Run Them Ashore Read Online Free

more shouts and the sound of hoofs pounding on the paving stones. Another carbine fired and Williams heard the ball snap through the air only a foot or so over his head.
    ‘Come on,’ he called, swerving to run along the side of the ridge. The barefoot Clegg took no urging and sped ahead of him, his shoeless feet gripping better than the smooth leather soles of the officer’s boots. Williams felt himself slipping, and his left side dropped down on to the ground. He was sliding, rolling on to his back, until one foot hit a rock and, dropping his pistol, he managed to take hold of some grass. Looking back he saw several French horsemen on the road at the top of the little ravine. The night was shattered by another sharp crack as a carbine flared, and a ball twitched the grass he was holding. Williams instinctively let go and started sliding again, free of the rock until one bootcaught in a loop of grass and held him. He struggled free and managed to get to his knees.
    One of the cavalrymen was walking his horse into the mouth of the little ravine. The others were behind, loading their carbines. Beyond them a clatter of hoofs announced the arrival of the head of the column. Someone was shouting orders in a clear voice.
    Williams pushed himself up and managed to stand, right leg half bent to balance on the slope. The horseman was coming closer, calming his horse when one of its feet slipped for a moment. He was a hussar with his round-topped shako at a jaunty angle, and his fur-lined pelisse draped over his left shoulder. The man had clipped his carbine back on his belt and now drew his curved sabre, the blade glinting in the moonlight.
    ‘Hey, coquin ,’ he said, urging his horse on. The animal slipped a little, dropping one shoulder, but again the hussar calmed it and came on.
    Williams drew his sword and took guard, nearly losing his own balance before he recovered. The Frenchman stopped for a moment and smiled. Then he raised his sabre in salute, kissing the blade and at the same moment kicking his mare into a trot.
    A volley of musketry split the night air as the hilltop above them erupted in flame and noise. There were cries and the scream of a horse from the road, and either this or the shots made the mare flick up its head. It stumbled, sand slipping away from under its hoofs, and then animal and rider were both falling, rolling down the slope.
    Williams turned and ran, trying to bound on before his boots really sank down and started to slide. It did not quite work and he zigzagged along the side of the ridge, but at least Dobson had arrived in time to confuse the enemy. He saw Clegg waiting for him.
    ‘Back to the boats, lad!’ he shouted. ‘Tell them we are coming!’
    A second volley came, a little more ragged than the first, and Williams could not understand how the marines could possibly have reloaded so quickly. He ran on and now men were spillingdown from the hilltop, marines in white cross-belts and with the tall brimmed hats worn by these maritime soldiers.
    ‘Well done, Dob!’ Williams yelled, and then used all his strength to go faster and get past the deluge of redcoats before they swept him away. He did not see his sergeant and had no time to look for him, but could trust him to get the men back down to the boats.
    ‘Halt!’ came the challenge as he struggled back up to the top of the ridge.
    ‘ Sparrowhawk! ’ he called, cursing himself for not thinking of a password, but hoping that the name of the ship would prove that he was not French.
    ‘Here, sir!’ A man in a marine’s uniform beckoned to him, and when he got closer Williams saw the two white chevrons on his right sleeve.
    ‘Ah, Corporal Milne.’
    The corporal saluted. ‘Good to see you, sir.’ If anything Williams had the impression that the Royal Marines were more formal than soldiers from a line regiment. Milne’s six men were kneeling or lying flat, muskets aimed at the road below them. Each had another firelock beside