hat formally.

"The watch is aft, Mr. Fitz-Clarence."

Fitz-Clarence nodded. "Relieve the wheel, if you please, Mr. Kipling."

More grunts and shuffles, and then a helmsman called, "Course east-be-north, sir! Steady as she goes!"

Grubb sniffed noisily. "And so it should be! I’ll be back on deck afore the glass is turned!" It sounded like a threat.

Bolitho shivered. "I’m ready, Thomas."

He heard the bell chime out from forward, a gust of laughter as a topman slithered down a backstay nearly knocking another to the deck.

They walked to the cabin hatch and Herrick said, "The fact that the wind has backed to the west"rd makes me think Mr. Grubb is right. We will have an easier task to drive inshore than I’d thought possible."

Down the ladder and past a seaman carrying a biscuit sack from the wardroom. He pressed his shoulders against a cabin door as if afraid he might hinder or touch either commodore or captain.

Bolitho saw the lantern light playing across the breeches of the nearest guns. Some of the ship's twenty-eight eighteen-pounders, yet they managed to look at peace. It was hard to picture them enveloped in smoke and powder, bursting in- board on their tackles as their cheering, noise-crazed crews sponged-out for another broadside.

Further aft he saw the bright rectangle of the wardroom door, and beyond it the movement of Lysander's officers, and every available man of warrant rank, too, who could be spared from duty on deck.

Herrick paused and said uncertainly, "It seems a long time since a wardroom was my home."

Bolitho looked at him. "And mine. When I was twenty I thought that life became easy when you were promoted captain. I soon learned differently. And now I know that each span of authority has its snares, as well as its privilege."

Herrick nodded. "More the former than the latter, in my opinion."

Bolitho tugged his coat into place, the movement involuntary and unnoticed. Herrick had not mentioned Adam or any part of the cutting-out since his return aboard. But he guessed it was rarely absent from his thoughts. He remembered when Pascoe had served with Herrick as a midshipman aboard his little two-decker, Impulsive. It was strange how he had felt about it. Jealous perhaps? Afraid that the boy's trust in Herrick might change to something closer than he himself could offer?

It all came surging up again, like a demon which had been biding its time.

Like the moment when he had arrived at Gibraltar, which should have been the proudest time in his service. Hearing about Adam's gesture on his behalf, risking disgrace or maiming in a forbidden duel.

There must be something deep in our family, he thought bitterly. With little training or effort, so many of them had proved unnaturally skilful with the sword. He could recall exactly standing face to face with a French lieutenant aboard a privateer in the East Indies. Face to face, both almost spent, but each holding on to that madness which only battle can sustain. He had felt something like pity for the man. Willing him to give in. Knowing, even as he parried the other's blade aside for that last fatal blow, that he could not help himself.

He said sharply, "Well, Thomas, let us be about it then." The Lysander's wardroom was packed with men. As Herrick led the way aft Bolitho was again reminded of his own youthful days as a junior lieutenant in a ship of the line such as this. Then, he had wondered about the men who lived and dreamed in the cabins above the wardroom. Admiral or captain, it had made little difference then.

He glanced at the expectant faces as they stood back to make a passage for him. Some he vaguely recognised from their duties about the upper deck. Others he did not know at all.

The immature expressions of the lieutenants set against the more controlled scrutiny of the warrant officers. Grubb's great shape beside Yeo, the boatswain, and against the stenmost eighteen-pounder a severe looking man who he guessed was Corbyn, the gunner.

The scarlet coats of the marines seemed to overshadow the untidy clump of midshipmen, there were about eight or nine of them present, while managing to stay slightly apart from all the rest, Edgar Mewse, the purser, and Shacklock, the surgeon, completed the gathering.

Gilchrist reported, "All present, sir, but for the fourth lieutenant, Mr. Kipling, who has the watch. And Mr. Midshipman Blenkame who shares it with him."

Herrick cleared his throat and then laid his hat on a table. "Thank you. "

Bolitho nodded. "Be seated, gentlemen. I will be as brief as I can."

He waited impassively as they scrambled for chairs and sea chests, the most comfortable places going to the most senior, until a mere handful of midshipmen were left nothing but the hard deck to sit upon.

Bolitho said, "The flag captain will have told you what we are about. The bones of the plan are that we shall close the land on the day after tomorrow at first light and destroy what enemy shipping we cannot take as prizes. "

He saw two of the midshipmen nudging each other cheer- fully. One he recognised as Saxby, his wide, gap-toothed grin as broad as if he had just been promised a month's leave on full pay.

"If the wind goes against us we will stand off and act accordingly." He glanced at Grubb's battered face. "But the master has promised full co-operation from a higher authority than mine."

There was laughter" and a good deal of humour at Grubb's expense. He remained immovable in their midst, but Bolitho could see the pleasure his comment had given him. He knew Herrick was watching him all the time. He of all people would see through his mask, his efforts to show the assembled officers that their commodore was a man beyond and above inner despair.

Bolitho had lost many good friends at sea. There was no friendship stronger than one born in the demanding hardship of a man 0" war. Sea and disease, the sword or a cannon's harvest had pared away many such faces. It was no wonder that these men could accept Pascoe's absence. Hardly any of them had been together long enough to know the pain of such a loss.

He realised they had fallen silent, that he must have been standing for several seconds without speaking.

Almost harshly he continued, "To create as much confusion as possible, we will land Lysander's marines under cover of darkness."

He sought out Major Leroux who was sitting, arms folded and stiff-backed, beside his lieutenant. He had met Leroux only formally, but he had been impressed. It was always difficult to break the inbuilt contempt for the marines, the "bullocks", which was common amongst most ships" companies. Their rigid ideas of drill and organised discipline in the worst of situations were at odds with the more casual and boisterous behaviour of the average seaman. Bolitho had come up against many marine officers, and although he had soon grown to respect their loyalty and prowess in battle, he had rarely discovered one who had displayed much initiative. Nepean, the marine lieutenant, for instance, was fairly typical. Impeccably dressed and ready to answer the call to duty at any hour, his eyes had the empty glassiness of one quite happy to obey rather than to lead.

But Major Jermyn Leroux was totally different. Tall and square-shouldered, he had the outward appearance of a scholar, despite his military bearing. Bolitho had spoken with him on the quarterdeck about the training and recruitment of his marines, but never once had Leroux made an idle boast, or suggested he could offer something beyond his means.

He said, "I will discuss the final details with you tomorrow, Major."

Leroux nodded. He had still, rather sad eyes, and an expression of a man who felt strangely out of place.

He replied, "Allowing for marines who are sick and otherwise unfit for duty, sir, I can muster ninety men."

"That will be sufficient." Bolitho turned to Herrick. 'swivels in the boats, and grapnels in case we need to scale any defences." He did not wait for any comment but added, "When Captain Javal took the schooner there was a need for stealth. This time I want our force to seem far greater than it really is."

One of the eighteen-pounders which shared the wardroom with its occupants squeaked slightly against its lashings as Lysander dipped her massive bulk into a trough. Bolitho. heard faint shouts from the watch on deck, the groan of the rudder beneath the counter as the helm was corrected.

He said, "We have rare freedom to act as we choose on this mission. We must lose no opportunity to discover what the enemy is planning. Neither can we turn from the chance to damage his security." He looked at Herrick. "If there are any questions?"

Gilchrist stood up, his forehead partly hidden by a deck beam. "Will there be no seamen in the landing party, sir?"

"A minimum." Bolitho kept his voice calm. "The bay which Lysander will have to enter and cross may be well defended. There will certainly be a battery of sorts, even if it is only light artillery. Captain Herrick will need every available hand on brace and gun tackle, I can assure you. "

The hint of action ran round the wardroom like wind through ripe com. But Gilchrist stood his ground, his bony figure angled slightly to the deck's tilt..

He asked, "Major Leroux will be in overall charge then?" "No, Mr. Gilchrist." He felt Herrick stiffen at his side. "I will."

Gilchrist gave what could have been a shrug. "A risk surely, sir." He glanced at the other officers like someone sure of an audience. "We were all grieved to hear of Mr.

Pascoe's er-disappearance. To invite another disaster in your own family…"

Bolitho looked down at his hands. It was strange that he could hold them so still when he felt like seizing the man and beating him senseless.

He replied calmly, "If Captain Herrick has no objection I am taking you ashore with me, Mr. Gilchrist. You will be able to see for yourself where the value of risk may lie." Gilchrist stared at him then at Herrick. He stammered, "Thank you, sir, it is an honour. "He sat down without another word.

Herrick said, "If nobody else has anything to offer?" Lieutenant Fitz-Clarence stood up and gave Bolitho a determined stare. "We will show them, sir! God help me, we’ll pistol the vermin!" He was almost glowing with excitement. In his mind's eye he probably saw Gilchrist already dead and himself as first lieutenant.

Bolitho gave him a nod. "Well said, Mr. Fitz-Clarence.

But mark this. "He looked around the wardroom. "All of you. Whatever you may think of the Dons, do not imagine they are like the French. When this war began the French fleet was almost in irons for want of good senior officers. Far too many were senselessly butchered in the Terror, merely to placate a mob. But that is over and done with. New men with fresh ideas are alive in their fleet. The handful of older officers who survived the guillotine are respected again, and their zeal will be all the sharper now that they know the price of failure. Armies can fight bravely under almost any conditions known to man. But without power over the sea lanes, without the life-blood of supplies and replacements they are like marooned sailors, halfway to a living death."

Fitz-Clarence was still on his feet, but his face had lost some of its assurance.

He said lamely, "Well, sir, I am still confident of our success. "

Herrick waited for him to be seated. His blue eyes were fixed on Bolitho. "Perhaps you would care to join me in my cabin?"

"Thank you. "Bolitho picked up his hat. "My throat is dry." He walked between the silent officers, knowing the air would explode into supposition and general excitement once the door was shut behind him.

Outside the wardroom Herrick said quietly, "Let me go sir. I asked before. Now I’m pleading."

They walked in silence to the ladder and up again to the next group of cabins.

Herrick threw open the door of his quarters and gestured to his servant to leave. As Bolitho seated himself by the table he opened his cabinet and produced a bottle of claret.

Bolitho watched him, seeing all the arguments building up in his friend's mind as he busied himself with the glasses. If, some other seventy-four was wearing the commodore's broad pendant Herrick would have the great stern cabin to himself. Strangely enough, it was hard to see him there.

"Now, Thomas." Bolitho took a glass and held it to a deckhead lantern. "I know what you are about to say. Let me speak first." He sipped the claret slowly, hearing the sea sluicing along the lower hull and dashing spray against the closed port. "You think I feel my nephew's disappearance so grievously that I am prepared to throw my life away as a gesture. To say I do not feel it would be a lie. Equally, it would be false of me to say that my upbringing, my very way of life, would not stop me from such a vanity. Like you, Thomas, I have seen too many good men, so many fine ships and ideals thrown to the winds because of the conceit of perhaps only one man in authority. I swore I would never allow my own feelings to make others suffer, and for the most part I have, I think, been true to that."

He was on his feet, pacing slowly the few yards along the length of the cabin. Herrick sat on the breech of a nine-pounder, his eyes glinting in the yellow light as he followed his restless movements.

"When my wife, Cheney, died-" He broke off, aware for the first time that he was moving round the cabin. "Enough of that. You shared it all. You brought news of her death, a burden for any man to carry, let alone a friend."

Herrick looked at him wretchedly. "I know."

"I suppose that Adam has come to mean so much because of my loss. I told myself that if or when I fell in battle, or died of some other cause, he would gain the advantages of the Bolitho family, advantages which should have come his way by happier circumstances." He shrugged helplessly. "You never think that fate might take one and leave the other behind, Thomas."

Herrick rolled the glass in his fingers, searching for the right words.

"That is why I ask the chance to go with the marines." He stopped, seeing the refusal in Bolitho's grey eyes.

"No. The day after tomorrow we will land on an enemy coast. Not some rock or island, or an outpost in the Indies, but in Europe. Do you think it right to commit our people to such a venture without leadership?" He laid one hand on Herrick's shoulder. "Come along, Thomas, be honest. Were there not many times in the past when you have maligned your senior officer for leaving you to take the cuffs and stabs while he stayed clear of danger?" He shook him gently. "I asked for honesty!"

Herrick gave a half smile. "On some occasions." 'some?" Bolitho watched him with sudden affection. "By heaven, you took me to task enough, let alone a commodore or admiral!"

Herrick controlled the smile. "That was different." "Because you are you, Thomas. And I am the same man as I was then."

Herrick put down his glass. "And Mr. Gilchrist?"

"I need an experienced sea officer." His tone hardened slightly. "He sent young Adam into that boat. Perhaps because he had experience of battle despite his years. Or maybe for some other, less praiseworthy reason."

Herrick looked at the deck. "I find that hard to believe, sir." He faced him again, his features more determined than they had been since the ship had left Gibraltar. "But if I discover a truth in it, he will know it." His eyes were like a stranger's. "And pay."

Bolitho smiled gravely. "Easy now. Perhaps I am speaking hastily." He moved to the door and heard the marine sentry drawing his boots together. "But we had best concentrate on the immediate future. Otherwise we will all be made to pay for it!"

Allday thrust the hair from his eyes and said hoarsely, "It seems we have arrived, Mr. Pascoe." His lips were so dry from thirst that he could barely speak, and the sun across his head and shoulders burned as mercilessly as it had all day, and the one before that.

Pascoe nodded and lurched against him. Behind them the five gasping seamen staggered like drunkards staring without comprehension at the lip of the hill track, the hard, glittering horizon beyond. The sea once again.

The forced march had been a nightmare, and while the mounted troopers had made a show of drinking as much as they pleased, they had made certain their prisoners were given hardly anything. When two wrinkled peasant women had offered some water by the roadside the horsemen had ridden at them threateningly, driving them away, laughing when one had gone sprawling in the dust like an untidy bundle.

They had lost one more of their number. A seaman called Stokes. He had sat watching the troopers on the previous evening as they had prepared to make camp for the night. He had been unable to drag his eyes from the great skin of coarse red wine which was being handed round amongst the troopers, his raging thirst, the pain of his lacerated feet making him a picture of misery and despair.

After a muttered conversation the troopers had beckoned him over, and to the other prisoners" astonishment and envy had offered him the skin of wine, gesturing and grinning at him to take his fill

When they had finally realised what was happening it was already too late. As Stokes drank and drank to his capacity, his face and chest soaking in spilled wine, the soldiers urged him on, and then supporting him bodily, while others poured more into his gaping mouth.

Starved, sun-dried and already terrified as to what his fate might be, Stokes had changed in that instant into a raving madman. Capering and reeling, vomiting and falling in all directions, he was pitiful to watch. And whenever he had dropped choking on the ground they had begun allover again.

This morning, as the prisoners had been freed from their ropes and herded on to the rough track, they had seen Stokes still lying where he had last fallen, his body surrounded in a great red stain of dried wine, like blood, his face a mask of flies.

When Pascoe had tried to reach him he had been kicked back to the others. None of the troopers even went to see if Stokes was still breathing. It was as if they had tired of a game and wished only to get on towards their destination.

Allday shaded his eyes and studied the blue sea beyond the hill rise. What a barren place it was. Mountains in-land, and this part all ups and downs in stony gullies. His torn feet told him he had walked every inch of it.

A whip cracked, and once more they started to shuffle forward. As they panted up the last slope Allday said breathlessly, 'ships, by God!" -

Pascoe nodded. "Three of them!" He seized Allday's arm…

"Look at all those people!"

The track which led down to the foreshore and joined another, better-made road was alive with tiny moving figures. Like ants, which at a distance appear to move without purpose or direction, it was evident as they drew nearer that the activity was well ordered. Dotted about were armed soldiers and civilian supervisors who stood like rocks amidst the tide of human movement.

Pascoe said, "Prisoners."

'slaves, more like."

Allday saw the whips in the hands of the guards, the fearful way the ragged prisoners moved around each vigilant figure. He turned his head towards the ships. Two brigs and one larger vessel, a transport. All three anchored close inshore; and the water between them and a newly constructed pier was an endless coming and going of oared boats and lighters. There were lines of neat tents by the hillside, and across the bay, scored out of the grass and gorse of a low headland, was what appeared to be a battery, the flag of Spain lifting and curling high above it.

Pascoe murmured, "The ships look well laden. "

They fell silent as the senior horseman cantered towards them, his whip trailing down his leg and along the road. He pointed at the seamen and barked an order. Two troopers dismounted and gestured with drawn sabres towards the first line of tents. The whip swung round, separating Pascoe and Allday from the others and at the same time pointing to another, smaller line of tents.

Outside one Allday saw an officer watching them, shading his eyes with his arm as the horseman urged them towards him. Allday silently thanked God. The officer might be a Spaniard, but he was far better than their captors.

The horseman dismounted and reported to the officer, who after a slight hesitation walked towards them. He was very slim and wore a white tunic and scarlet breeches. As he drew closer Allday noticed that his smart uniform and gleaming cavalry boots were less so, and like the man himself, showed signs of having been out here in this terrible place for some while.

He walked around them very slowly, his dark features thoughtful, but without any sign of emotion.

He stopped in front of them again and said in careful English, "I am Capitan Don Camilo San Martin, of His Most Catholic Majesty's Dragoon Guards." He had a sensitive face, marred by a thin, even cruel mouth. "I would be obliged if you would honour me with your er, titles?" He held up one neat hand. "But before you begin, I must warn against lies. That fool of a man told me how his patrol discovered you and your sailors. How after a great fight he was able to overpower you and bring you to me."He seemed to draw himself up in stature. "I am in command of this er, enterprise at the moment."

Allday breathed out slowly as Pascoe replied, "I am Lieutenant Adam Pascoe of His Britannic Majesty's Navy." The Spaniard's sad eyes moved to Allday. "And this? I understand he, too, is an officer." His mouth lifted slightly. "Of some lesser value perhaps?"

"Yes." Pascoe swayed but kept his voice level. "A warrant officer."

Allday found time to marvel at Pascoe's quick thinking after what he had just endured. The Spaniard seemed content with the lie. If they were to be separated now, there was no chance of escape, if chance there was.

"Good." Capitan San Martin smiled. "You are very young, Teniente. I am right therefore to suppose that you were not alone? That you are from an English ship, eh?" He held up his hand in the same tired gesture. "I know. You are an officer and bound to your oath. That I respect. In any case, the question must have an obvious answer."

Pascoe said hoarsely, "My men, Capitan. Could you order your soldiers to take care of them."

The Spaniard seemed to consider it. "In good time. But for the moment you and I have matters to discuss. " He pointed to his tent. "Within. The sun is cursed hot today."

Inside it was cool, and as Allday's eyes grew accustomed to the shaded interior he realised he was walking on a thick carpet. After the rough road it was like a gentle balm for his tom and blistered feet.

San Martin remarked, "I see from your back that you had some rough handling on your way." He shrugged. "They are ignorant savages. But good fighters. My grandfather used to hunt them for sport." It seemed to amuse him. "But we must change with the times."

An orderly brought some goblets and began to fill them with wine.

San Martin nodded. 'sit down, if you wish. You are now prisoners of war. I suggest you make the most of my hospitality." He smiled again. "I was once a captive of the English, and exchanged a year back. I learned to improve my understanding of your people, as well as the language."

Pascoe began, "I must insist, sir-"

He got no further. San Martin stared up at the roof of the tent and shouted, "Do not insist with me, Teniente!" The sudden effort brought a rash of sweat across his features. "I have but to say the word and I can make you vanish! How do you enjoy that" eh? Those animals you saw out there working on the road and defences are criminals, who but for the urgency of this task would be in their rightful places, chained to the oars of a galley or rotting on gibbets. I could have you flung amongst them, Teniente! How would you like to eke out your life chained to a great sweep, sitting in your own filth and living hour by hour to the beat of a drum, the lash of a whip, eh?" He was almost beside himself. "You would have very little time to insist, that I promise you!"

Allday saw the soldier with the wine bottle shaking badly. He was obviouslv used to his master's violent outbursts.

He continued more calmly, "Your ship, or ships perhaps, are in our waters to do us some harm." He gave a slow smile. "Your commander, do I know of him?"

He did not wait for answer but strode from the tent. Pascoe whispered quickly, "He does not know about the schooner."

"To hell with the schooner, Mr. Pascoe. What will you tell him?

Before he could reply the Spanish captain was back again. With great care he laid a loop of stout cord on the table and stood back to examine it.

"You will see that it is joined at both ends." He sounded matter of fact. "There are two large knots in it, here and here." He tapped it with his finger. "A circle of pain. Our inquisitors found it of some use for obtaining confessions of guilt in the Americas, I believe." He looked hard at Pascoe. "If I had this placed around your head, each of the knots would fit against an eye. By twisting the cord from behind, tighter and tighter, I am assured the agony is unbearable." He picked up the cord and threw it to the orderly. "And of course, the climax comes when both eyes are forced from their sockets. "He snapped an order to his orderly who almost ran from the tent. "Like grapes."

Allday exclaimed hoarsely, "You’ll not let those devils use it on our lads!"

I have told you!" San Martin's face was working with emotion. "You are prisoners of war. You will be treated as such while you are under my guard." He sat down, his chest working painfully. "Now drink your wine."

Allday dropped his goblet as a terrible shriek echoed round the tent. As Pascoe made for the entrance two pistols appeared in San Martin's hands as if by magic.

'stand! It is not one of your wretched sailors! It is only a prisoner. The effect will be the same after they have watched his pain!"

San Martin's eyes remained as still as the two pistols as he studied Pascoe's horrified face. The terrible screams continued for what seemed like an hour, but when they ceased the sound remained in the tent like a curse from hell.

San Martin replaced the pistols in his belt and said, 'sailors talk a great deal. I will go now. Do not try to leave the tent or I will have you killed." He picked up his hat and banged dust from its yellow plume. "When I have spoken to the sailors I will know about your ships, and probably much more as well."

The tent seemed very silent after he had gone.

Pascoe sank down on to the carpet and retched uncomfortably. "He's right."

Allday watched his despair, the quiver of his blistered shoulders as he tried to control himself.

"No one but a fool would stay voiceless after being made to watch that torture."

The Spanish captain, true to his promise, was back within an hour. He seated himself on one comer of a brass-bound chest and said calmly, "One of your men was very willing to speak with me." He smiled sadly. "Do not look so troubled, Teniente. Mine would sell my very soul if they were in the same position." He became formal. "Your ships have been in these waters for over a week, yes? You are sailing to spy upon the French, our ally. Such matters are not my concern. My orders are to command over these dogs until the bay is properly defended." He tapped his chin with the rim of a wine goblet. "I did discover one piece of news which may be of use to those better placed to use it. Your ships took a Spanish vessel." His mouth twisted with sudden fury. "Those fools who brought you here were so drunk with their victory they allowed a ship to be stolen from under their noses!"

Allday thought of the knotted cord and could almost feel pity for the senior horseman with the whip.

As if to confirm his thoughts, San Martin snapped, "It will not happen again!"

He calmed himself with an effort. "No matter. Your war is over. I will have you transported to more er, secure quarters where you can be held in accordance with your station. "He eyed them dully. "I will send for some food."

He was obviously disinterested in matters relating to any ship, friend or foe, now that he had attended to his prisoners.

Two armed soldiers escorted them to a nearby tent, and a short time later the same orderly brought a basket of bread and fruit and a large earthenware jug of coarse wine.

Pascoe said bitterly, "Then it's over, Allday. We’ll not see England for a long while." He looked away. "If ever." Allday stood by the tent flap, careful not to show himself to the sentry outside.

He replied, "Nothing's over yet." He added grimly, "Be thankful for one thing. That gibbering seaman who spoke with the Don was one of Cap" n Javal" s men. They all were in our party."

Pascoe looked up at him. "What difference does it make?" Allday walked from the flap and poured a mug of wine.

"Any Lysander would have known you to be the commodore's nephew." He saw the shot go home. "Think what the Don would have made of that, eh? They"d have used you as something to bargain with maybe." Pascoe stared at him. "I am sorry. I did not think."

"Not that our Dick"d-" He broke off and grinned. "Beg, pardon, I was forgetting my place."

"Go on. Please."

Allday shrugged. "I’ve sailed with your uncle for a long time." His voice was far away. "We’ve seen and done a lot together. I’ve watched him ache for the brave lads who’ve fallen at his bidding. Seen him walk about a deck as if in a dream, while the planks have spouted splinters from sharpshooters trying to mark him down. "He shook himself, ashamed at betraying a deeply guarded confidence. "He would not risk his people even for you."

Pascoe scrambled to his feet and crossed to his side. "For us, you mean."

Allday smiled. "Ah well, it's good of you to put it like that. But cox"ns are easier to get than blood relations!" Pascoe sighed.*"I wish I could do something for him." A shouted challenge made Allday peer through the flap again.

"There's a rider dashing into the camp as if the goblins of Exmoor were at his tail!"

Pascoe said, "Let me look."

Together they watched San Martin as he stood outside his tent, his dark head lowered as he squinted at a mounted trooper who was gasping for breath and shouting his message from the track below the tents.

Allday muttered, 'something's afoot."

Pascoe gripped his arm. "I understand a little Spanish." Something in his tone made Allday forget the scene by the tents.

Pascoe added quietly, "A fisherman has sighted a ship, a big ship."

They stared at each other for several seconds.

Then Allday said thickly, "If it's one ship on her own, we know which one she’ll be, don’twe, Mr. Pascoe?"

They turned back to the sunlight as San Martin yelled a stream of orders which were terminated by the urgent blare of a trumpet..

Allday thought of the headland battery, the one bitter turn of luck which had let a Spanish fisherman send a warning.

You just said you wished you could do something?" He saw Pascoe nod with slow understanding. 'so be it then. For if Lysander, or any other King's ship pokes her beakhead into the bay now, it’ll be the last damn thing she does on this earth, an" that's no error!"

San Martin's voice was suddenly very close, and Pascoe said quickly, "We’ll have some wine." He thrust a full mug into Allday's fist." 'say something!"

Allday gulped on the wine and nearly choked. "I can remember as if it was yesterday when I was in the old Hyperion and-"

San Martin threw open the tent flap and strode into the shade.

"Good." He looked at the wine and the bread. "Good." Pascoe asked, "The trumpet, sir. Does it mean danger?"

San Martin studied him searchingly. "Of no importance. To you." He moved round the tent like a trapped animal. "I was going to have you put aboard a ship today. But I will have to wait until tomorrow. I am sending you to Toulon. The French admiral has more time than I to deal with such matters."

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.