the enemy tried to force the entrance.
Sunlight ran down the slopes and laid bare the water at the harbour mouth. Bolitho trained his glass again and saw the guard-boat moving slowly below the land, a midshipman in the stern-sheets, probably enjoying his own freedom of command.
Lemoine said, 'There she is, sir!'
The ship appeared around the headland, sails emptying and then refilling instantly as she changed tack. She was a large vessel, and Lemoine said, 'Indiaman, sir, I know her, she's the Royal James and was in Antigua several months back.'
Men were leaning through the gun embrasures, and others ran along the jetty below to see what was happening.
Bolitho made up his mind. 'I'm returning to the flagship, Mr Lemoine. You know what to do here.' He was halfway down the stairs before the lieutenant had time to reply.
The bargemen came to life, and Allday jumped to his feet as Bolitho appeared half-running through the gate.
'To the ship, Allday.'
He ignored their startled glances and tried to discover what was troubling him. The Indiaman should be able to reach safety unless her pursuers gained a lucky hit and brought down a vital spar or two. But with this powerful south-east wind the other ships would soon have to stand away from a lee shore or face the havoc of the guns. In broad daylight Crocker could not miss.
The oars rose and fell, and with each powerful stroke the barge seemed to fly across the water as if eager to lift over it.
Bolitho seized Allday's arm. 'Alter course! Steer for the headland!' When Allday hesitated he shook it and shouted, 'I must be blind! Lemoine told me without knowing it. This is a very holy day!'
Allday swung the tiller so that the barge heeled over, but not a man aboard missed his stroke.
'Aye, if you says so, sir.'
He thinks I'm mad. Bolitho said urgently, 'And yet on this St Damiano's Day there was not a single movement from the mission!'
Allday stared at him blankly.
Bolitho looked around for the guard-boat but it was too close inshore, near the entrance, and every eye would be watching and waiting for the Royal James to burst into view round the point.
Bolitho banged his hands together. I should have seen it.
'Are the men armed?'
Allday nodded, his eyes slitted against the early sunlight.
'Aye, sir, cutlasses and three pistols.'
He darted a glance at Bolitho's face, knowing something was about to happen, yet held back from asking in front of the bargemen.
'It will have to suffice.' Bolitho pointed at a tiny patch of sand. 'Beach her there.'
As the bargemen tossed their oars and the boat glided into the protection of a high slope of land it seemed suddenly peaceful.
'Clear the boat.' Bolitho climbed over the side and felt the sea tugging at his legs as he waded ashore. Cutlasses and three pistols against what? He said, 'Send a man to fetch the patrol from the point. Tell him to stay out of sight.'
Allday watched him anxiously. 'Is it an attack, sir?'
Bolitho took one of the pistols and then picked up a heavy cutlass from the pile of weapons on the beach. Now, of all times, he had come ashore unarmed.
'The mission. I feel there is something wrong.'
The men gathered up their weapons and followed him obediently up the steep slope and across the long piece of headland.
The wind was quite strong, and Bolitho felt the sand whipping from the tough gorse and scrub which always looked so inviting from seaward.
He saw the huddled buildings of the mission on the little islet, the deserted beach, the air of utter desolation. Not even any smoke to betray a fire or sign of life.
He heard far-off cheering, the voices thinned by the wind, like children at play. He paused and looked across the harbour entrance and the old fortress with the flag curling above it. The shouts were most likely from the guard- boat as the big Indiaman suddenly loomed above the headland and headed towards safety.
There was a large boat towing astern, but other than that few hands on deck to shorten sail once the ship had reached the anchorage. At that moment he saw the guard-boat sweep into view, the midshipman raising a speaking-trumpet to his lips as he shouted at the incoming ship.
Bolitho tore his eyes away and looked at his handful of seamen. Keen and the others could take care of the Royal James now. He had seen the raked sails of a frigate rounding -to as she stood away from the land as her quarry slipped beneath the fortress battery.
Allday said, 'The boats have gone, sir.'
Bolitho stared at the little islet. It was true. The fishing boats had vanished. Perhaps that was the simple explanation for it. The monks or missionaries had gone fishing. Food must often come before prayer.
'Look, sir!'
Allday's cry made him turn towards the nearest line of rocks. They were no longer deserted but alive with scrambling, running figures, the sunlight glittering on swords and bayonets.
'Soldiers!' Allday raised a pistol, his chest heaving with alarm. 'A hundred o' the buggers at least!'
There were a few shots, distant and without menace until the balls whined overhead or smacked into the hard sand.
'Take cover!'
Bolitho saw the bargeman with two marines from a patrol running along the edge of the land. One fell instantly, and the others vanished from sight.
Then there was a muffled explosion. It was more of a feeling than a sound. As if all the air had been sucked from your lungs.
As Bolitho rolled on to his side and looked back to where they had left the barge he saw the Royal James give a great convulsion. Then every gun-port along her side burst open, but instead of muzzles he saw searing tongues of flame shooting out, then leaping above to lick and consume sails and spars with terrifying speed. The boat which had been towing astern had cast off and was being rowed back towards the entrance.
Allday whispered, 'A fire-ship!'
Bolitho saw his eyes gleam in the growing wall of fire, could even feel the heat across the water like an open furnace as the wind fanned the towering flames and drove the abandoned ship unerringly up the harbour. Straight for the moored Achates.
More shots ripped above the headland, and Bolitho heard the yells of the oncoming soldiers.
Without Achates there was no hope, no protection, and the fortress battery had guarded her killer from destruction.
Allday peered at him, his eyes wild. 'Fight, sir?'
Bolitho hung back. Was that all there was to it? To die here on this desolate place for nothing? Then he recalled the drummer-boy as he had covered his face.
He stood up and balanced the heavy blade in his hand.
'Aye, fight!'
On either side of him the bargemen stood up and shook their cutlasses.
Bolitho tried to shut out the terrible roar of flames and fired his pistol at the line of soldiers. There was no time to reload. There was no time for anything.
He bounded across some loose stones and hacked aside a man's sword with such force that he fell headlong down the slope.
The clash of steel on steel and a few haphazard shots, it was less then enough. Bolitho felt figures pressing around him, staring eyes, teeth bared in hate or desperation, as the overwhelming number of soldiers drove them back towards the water. He slashed out with all his strength and saw a man's face open from ear to chin, felt his
