Okes looked back at the island, at the smoke, and the vague outline of the headland battery. It was over.

The lugger was to be abandoned after the raid, so Okes had it laid alongside the Phalarope, where many hands reached down for the wounded and the silent victors.

Captain Rennie stood aside to allow Okes to climb up the frigate’s side. He said, “After you, Mr Okes. I’d not want to spoil your entrance this morning!”

Okes stared at him, his mouth hanging open to reply. Then he saw the cold hostility in Rennie’s eyes and decided against it. He must expect jealousy, he told himself firmly. He must be prepared to deal with it.

He reached for the mainchains and swung himself up and over the frigate’s side. For a moment longer he stared around the familiar deck. He had survived.

9

DEFEAT

BOLITHO did not actually remember hearing the exploding magazine. It was more like a sensation, or the ending of a nightmarish dream when a man awakes even more afraid of the waiting reality. He recalled sitting in the stern of the crowded and half-swamped boat, staring back at the hissing, writhing water where the transport had made her last dive to the bottom. His eyes ached from the blaze, and were now dulled by the ship’s sudden disappearance and the shadow which reached across the high-sided anchorage to hide the pain and terror beneath.

His men were laughing and chattering with relief and excitement, but as Bolitho turned back to search for the treacherous rock-falls at the foot of the cliff the whole world seemed to explode in one gigantic tremor. Rocks rained down into the water, and as the men pulled desperately at the oars one large piece of splintered stone struck the stem like a hammer, and Bolitho staggered to his feet as the sea surged jubilantly into the listing boat.

It seemed as if the bombardment from above would never cease. He saw one man swept underwater by a complete section of cliff even as he tried to scramble up on to the rocks. Belsey, the master’s mate, fell cursing into deep water, and when Stockdale heaved him bodily up on to the rocks he yelled in anguish, “Me arm! God, me arm’s broken!”

Bolitho’s dazed thoughts were slowly returning to normal, and as he called encouragement to his half-drowned men his mind rebelled against what he knew to be true. Someone had fired the magazine without waiting for him and his party. He could find only small gratitude for the fact that had his boat returned minutes earlier they would have all been blasted skyward with the magazine and the battery.

He called, “Follow me, lads! We’ll climb along the water’s edge on these rocks. The tide’s dropping, so we should be able to reach the steps well enough.” He groped his way forward, knowing that they would follow. There was no choice. At the far end of the anchorage he could hear the frantic cries and the urgent notes of a trumpet. The French were too busy saving their own to care about the raiding party. But it would not last. Then the vengeance would be swift and final.