Bolitho walked slowly along the weed-encrusted stonework. Fourteen men including himself. One with a broken arm, and one already half delirious from a ball in his shoulder. Farquhar looked as if he might fall unconscious, too.

He tried to push the bitterness and suspicion to the back of his mind. That would keep. Right now he had to get these men to safety. No doubt the rest of the raiding party was already embarked in the lugger. He suddenly felt calmer. Whatever else happened, he had succeeded in his work. Two transports destroyed and a valuable sloop with them. And without a battery Mola Island would be useless to the French and their allies for a long while to come.

Stockdale called throatily. “The second longboat, sir! It’ll still be tied to the jetty where we left it!”

Bolitho scrambled across the wet stones and stared down at the remaining boat. It was not much of a craft. Patched and well used, and with only four oars and a mere scrap of canvas furled around the mast for every purpose. But no doubt the garrison had only used it for visiting the ships in harbour.

He said grimly, “Get them aboard, Stockdale. We’ll have to make the best of it.”

A ray of yellow sunlight lanced suddenly across the headland and glittered in the deep water. Without effort Bolitho could see the gleaming barrel of one of the battery’s cannon almost below the swinging boat. A few feet this way and there would be no way out at all!

“Four of you man the oars! The rest of you take turns in baling and keeping a sharp lookout!”

Belsey struggled into a sitting position and then peered at his splintered arm. The limb was tightly wrapped in an assortment of rags and strips of clothing, and stuck out in front of him like a club. He shook his head. “Gawd! If I ever use this flipper agin I’ll be surprised!”

“Shove off! Give way together!” Bolitho squatted on the gunwale and pushed the tiller hard over. As the boat moved swiftly with the current he stared up the blackened crest of the headland and wondered what had happened in those last minutes before Farquhar had been flung to almost certain death.

Farquhar moved weakly against the boat’s side and snapped, “Pull lively, Robinson! I’ll flay you alive if you don’t do your share!”

In spite of his misery Bolitho smiled to himself. Farquhar’s experiences had not softened his attitude to duty.

The oars rose and fell steadily, and the boat moved further and further from the jutting headland with its attendant pall of drifting smoke.

A man in the bows spoke Bolitho’s thoughts for him, and for once he could find no words to rebuke him. The sailor stared back along the labouring men and snarled, “Gone! Look round, lads! The bloody ship’s gone without us!”

Farquhar said bitterly, “She must have gone around the island, sir. We’ll never catch her now.”