Belsey nodded and rubbed his chin. “Aye, sir! The tide’s a-comin’ in!” He stooped and dipped his arm underwater along the edge of the steps. “I can feel no weed ’ere, sir. It must be well on the make.”

“It is.” Bolitho squinted his eyes in concentration. “We’ll go for the sloop there. There’ll not be much of a watch kept. They’ll think themselves safe enough below the battery. I know I would!”

Belsey nodded doubtfully. “An’ then, sir?” He sounded as if he would accept anything now.

“We’ll set fire to her and let her drift into the nearest troop transport. She’ll burn like dry grass!”

The master’s mate bared his teeth. “That’ll raise the alarm well enough, sir!”

Bolitho laughed shortly. “You can’t get everything without payment!”

He clambered over his men and into the sternsheets. “Get those oars muffled and be sharp about it! Use your shirts, anything!” He glanced quickly at the stars. Was it imagination, or were they paler than the last time he had looked? He snapped, “Shove off! And pull handsomely!”

The oars rose and fell, the men holding their breaths as the boat sidled clear of the cliffs. The current gurgled impatiently around the counter and sent the hull swinging crazily into the mainstream.

Bolitho laid his hand on Stockdale’s arm. “Let her run. The tide is an ally tonight.”

He could see the sloop clear across the longboat’s bow now, her slender bowsprit pointing directly above his head. He whispered, “Easy, lads! Easy!” He could see a lantern aft by the taffrail and another small glow beside the foremast. That was probably the crew’s hatch left open because of the warm night.

“Boat your oars!” He gritted his teeth as the heavy oars were laid carefully across the thwarts. Every sound seemed like a thunderclap. “Steer with the current, Stockdale.” He leaned forward. “You, in the bow! Have a grapnel ready!” To himself he added, “The noise won’t matter once we get aboard!”

“Sir!” The stroke oar was pointing wildly. “Look, sir! A guard-boat!”

Bolitho cursed himself for his over-confidence. When he swung his head he saw the white splash of oars and heard the creak of rowlocks barely twenty yards away.

There were gasps of surprise from some of his men, but Bolitho said harshly, “Now, bowman! The grapnel!”

The longboat swung clumsily across the sloop’s stem even as the pronged grapnel soared up and bit into the bulwark.

Everything seemed to be happening at once. There were shouts and cries from the prowling guard-boat, followed by a ragged volley of musket shots. The stroke oarsman beside Bolitho screamed and fell writhing over the gunwale, his arms thrashing as he vanished below the dark water. Bullets thudded into the boat and into the sloop’s side beyond.

The men faltered as a face appeared overhead and the longboat was briefly lit in the angry flash of a pistol. Belsey ducked and swore savagely, and another man fell whimpering, blood gushing from his shoulder.