Okes ran up to him, his sword held across his body like a shield. “What now, sir?”

Bolitho glanced at the stars. “It will be getting light in two hours. By that time I want every gun either spiked or pushed over the edge of the cliff. The latter if at all possible. The last thing will be to blow the magazine.”

Farquhar nodded. “I have put my men to work with handspikes already. I think all the guns will go over the edge well enough, sir.”

“Very well.” Bolitho watched Okes’s quick breathing. “You take charge of the bridge and deal with that, Mr Okes. Seize anyone who comes down the road, although I imagine it would take an eager spy to get past Rennie’s pickets!”

Belsey, the master’s mate, said, “I’ve found the cliff path, sir. It leads right down to the sea. There are two longboats moored at the foot.” He waited. “Shall I carry on, sir? I got my men ready.”

Bolitho nodded and watched the man lope away. Belsey had already shown he was well able to manage his part in the proceedings.

He walked back past the hut and then said sharply, “Get those men out of there. There’s a lot to be done yet!” The sharpness of his tone was more to cover his disgust than his anger. He had seen three of his men gleefully stripping the butchered corpses and crowing together like ghouls at a sacrifice.

He continued quietly, “Get everything ready, Mr Okes, but don’t pull back until I give the signal. If I fall, then you must take command and use your own discretion.” He tapped the ground with his sword. “But the guns must be destroyed and the battery blown, no matter what else is happening. Have a good fuse put on the bridge, and make sure the men know what they are doing.” He clapped Okes across the shoulder, and the man all but fell to his knees. “It has been well worth our visit, Mr Okes! Those two troopships alone could carry enough men to storm Antigua itself if necessary!”

Bolitho walked quickly towards the edge of the cliff where Stockdale waited for him, leaning on his cutlass. He paused and looked back. He felt a sudden surge of pride at the way things had gone so far. Men were working busily in the darkness, and already one of the giant guns had been trundled clear of its mounting. He could see Farquhar and McIntosh stooping over the box of fuses, entirely absorbed in their work of destruction, and other men loading their muskets and watching the captured bridge.

He turned on his heel and followed Stockdale down the steep, roughly hewn steps. If only he could enlarge this feeling of pride and purpose to the rest of the Phalarope’s company, he thought. It could be done. He had shown these men how it could be done.

It was dark and very cold at the foot of the steps, and he saw the small group of armed seamen already squatting in one of the longboats. He said to Belsey, “Mark how the nearest ship swings at her anchor, Belsey!” He pointed at the small sloop which was riding less than two cables from the crude jetty below the cliff. Her stern was pointing towards the centre of the anchorage, her bowsprit towards the narrow span of water between the headlands.