Signal Close Action (12 page)

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 w
ar.
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 obviously 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 corner 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't we, 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.

5
The Only Way Out

Bolitho
tugged his hat firmly over his forehead
.
Lysander's
heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wavecrests 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 oudine 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!'