Okes found McIntosh already squatting on one side of the bridge, craning his head to peer down at one of the massive wooden trestles.

“Ready?” Okes could hardly stop himself from shouting. “Well, are you?”

McIntosh nodded. “Aye, aye, sir. A two-minute fuse. And a four-minute fuse to the magazine.” He rubbed his hard hands. “Mr Farquhar is waiting atop the battery to light it as soon as the cap’n gets back.”

Okes swayed and then controlled himself, “Wait here!” He started to run again, and as soon as he had reached the outskirts of the battery he blew his whistle and yelled, “Clear the headland! Fall back there!”

Startled, the seamen gathered up their weapons and began to hurry towards the bridge. Most of them had seen the approaching soldiers and needed no second order.

A petty officer, his face stained with dirt and smoke, strode across to the panting lieutenant. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir! The cap’n ain’t come yet!”

“Yes, yes, I know that!” Okes glared at him glass-ily.

“You go with the others and get them across the bridge. Wait for me there, and be ready to move!” He peered through the smoke. “Where is Mr Farquhar?”

The man shrugged. “Gone down the steps, sir. He said he’d get a better chance of seeing through the smoke from there.”

Okes strode to the battery wall and leaned against it for support. With the sailors gone and the gunports unoccupied and empty the place seemed strangely dead. He made himself walk to the top of the steps. There was no sign of Farquhar, of anybody in fact.

There was a fresh burst of firing, intermingled with wild cheering, and his limbs started to move as if he had already lost control of them. He walked to the open door of the magazine and stared for several seconds at the waiting fuse and the smouldering slow match beside it. It was not his fault, he told himself. There was nothing else he could do. He sank to his knees, his eyes filled with the fuse and the mental picture of Bolitho hurrying away towards the anchored sloop.

Damn them! Damn them all! He had to steady his wrist with his other hand as he took the match and held it against the fuse.

He felt the nausea hard in his throat as he staggered to his feet and ran quickly towards the bridge.

McIntosh stared up at him, his eyes uncomprehending.

“Light it, you fool!” Okes was already halfway across the bridge. “Or stay there and go up with the magazine!”

McIntosh fired the fuse and scrambled on to the bridge. He caught Okes up around the curve in the road and gasped, “Where’s Mr Farquhar, sir? An’ what happened to the captain?”

Okes snarled, “Back to the beach! All of you!” To McIntosh he added, “All dead! Like you’ll be if the French catch you!”

There was a thunderous roar, followed almost immediately by a second, sharper explosion. The force of the detonations seemed to quell the musket fire and distant shouts, so that the whole island appeared to be stunned by the noise.