Run Them Ashore Read Free Page B

it was hard to know how much time was passing. Williams promised himself once again that as soon as he had the money he would purchase a good watch, although even that would do nothing to hurry the sergeant along and perhaps it would only make him nervous to see the hands moving. He shook off his pack and strapped the telescope in place before slipping it back on. It was awkward, but they were going to have to move in a hurry and he did not want to risk losing it. Then he checked his pistol, flicking open the pan and feeling the priming. There was very little left and he was afraid some of the grains he touched would be sand instead of powder.
    ‘May I trouble you for the loan of a cartridge,’ he said.
    Clegg looked surprised. ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ he responded through habit, and fished into his pouch to hand one over.
    Williams bit off the end, spitting out the ball, which would be too large for the barrel even if his pistol was unloaded, and sprinkled some of the loose powder into the pan before closing it. Following his example, the sailor made sure of his firelock.
    There was no sign of Dobson, and the French were getting closer. Now and again the wind carried the sounds of hoofbeats on the road and the bump and rattle of men and equipment. They waited, and still the rise behind and a little below them was empty. The cavalry came on, individual horsemen distinct now from the darker mass. The next strong gust carried with it a hint of old leather and horse sweat.
    The French were close, the advance piquet of four riders no more than three hundred yards away, turning the bend which led towards the hillock. Williams glanced back. The rise remained bare and he wondered whether his message had been ignored or overruled. It was too late now, and so he must try to gain any time he could.
    ‘Clegg,’ he whispered. ‘We will take a shot at the French in the hope of confusing them and slowing them down. I want you to wait until I fire before you pull the trigger. After that, we both run like rabbits. Keep to the slopes of the dunes.’ Williams hoped that the sand would be too soft for the horses to follow. ‘You understand?’
    The sailor nodded. He was pale, but that could easily have been just the moonlight, and he looked to be a steady fellow.
    Williams pulled the hammer of his pistol back to cock it and Clegg did the same. The French were close now, and he was surprised that they kept at a trot and simply rode along, apparently unconcerned that the road went between hills and offered so many good places for an ambush. Perhaps they did not expect any trouble from the serranos so close to the sea, and then Williams wondered whether the cavalry simply preferred to rush through ground where it was difficult for them to fight. Ifthat was so, then he might be doing precisely the wrong thing and would only force them to hurry even faster towards his friends. Doubting his judgement and not knowing whether or not the marines were coming to support him, Williams considered whether it was better simply to slip away and hope that the main party had got clear.
    The piquet kept coming, little more than a hundred yards away and the main body a musket shot beyond that. If they kept at this pace then they would still probably catch the others, and so he had to try the only thing that might stop them. Williams decided and closed his eyes.
    ‘Now!’ he said, and pulled the trigger. It was an absurd range for a pistol at any time, let alone in the dark, but he still saw the burst of flame as a yellow blur through his eyelids and then Clegg’s musket went off with a deeper boom and an even bigger flare. ‘Run!’ he shouted, without bothering to see whether either shot had struck home. There were shouts from the road, and the crack of carbines as the piquet replied.
    The two men sprang up and fled, running as best they could through the thick clumps of grass and then skidding, almost falling, down the soft sand of the slope. There were