In his satchel, he carried his last silk map, provisions, his canteen, pistol, shaving kit, and the few personal items that had survived the drenching when he’d jumped overboard in June. And not one item to remind him of Ivy. Not one item to point to her in case he was captured.
“Are you ready?” Bill asked the men.
“Yes, sir.” Gerrit swigged down the last of his tea.
The young lady who had served tea knelt beside Charlie and wiped his forehead. She gave Gerrit a worried look. “Will he be all right?”
Only the Lord knew the answer, and Gerrit gave her a small smile. “We’ll do our best to get him to France. Thank you for your help.”
“Wear this.” Jack removed a black knit cap from his thick swatch of black hair, and he handed it to Gerrit with a glare. “Your hair’s so bright, you’ll get us all shot.”
“Thank you.” Gerrit pulled it down over his hair and looped the strap of his duffel crosswise over his body.
“I want it back.”
Gerrit raised a bit of a smile. “As soon as we’re out of range of the German guns.”
“Godspeed.” Bill shook hands all around, and he waved in a group of men, ranging from youth to middle age.
Some of the men lifted the boat, and others carried a large wooden sled used to maneuver boats down the seawall. Gerrit lifted one end of Charlie’s stretcher and Jack the other.
With Bernardus following on his crutch, the company maneuvered the boat, sled, and stretcher out of the barn into the inky night.
About thirty meters to the east, they reached a concrete walkway along the shore. A seawall built of stone sloped four meters down to the beach at a steep angle. Light waves lapped at the sand.
Gerrit peered into the night. Grouville Bay made a gentle curve between La Rocque at the southeastern corner of Jersey and Gorey. At Gorey stood the medieval Mont Orgueil Castle with its modern German weaponry.
“Clear,” Bernardus said in a low voice.
Gerrit nodded. He saw no patrols.
With practiced efficiency, the helpers set the sled at a shallow angle from the top of the seawall down to the beach, spanning the narrow band of rocks rimming the shoreline. Then they guided the boat down the sled.
An ingenious method. With great care, Gerrit and Jack walked the stretcher down the sled and rested the stretcher inside the boat.
Gerrit stashed his satchel in the boat and tucked the blankets around Charlie. “Ready?”
Charlie nodded and shivered. “So cold.”
The sooner they got him to France, the better.
While Gerrit, Bernardus, and Jack removed shoes and socks, set them in the boat, and rolled their trousers above the knee, the helpers and their sled disappeared up the seawall.
It was time.
Jack took the bow of the boat, and Gerrit and Bernardus took the stern.
“One last look,” Bernardus said in a low voice.
Gerrit squinted around the bay and listened hard, but no motion or sounds caught his attention. “Clear.”
“Let’s go.” Jack splashed into the light surf and climbed into the bow. Gerrit and Bernardus pushed the boat knee-deep into the chilly water and boarded one at a time.
A small wave raised the boat, and Gerrit and Bernardus shoved off with the oars.
Once free, Gerrit passed his oar to Jack, and Jack and Bernardus—the strongest two of the men—set the oars in the rowlocks and rowed hard.
Gerrit would have his turn at the oars, but for now he’d man the tiller and serve as sentry. He crouched in the stern by Charlie’s head and held the tiller firm. In his breast pocket, he had a compass to use after the moon rose. The Cotentin Peninsula lay fifteen miles to the east, and they had the tide in their favor. And a few more minutes of darkness.
