And somewhere out there beyond the dark edge of land Bolitho was still busy, he thought grimly. Taking upon his own, shoulders what others should have done.
There was a step beside him and he saw Gossett's massive shape outlined against the pale deck shrouded in a tarpaulin Coat.
The master said quietly, 'Not long now, Mr. 'Errick.'
'So you could not sleep either?' Herrick banged his hands together to restore the circulation. 'God, this has been a long night!'
Gossett grunted. 'I'll not rest easy until our own people are inboard once more.' He held up his hand as a pipe shrilled across the water like a disturbed bird. 'They're callin' the hands aboard the transports. They'll be weighin' very shortly.'
'Good.' Herrick squinted against the cool wind to watch a small lantern moving along one of the transport's decks. When daylight once more laid bare the ruin of St. Clar the little convoy would be clear out ' to sea. The Spanish Princesa was to act as the main escort, with the frigate Bat and one of the sloops for additional support as far as Gibraltar.
Gossett seemed to read his thoughts. 'At least we can depend on the Princesa this time. She'll be headin' for her own
waters and'll need no encouragement to get a move on!' He sounded bitter.
They both started as a voice challenged from the starboard gangway, 'Boat ahoy?'
Back from the gloom came the instant response, 'Aye, aye!'
Gossett murmured, 'That's odd. It looks like the barge, but the cap'n's not aboard 'er.'
Herrick nodded and strode quickly to the ladder. 'He'll not come until everyone else is away, Mr. Gossett.'
The master sighed. `You do not have to tell me that!'
The barge booked on to the main chains, and within seconds Allday was pulling himself through the entry port. He saw the lieutenant and knuckled his forehead.
'Captain's compliments, sir.' He peered back into the barge and hissed, 'Hold your noise, damn you!' Then to Herrick he continued, 'Would you give a hand to take the admiral aft, sir?'
Herrick stared at him. 'The admiral?' He saw Rowlstone climbing through the port and the smaller shape of Midshipman Piper close behind him.
Allday said calmly, 'The captain's orders are that Sir Edmund is to be put in his sleeping cabin, sir.' He saw Herrick peering round for the master's mate of the watch and added sharply, 'He said there was to be no fuss! Nobody's to see the admiral until he's on his feet again!'
Herrick nodded, the realisation sweeping over him.- He knew Allday of old. He had never known him to panic or get his orders confused. If Bolitho wanted Pomfret's transfer kept quiet, there was a very good reason.
He beckoned to Gossett. 'Here, give a hand!'
Like conspirators they manhandled Pomfret's blanketed figure through the entry port and aft to the quarterdeck. The admiral's aide was assisting with the rough stretcher, and from his dragging footsteps Herrick imagined that he too had been awake all night.
Allday watched the small group groping its way beneath the poop before adding, 'The captain is coming off with the rearguard, sir.' He rubbed his hand across his chin with a loud rasping sound. 'It will have to be quick.'
Herrick nodded. 'We will be ready.' He reached out as Allday turned to rejoin his barge crew. 'Tell Captain Bolitho. He broke off, not knowing how to express his true feelings.
Aliday grinned in the darkness. 'I don't have to tell him anything, sir. He'll be knowing what you think, I shouldn't wonder.'
Herrick watched the barge as it backed away from the side. The stroke slow and weary, like the men.
Aloud he muttered, 'I expect he will…'
A seamen called, 'Transports is shortenin' their cables, sir! I kin see the old Erebus breakin' out 'er foretops'l already!'
.'Very well.' Herrick watched the pale patches of sail giving shape and identity to the other ships as one after the other they prepared to weigh anchor. He said, `Tell Mr. Tomlin to call our people in fifteen minutes, and see that the cooks have got their fires alight.' He shivered slightly. `It'll be a while before we get another cooked meal, if I'm any judge!'
Gossett rejoined him at the rail. 'What does it all mean, Mr. 'Errick? Why is Sir Edmund aboard us instead o' the flagship?'
Herrick glanced briefly at the anchored Tenacious before replying. 'The reasons are not our concern. But at dawn we will hoist Sir Edmund's flag at the mizzen.' He knew Gossett was staring at him. 'The responsibility shifts with the flag, of that I am sure!'
As the first sunlight touched the hills and filtered down between the rubble-strewn streets the enemy guns reopened fire. Black columns of smoke poured from the jetty, the bright sparks and drifting ashes marking the last stages of destruction as small groups of soldiers threw pii-soaked rags into the moored fishing boats and storage sheds before setting them ablaze.
Captain Ashby stood grim faced beside his square of marines watching the remaining files of soldiers hurrying back from the firing line, some carrying wounded comrades, others using their muskets as crutches as they headed for the water and the waiting boats.
In the big house Bolitho stood by one of the open windows, his hands resting on the sill while he studied the hills beyond the town. He heard the crunch of boots below him and saw the young infantry officer peering up at him.
'Is everything completed?'
The soldier nodded. 'The last picket is falling back now, sir.' He turned and drew his smoke-blackened figure to attention as a young lieutenant and three armed soldiers marched around a bend in the road, their step measured and correct, as if they were on parade. The lieutenant was carrying the regiment's colour, and as he passed Bolitho saw there were real tears "running down his face, cutting through the grime like painted lines.
Bolitho walked back across the room. The house already seemed lost, and derelict, with little to show it had once been Pomfret's 'stepping-stone to Paris '.
In the square Ashby greeted him formally. `The charges are laid, sir. The Frogs will be here at any time now.'
Bolitho nodded, listening to the creeping murmur of heavy guns as the enemy put down a final barrage on the waiting line of redcoats. Without effort he could still see the crouching figures along the edge of the barricades and earthworks, apparently ready and resolved to withstand the last attack. It was almost the worst part of the whole wretched business, he thought. Just before dawn, while the weary troops had crept back from their positions, Lieutenant Inch and a party of seamen had prepared the last rearguard under his direction.
But when the French ceased their bombardment and entered the town the soldiers would not shoot back, nor would they surrender, for they were already dead. From the field hospital and the battered earthworks the seamen had gathered up their unprotesting bodies, had arranged them with their muskets in a silent array. There was even a flag above their sightless faces, a last grim mockery.
Bolitho shook himself from his brooding. Dead men could not suffer twice. The living had to be saved.
He snapped, `Carry on, Ashby! Fire the fuses!'
He heard the blare of a bugle and a sudden wave of cheering as, the first French soldiers charged down from the coast road. Around him.the marines were breaking up into sections, falling back towards the shattered jetty, their bayonets still trained towards the shadowed streets.
There were no signs of the inhabitants who had chosen to remain in St. Clar. They were hiding and holding their breaths, and when the first wave of fury and bloodshed had passed they would come out into the open to make their peace with their countrymen, Bolitho thought. Friends, even relatives would be denounced as proof of loyalty to the Revolution. The reckoning would be harsh and prolonged.