and Stockdale further still.
Bolitho shouted hoarsely, 'You shoot and I will kill you!'
The man's eyes did not even flicker, and Bolitho knew he was going to fire, he could even see the trigger starting to give under his finger.
A figure bounded over a pile of tangled sails and threw himself between the pistol and the stricken Couzens, so that the shot was almost muffled.
Bolitho ran and caught Quinn as he fell. He did not see Stockdale's big cutlass swing, but heard just a sharp grunt as the other man died.
Bolitho held Quinn and lowered him to the deck. He knew he was dying and there was nothing he could do. The ball had entered his stomach and there was blood everywhere.
Quinn gasped, 'Sorry… to… leave… you… sir.'
Bolitho held him firmly, knowing Stockdale was guarding his back and that Couzens was kneeling on the deck beside him sobbing uncontrollably.
'Dick,' he said. 'Remember, eh?'
He felt near to tears himself. What made it worse, if that were possible, was the cheering. Aft, in another world, his jubilant sailors and the released captives were hauling down the flag, watched by the Revenge's captain who had been badly wounded in the last charge.
Bolitho said quietly, 'We won, James. It's done.'
Quinn smiled, his eyes looking up through the torn rigging and sails.
'You did.'
He was finding it difficult to speak and his skin looked like damp wax. Bolitho unbuttoned his shirt, seeing the great, cruel scar from Quinn's first battle.
With his free hand he loosened his cross-belt and said gently, 'And you were supposed to be a passenger. But for you, young Couzens would be dead. I'll see they know about it in England. About your courage.'
Quinn's eyes shifted to Bolitho's face. 'I'm not afraid any more,' he coughed and some blood ran down his chin, 'Dick.'
Bolitho was about to speak when he saw the light go from Quinn's eyes. Like a candle being snuffed out.
Very carefully he lowered Quinn's shoulders to the deck and then stood up.
Stockdale touched his elbow. 'Be easy, sir. The people are watchin'.'
Bolitho nodded, his eyes almost blind with strain and emotion. 'Thank- you. Yes.'
He faced the weary but triumphant seamen. It had been a near thing. But these men had done as well as anyone could. They deserved every last effort, no matter how he was feeling.
He said quietly, `That was well done. For a company so small, there could be none so gallant.'
Three days later the two prizes sailed into English Harbour under the eyes of the whole squadron.
It had been a hard three days. Repairing damage just enough to carry them to Antigua, selecting the released prisoners and sharing them between the two brigs.
It should have been a proud moment for Bolitho, but the sadness of Quinn's death was still with him when the look-out reported land in sight.
He had taken command of the Revenge, and one of the first jobs he had ordered after rigging the jury-mast, and burying the dead of both sides, had been the removal of her new name, beneath which Jonas Tracy had painted the favoured motto, DON'T TREAD ON ME, with the serpent insignia for good measure.
As the land had grown out of the sea haze, and the two brigs had tacked carefully towards the harbour, a patrolling frigate had run down on them to investigate.
Couzens had called, 'What shall I tell them, sir?'
Stockdale had looked at Bolitho's features and had thought he had understood.
He had said, 'I'll do it, Mr Couzens.'
Then he had cupped his big hands and had shouted across for all to hear,
'His Majesty's brig Mischief is rejoining the fleet!' It had been a very special moment for him as he had added, 'Lieutenant Richard Bolitho, in command!'
