Then, taking good care to avoid local shipping,
Avenger had stood away from the land before heading down channel again, towards Penzance.
Hugh was ashore now, as usual leaving neither explanation nor destination.
Bolitho studied the passing men and women, seamen and fisherfolk, traders and idlers. Had the rumour gone out yet? Was someone already plotting a way of ambushing Hugh's fictitious capture?
Dancer clambered up from the cutter and stood beside him, rubbing his hands to ward off the cold.
Bolitho said, `It seems very peaceful, Martyn.'
His friend nodded cheerfully. `Your brother has thought of everything. The chief revenue officer has been here, and I'm told that waggons are being sent to collect our, precious hoard!' His mouth widened to a grin. `I didn't know the Navy ever got mixed up in this kind of game.'
A seaman called, 'Cap'n's a'comin', sir!'
Bolitho waved to the man. He had grown to like the friendly way, that forecastle and afterguard shared their confidences when one might expect such an overcrowded hull to drive them further apart.
Hugh Bolitho, wearing his sword and looking very sure of himself, climbed swiftly down to the deck, the midshipmen following at a respectful distance.
Hugh touched his hat to the poop and briskly flapping ensign and said, 'Waggons will be here presently. They've done well. The whole town's agog with news of our little enterprise. Good muskets and powder, seized from a potential enemy.'
He ran his glance swiftly over the large bundles of muskets which were already being swayed up from the hold under the gunner's watchful eye.
He sniffed the air. `Good day to begin too. No hanging about. It's what they will be watching. Probably right now. To see if we're really intent on getting the cargo ashore and into safe hands, or are trailing our coats as a ruse.'
Gloag, who had been listening, said admiringly, `You've a clever mind an' no mistake, sir. I can see you in your own flagship afore too long!'
`Maybe.' Hugh walked to the companionway. `The waggons will be loaded and under guard from the moment they arrive. There'll be a party of revenue men as additional escort.' His eyes fixed on Dancer. `You will be in charge. The senior revenue man will know what to do, but I want a King's _officer in charge.'
Bolitho said quickly, `I'll go, sir. It doesn't seem right to send him. It was because of me he is here at all.'
`The matter is closed.' Hugh smiled. `Besides, it will all be over before you know it. A few bloody heads and the sight of the dragoons will be sufficient. Sir Henry Vyvyan can have all the hangings he wants after that!'
As he vanished below Dancer said, `It's no matter, Dick. We've done far worse in the old Gorgon. And this may stand us in good stead when our examiations come due, whenever that wretched day will be!'
By noon the waggons had arrived and were loaded without delay. Again, Hugh Bolitho had planned it
well. Not enough fuss to make the preparations appear false, but enough to suggest the genuine pride of a young commander's capture.
If it went well, Gloag's remark would make good sense. The prize money from the stranded Dutch vessel and the destruction of a gang of smugglers or wreckers would do much to push Hugh's other problems to one side.
`You there! Give me a hand down with my bag!'
Bolitho turned to see a seaman helping a tall, loose-limbed man in a plain blue coat and hat down. on to the cutter's bulwark.
The seaman seemed to know him well and grinned. `Welcome back, Mr Whiffin, sir!'
Bolitho' hurried aft, raking through his mind to place where he had heard the name. He had now been aboard the cutter for ten days and had learned the names and duties of most of the men, but Whiffin's role eluded him.
The tall man regarded-him calmly. A mournful, expressionless face.
He said, 'Whiffin. Clerk-in-charge.'
Bolitho touched his hat. Of course, that was it. These cutters carried a senior clerk to do several jobs in one. To act as purser, captain's clerk, in some cases even to try their hand at surgery, and Whiffin looked as if he could do all of them. Bolitho remembered hearing his brother mention vaguely he had put Whiffin ashore for some reason or other. Anyway, now he was back.
`Captain aboard?' He was studying Bolitho curiously. `You'll be the brother then.'
Wherever he had been, Whiffin was remarkably well informed.
`Aft.'
'Very well. I'd better see him.'
Shooting another glance at Dancer he went below, twisting himself around and down the companion like a weasel.
`Well now.' Dancer pursed his lips in a whistle. `He's a strange one.'
The boatswain's mate of the watch called, 'Cap'n wants you below, sir!'
Bolitho hurried to the ladder, wondering if Whiffin's return had changed something. Perhaps he and not Dancer was going with the waggons after all.
His brother looked up sharply as he entered the cabin. Whiffin was sitting near him, filling the air with smoke from a long clay pipe.
`Sir?'
`Slight alteration, Richard.' He gave a small smile. `I want you to get ashore and find the chief revenue officer. Hand him this letter, and bring me a signature for it.'
Bolitho nodded. `I see, sir.'
`I doubt it, but no matter, so off you go.'
Bolitho looked at the address scrawled on the waxsealed envelope and then returned to the deck.
He led Dancer to the side and said, `If I'm not back aboard before you leave, good luck, Martyn.' He touched his arm and smiled, surprised at his sudden uneasiness. `And take care.'
Then he climbed on to the jetty and strode quickly towards the town.
It took over an hour to find the revenue officer in question. He seemed out of sorts, probably because of the extra work he was being given, and also at having to sign for the letter, as if he was not to be trusted.
When Bolitho returned to the jetty nothing seemed to have changed. Not at first glance. But as he drew nearer to the Avenger's tall mast and furled sails he realized that the waggons had already gone.
As he lowered himself to the deck Truscott, the gunner, said, `You're wanted below, sir.'
Again? It never stopped. He was still a midshipman, no matter what title Hugh had chosen for him.
Hugh Bolitho was seated at the table, as if he had not moved. The air was still wreathed in smoke, and it gave the impression that Whiffin had only just left.
`You didn't take long, Richard.' He sounded preoccupied. `Good. You can tell Mr Gloag to call the hands and prepare to get under way. We'll be shorthanded, so see that,they know what they are doing.'
`The waggons are gone.'
His brother watched him for several seconds. `Yes. Soon after you left.' He raised one eyebrow. `Well?'
`Is something wrong?' Bolitho stood his ground as he recognized the quick flash of impatience.
'Whiffin brought news. There is to be an ambush. The waggons will take the road to the east'rd towards Helston, then nor'-east to Truro. Whiffin has made good use of his time ashore and a few guineas in the right palms. If all goes as expected, the attack will be between here and Helston. The coast road is within easy reach of a dozen coves and beaches.
Avenger will get under way now and be ready and waiting to offer assistance.'
Bolitho waited for more. His brother was explaining crisply, confidently, but there was a difference. He sounded as if he was speaking his thoughts aloud to convince himself of something.
Bolitho said, `And the letter I carried was for the dragoons?'
Hugh Bolitho leaned back against the curved timbers and said bitterly, `There are no dragoons. They're not coming.'
Bolitho could not speak for several moments, seeing only his friend's face as they had parted, recalling Hugh's remark about Avenger being short-handed. The plan had been for ten seamen to go with Dancer, while the rest of the escort would be some revenue officers. The dragoons from Truro, superbly trained and experienced, were to have been the main force.
The fact that Hugh had sent more seamen than intended showed he had known for some while.
He said, `You knew. Just as you did about the informant Portlock.'
`Yes. If I had told you, what would you have done, eh?' He looked away. `You'd have passed the news to Mr Dancer, frightened him half to death before he'd even started.'
`As it is, you might be sending him to his death.'
`Don't be so bloody insolent!' Hugh stood up, stooping automatically between the deckhead beams. It made him look as if he was about to spring at his younger brother. `Or so self-righteous!'
`I could ride after them.' He could hear his own voice. Pleading, knowing at the same time it was wasted. `There'll be other ways of catching the smugglers, other times.'
`It is settled. We sail on the tide. The wind has veered and is in our favour.' Hugh lowered his voice. `Rest easy. We'll manage.'
As Bolitho made for the door he added, `Mr Dancer is your friend, and we are brothers. But to all else we are authority, with a plain duty to carry out.' He nodded. `So be about it, eh?'
Standing aft by the taffrail as he watched the Avenger's depleted company preparing to take in the mooring lines, Bolitho tried to see it as his brother had suggested. Detached. Uninvolved. It would be simple to recall the waggons. A fast horse would be up to them in less than two hours. But Hugh was not prepared to risk his plan, no matter what chance it had of success without the dragoons' aid. He would rather put Dancer and two dozen of his own men in mortal danger.
Standing out of harbour almost into the eye of the wind, the Avenger made a leisurely exit.
Bolitho watched his brother by the compass, seeking some sign, a hint of his true feelings.
He heard Gloag say, `Damn this fair weather, I say, sir. We'll not be able to change tack 'til we're hid from the land by dusk.' He sounded anxious, which was unusual. `Time's runnin' out.'
Then Bolitho saw through his brother's guard as
he thrust himself away from the compass with a
sharp retort. `Keep your miseries to yourself, Mr
Gloag! I'm in no mood for them!'
He went below, and Bolitho heard the cabin door slam shut.
The acting-master remarked to the deck at large, `Squalls ahead.'
Darkness had closed over the choppy waters of Mounts Bay when Hugh Bolitho came on deck again.
He nodded to Gloag and the watchkeepers on the lee side and said, `Tell Mr Pyke and the gunner to attend to both boats. They must be armed and ready for hoisting outboard at short notice.' He peered at the feeble compass light. `Call the hands and bring her about. Steer due east, if you please.'
As the word was passed between decks, and the seamen came hurrying once more to their stations, he crossed to where Bolitho stood beside the helmsmen.
`It'll be a clear night. Wind's brisk, but no need to take in a reef.'
Bolitho barely heard him. He was picturing the cutter's progress, as if he were a sea-bird high overhead.
From the calculations on the chart, and the new course, he knew that they would be heading inshore again, to dangerous shoal waters, towards the very coastline where the Dutchman had gone aground, and many more fine ships before.
If Whiffin's information was correct there would be an attack on the slow-moving waggons. If the attackers already knew of the deception they would be beside themselves with glee. If not, it would still make little difference unless Dancer and his men received help.
He looked up at the hard-bellied sails, the long whipping tongue of the masthead pendant.
His brother called, `Very well. Stand by to come about.'
When order had replaced the confusion of changing tack, and Avenger's long, pole-like bowsprit was pointing towards the east, the gunner came aft, leaning over to a steeper angle as the wind pushed the hull over.
`Boats checked an' ready, sir. An' I've got a good man by the arms chest in case we…'
He swung round as a voice called hoarsely, `Light, sir! On th' larboard bow!'
Dark figures slithered down across the tilting deck to the lee side to search for the light.
Someone said, `Wreckers, mebbe?'
But Gloag, who had also seen it, said, `No. It was too regular.' He pointed. `See? There it be again!'
Bolitho snatched a telescope and tried to train it across the creaming wash of crests and spray. Two flashes. A shuttered lantern. A signal.
He felt Hugh at his side, heard his telescope squeak as he closed it and said, `Where is that, d'you reckon, Mr Gloag?' Calm again. In charge.
"Ard t' tell, sir.'
Bolitho heard Gloag breathing heavily, any animosity between him and his youthful captain momentarily forgotten.
Pyke suggested, `Round the point, towards Prah Sands, is my guess, sir.'
The light blinked out twice like a malevolent eye against the black shoreline.
Pyke said with disbelief, `God damn their eyes, they're runnin' a cargo tonight, the buggers!'
Bolitho chilled, imagining the unknown vessel, somewhere ahead of the lightless cutter. If they sighted the Avenger they might sheer off. Then again, they might raise an alarm which in turn would warn the ambush. The attack would be brought forward and there would be no hope of quarter.
`We will shorten sail, Mr Gloag. Mr Truscott, have the guns loaded with grape and canister.' The sharpness in his tone held the gunner motionless. `But do it piece by piece. I don't want to hear a sound!' Hugh peered round for a boatswain's mate. `Pass the word forrard. A flogging for the first man to alert the enemy. A golden guinea for the first man to sight him!'
Bolitho crossed the deck before he knew what he was doing.
`You're not going after her?'
His brother faced him, although his face was hidden in the gloom.
`What did you expect? If I let her slip away we could lose both. This way we might do for all the devils at once!'
He swung away as the hands ran to the braces and halliards.
`I've no choice.'
As the Avenger ploughed her way through each succession of wave crests, Bolitho found it harder to contain his anxiety. The cutter seemed to be making an incredible noise, and although he knew it would not be heard beyond half a cable, he could find no comfort. The sluice of water against the hull, the boom of heavy canvas with the attendant strains and rattles in the rigging, all joined in an ever-changing crescendo.
The topsail had been taken in, as had the jib, but even under fore and mainsail alone Avenger would stand out to any watchful smuggler.
As Gloag had mentioned, it was a fair night. Now that their eyes had become accustomed to it, it seemed even brighter. No clouds, a million glittering stars to reflect on the frothing waves and spume, and when you looked up the sails were like great, quivering wings.
A man craned over a stocky six-pounder and thrust out his arm.
7. A Tragedy
`There, sir! Fine on th' lee bow!'
Figures moved about the decks, as if taking part in a well practised dance. Here and there a telescope squeaked or a man whispered to his companion. Some in speculation, others probably in envy for the man who would receive a golden guinea.
Hugh Bolitho said, `Schooner, showing no lights. Under full sail too.' He shut his glass with a snap. `-Bit of luck. He'll be making more din than we are.' He dispensed with conjecture and added shortly, `Bring her up a point, Mr Gloag. I don't want the devil to slip past us. We'll hold the wind-gage if we can.'
Hugh Bolitho said, `Schooner, showing no lights. Under full sail too.' He shut his glass with a snap. `-Bit of luck. He'll be making more din than we are.' He dispensed with conjecture and added shortly, `Bring her up a point, Mr Gloag. I don't want the devil to slip past us. We'll hold the wind-gage if we can.'
Voices passed hushed orders, and cordage squeaked through the sheaves while overhead the big mainsail shivered violently before filling again to the, alteration of course.
Bolitho glanced at the compass as the helmsman said hoarsely, `East by south, sir.'
`Man the larboard battery.' Hugh sounded completely absorbed. `Open the ports.'
Bolitho watched the port lids being hauled open toreveal the glistening mane of water alongside. Avenger was heeling so far over that spray came leaping inboard over the six-pounders and deadly looking swivels.
Normally Bolitho would have felt like the rest of the men around him. Tense, committed, slightly wild at the prospect of a fight. But he could not lose himself this time, and kept thinking of the waggons, the outnumbered escort, the sudden horror of an ambush.
A Tragedy
A light spurted in the darkness, and for an instant he thought some careless seaman had dropped a lantern on the other vessel. Then he heard a distant crack, like a man breaking a nut in his palms, and knew it was a pistol shot. A warning, a signal. Now it did not matter which.
`Put up your helm, Mr Gloag!' Hugh's voice, loud now that caution was pointless, made the men at the tiller start. `Stand by on deck!'
There were more flashes, doing more to reveal the other vessel's size and sail plan than to harm the crouching seamen.
The distance was rapidly falling away, the big sails sweeping the cutter downwind like a bird of prey, and then they saw the schooner rising through the darkness, her canvas in confusion as she tried to change tack and beat clear.
Bolitho watched his brother as he stood by the weather rail, one foot on a bollard, as if he was watching a race.
`As you bear, Mr Truscott! On the uproll!'
A further pause, and across the choppy water Bolitho heard muffled shouts, a vague rasp of metal.
Then, `Fire!'
At a range of less than seventy yards the larboard battery hurled themselves inboard on their tackles, their long orange tongues as blinding as their ex
plosions were deafening. Unlike the heavy artillery
of a ship of the line, or even a frigate, Avenger's little
six-pounders had voices which scraped the insides of
the brain.
Bolitho pictured the effect of the sweeping hail of grape and close-packed canister as it cut into the other vessel's deck. He heard a spar fall, saw splashes alongside the darkened schooner as rigging and perhaps men dropped from the masts like dead fruit.
`Sponge out! Load!'
Hugh Bolitho had drawn his sword, and in the misty starlight it shone in his hand like a piece of thin ice. The same one he had used to settle a matter of honour. Probably many others too, Bolitho thought despairingly.
`Fire!'
Even as the small broadside crashed out again, shaking the hull like a giant fist, a few cracks and flashes showed that the smugglers were not ready to surrender.
Hugh Bolitho yelled, `Stand by to board!' He did not even look round as a man fell kicking on the deck with a musket ball in his neck.
How many times they must have drilled and practised this, Bolitho thought as he dragged out his hanger. The gun crews left their smoking charges and seized up cutlasses and pikes, axes and dirks, while the remainder of the hands threw themselves on sheets and halliards. At the moment of collision between the two hulls, Avenger's sails seemed to vanish like magic, so that with the way off her heavy, downwind plunge she came alongside the other vessel with one heart-stopping lurch.
But stripping off her sails had lessened the chance of dismasting her, likewise she did not rebound away from her adversary, so that as grapnels soared through the darkness and more shots and cries echoed between the hulls, the first boarders swarmed across the bulwark.
Pyke yelled, `Back, lads!'
Even that was like part of a rehearsed dance. As
the cheering boarders threw themselves inboard
again, two swivels exploded from the forecastle,
scything through a crowd of screaming figures who
seconds earlier had been rushing to repel the attack.
Hugh Bolitho pointed his sword. `Now! At 'em,
lads!'
– Then he was up and over, slashing at a man as
he did so, and catching one of his own as he all but fell between the two grinding hulls.
Bolitho ran to the forecastle, waving his hanger to the last party of boarders.
Yelling and cheering like demons they clambered over the gap. One man fell beside Bolitho without a sound, another threw his hand to his face and screamed, the sound ending with a sharp gasp as a boarding pike came out of the darkness and impaled him.
Shoulder to shoulder Bolitho's men advanced along the schooner's deck, while from the cutter alongside the remaining seamen yelled advice and warnings, accompanied by pistol-fire and a few well aimed missiles.
Bolitho felt his shoes slithering on the remains left by the swivels' murderous onslaught. He shut his mind to all else but the faces which loomed and faded before him, the jarring ache of steel as he kept up his guard and probed for weakness in an opponent's defence.
Across the heads and shoulders of the yelling, cursing men he saw his brother's white lapels, heard
his voice as he urged his party forward, separating and dividing the defenders into smaller and smaller groups.
Someone yelled, `That's for Jackie Trillo, you bugger!' A cutlass swung like 'a scythe, almost cutting a man's head from his shoulders.
`Strike! Throw down your arms!'
But a few more were to fall before the cutlasses and pikes clattered on the planking amongst the corpses and groaning wounded.
Then Bolitho saw his brother point his sword at a man by the untended wheel.
`Have your people anchor. If you desist or try to scuttle, I will have you seized up and flogged.' He sheathed his sword. `Then hanged.'
Bolitho hurried to his side. `The whole of Cornwall will have heard this!'
Hugh did not seem to be listening. `Not Frenchies as I suspected. They sound like Colonists.' He turned abruptly and nodded. `Yes, I agree. We will leave the prize anchored here, under guard. Have two swivels hoisted across and trained on the prisoners. Then put a petty officer in charge. He'll know how to deal with them. He'd rather die than face me after letting them escape!'
Bolitho followed him, his mind awhirl as he watched his brother's progress. Passing orders, answering questions, his hands moving to emphasize a point or to indicate what he wanted done.
Pyke shouted, `Anchor's down, sir!'
`Good.' Hugh Bolitho strode to the side. `The rest of you, come with me. Mr Gloag! Cast off and get the ship under way, if you please!'
Blocks squeaked, and like rearing spectres the sails rose above the listing, pock-marked schooner.
Reluctantly at first, and then with gathering speed, the Avenger jerked and bumped her way free of the other vessel's side, the sails filling immediately to carry her clear.
`Where to, sir?' Gloag was peering at the sails. `It's a mite more dangerous 'ere.'
`Put a good leadsman in the chains, please. Sounding all the way. We'll anchor in four fathoms
and sway out the boats.' He looked at his brother.
`We'll head inland in two groups and cut the road.'
`Aye, aye, sir.'
Surprisingly, Hugh clapped him on the arm.
`Cheer up, man! A fine prize, full of smuggled booty, I shouldn't wonder, and no more than a few men killed! We can only take one step at a time!'
As the cutter groped her way closer and closer to
the land, the leadsman's dreary chant recorded the growing danger. Eventually, with surf to starboard, and a dark hint of land beyond, they dropped anchor. But for Gloag's anxiety and repeated warnings, Bolitho suspected his brother would have gone even nearer.
Even now, he did not envy Gloag's responsibility. Anchored amidst sand-bars and jagged rocks, without sufficient hands to work her clear if the wind rose again, he would be hard put to stop Avenger dragging and being pushed ashore.
If Hugh Bolitho was also conscious of it he concealed his fears well.
The two boats were lowered, and taking all but a handful of men, they headed for the nearest beach. The boats were filled to the gunwales, and each man was armed to the teeth.
But as the oars rose and fell, and the land thrust out to enfold them, Bolitho could feel the emptiness. The sounds of gunfire would have been enough. The people who had been making the signals, and any others involved, would be in their cottages by now, or galloping to some hiding-place as fast as they could manage.
Once assembled on the small beach, with the sea pushing and then receding noisily through the rocks, Hugh said, `We will divide here, Richard. I'll take the right side, you the left. Anybody who fails to stop when challenged will be fired on.' He nodded to -his men. `Lead on.'
In two long files the sailors started up the slope from the beach, at first expecting a shot or two, and then finally accepting that they were alone.
Bolitho crossed the narrow coast road, the wind whipping around his legs, as his men hurried out on either side. The waggons might be safe. Could already have passed on their way. There were certainly no wheel tracks to mark where the heavily loaded waggons had gone by.
The seaman named Robins held up his hand. `Sir!' Bolitho hurried to his side. `Someone's comin'!'
The seamen scattered and vanished on either side of the rough track, and Bolitho heard the soft click of metal as they cocked their weapons in readiness.
Robins and Bolitho remained very still beside a wind-twisted bush.
The seaman said softly, `Just th' one, sir. Drunk, by th' sound of it.' He grinned. `Not been as busy as th' rest of us!' His grin froze as they heard a man sobbing and gasping with pain.
Then they saw him reeling back and forth across the road, almost falling in his pitiful efforts to hurry. No wonder Robins had thought him drunk.
Robins exclaimed, `Oh God, sir! It's one of our lads! It's Billy Snow!'
Before Bolitho could stop him he ran towards the lurching figure and caught him in his arms.
`What is it, Billy?'
The man swayed and gasped, `Where was you, Tom? Where was you?'
Bolitho and some of the others helped Robins to lay the man down. How he had got this far was a miracle. He was cut and bleeding from several wounds and his clothing was sodden with blood.
As they tried to cover his injuries, Snow said in a small voice, `We was doin' very well, sir, an' then we sees the soldiers, comin' down the road like a cavalry charge!'
He whimpered, and someone said harshly, `Easy with that wound, Tom V
Snow muttered vaguely, `Some of the lads gave a huzza, just for a joke, like, an' young Mr Dancer went on ahead to greet them.'
Bolitho stooped lower, feeling the man's despair, the nearness of death.
`Then, an' then…'
Bolitho touched his shoulder. `Easy now. Take your time.'
`Aye, sir.' In the strange star-glow his face looked like wax, and his eyes were tightly shut. He tried again. `They rode straight amongst us, hackin' an' slashin', not givin' us a chance. It was all done in a minute.'
He coughed, and Robins whispered huskily, ''E's goin', sir.'
Bolitho asked, `What about the others?'
The head jerked painfully. Like a puppet's. `Back there. Up th' road. All dead, I think, though some ran towards the sea.'
Bolitho turned away, his eyes smarting. Sailors would run towards the sea. Feeling betrayed and lost, it was all they knew.
"E's dead, sir.'
They all stood round looking at the dead man. Where had he been going? What had he hoped to do in his last moments?
`The cap'n's comin', sir.'
Hugh Bolitho, with his men at his back, came out of the darkness, so that the road seemed suddenly crowded. They all looked at the corpse.
`So we were too late.' Hugh Bolitho bent over the dead man. `Snow. A good hand.' He straightened up and added abruptly, `Better get it over with.' He walked down the middle of the road, straightbacked. Completely alone.
It did not take long to find the others. They were scattered over the road, the rocky slope beyond, or apparently hurled bodily over the edge on to the hillside.
There was blood everywhere, and as the seamen
lit their lanterns the dead eyes lit up in the gloom as if to follow their efforts, to curse them for their betrayal.
The waggons and the escort's own weapons had all gone. Not ail the men were there who should have been, and Bolitho guessed they had either fled into the darkness or been taken prisoners for some terrible reason. And this was Cornwall. His own home. No more than fifteen miles from Falmouth. On this wild coastline it could just as easily have been a hundred.
A man Bolitho recognized as Mumford, a boatswain's mate came from the roadside. He held out a cocked hat and said awkwardly, `I think this is Mr Dancer's, sir.'
Bolitho took it and felt it. It was cold and wet.
A cry brought more men running as a wounded seaman was found hiding in a fold of rocks above the road.
Bolitho went to see if he could help and then stopped, frozen in his tracks. As Robins held up his lantern to assist the others with the wounded and barely conscious man, he saw something pale through the wet grass.
Robins said fiercely, "Ere, sir, I'll look.'
They clambered up the slippery grass together, the lantern's beam shining feebly on a sprawled body.
It was the fair hair Bolitho had seen, but now that he was nearer he could see the blood mingling with it as well.
`Stay here.'
He took the lantern and ran the rest of the way.
Gripping the blue coat he turned the body over, so that the dead eyes seemed to stare at him with sudden anger.
He released his grip, ashamed of his relief. It was not Dancer, but a dead revenue man, cut down as he had tried to escape the slaughter.
He heard Robins ask, `All right, sir?'
He controlled the nausea and nodded. `Give me a hand -with this poor fellow.'
Hours later, dispirited and worn out, they reassembled on the beach in the first grey light of dawn.
Seven more survivors had been found, or had emerged from various hiding places at the sound of their voices. Martyn Dancer was not one of them.
As he climbed aboard the cutter Gloag said gruffly, 'If 'e's alive, then there's 'ope, Mr Bolitho.'
Bolitho watched the jolly boat pulling ashore again, Peploe, the sailmaker, and his mate sitting grimly in the sternsheets, going to sew up the corpses for burial.
There would be hell to pay for this night's work, Bolitho thought wretchedly. He thought of the fairheaded corpse, the sick despair giving way to hope as he realized it was not his friend.
But now as he watched the bleak shoreline, the small figures on the beach, he felt there was not much hope either.
8. Voice in the Dark
Harriet Bolitho entered the room, her velvet gown noiseless against the door. For a few seconds she stood watching her son silhouetted against the fire, his hands outstretched towards the flames. Nearby, her youngest daughter Nancy sat on a rug, her knees drawn up to her chin as she watched him, as if willing him to speak.