"Then we weigh anchor."

"In this squall?" Mewes' voice was incredulous. "We can't put on any canvas now. It'd be ripped off the yards."

"We've got to. The Roundheads are already moving on Bridgetown. We'll try and use those new short sails." Winston urged Morris forward with his pistol, then turned back to Mewes. "Any sign of that African we talked about?"

"I've seen naught of him, and that's a fact." He peered

up the beach, hoping one last cursory check would suffice. Now that the rain had intensified, it was no longer possible to see the hills beyond. "But I did manage to get that Spaniard from Ruyters, the one named Vargas." He laughed. "Though I finally had to convince the ol'

King of the b.u.t.terboxes to see things our way by bringin' over a few of the boys and some muskets."

"Good. He's on board now?"

"Safe as can be. An' happy enough to leave that d.a.m.n'd Dutchman, truth to tell. Claimed he was sick to death of the putrid smell of the Zeelander, now that she's been turned into a slaver."

"Then to h.e.l.l with the African. We can't wait any longer."

"'Tis all to the good, if you want my thinkin'." Mewes reached up and adjusted Morris' helmet, then performed a mock salute. He watched in glee as the English commander's face flushed with rage. "You're not takin' these two d.a.m.n'd Roundheads aboard, are you?"

"d.a.m.n you, sir." Morris ignored Mewes as he glared at Winston, then looked down at the pistol. He had seen a double-barrelled mechanism like this only once before--property of a Spanish diplomat in London, a dandy far more skilled dancing the bourree than managing a weapon. But such a device in the hands of an obvious marksman like Winston; nothing could be more deadly. "There's been quite enough . . ."

"Get in the longboat."

"I'll do no such thing." Morris drew back. "I have no intention of going with you, wherever it is you think you're headed."

"I said get in. If you like it here so much, you can swim back after we weigh anchor." Winston tossed his bundle across the gunwale, seized Morris by his doublet, and sent him sprawling after it. Then he turned to the infantryman. "You get in as well."

Without a word the man clambered over the side. Winston

heaved a deep breath, then took the muskets Katherine was carrying and handed them to Mewes. "Katy, this is the last you're apt to see of Barbados for a long while."

"Please, let's don't talk about it." She seized her wet skirts and began to climb over the side, Winston steadying her with one hand. "I suppose I somehow thought I could have everything. But I guess I've learned differently."

He studied her in confusion for a moment, then turned and surveyed the dark sh.o.r.e one last time. "All right, John, prepare to cast off."

"Aye." Mewes loosened the bow line from its mooring and tossed it into the longboat. Together they shoved the bobbing craft and its pa.s.sengers deeper into the surf.

"What's your name?" Winston motioned the infantryman forward as he lifted himself over the gunwales.

"MacEwen, Yor Worship." He took off his helmet and tossed it onto the boards. His hair was sandy, his face Scottish.

"Then take an oar, MacEwen. And heave to."

"Aye, Sor." The Scotsman ignored Morris' withering glare and quickly took his place.

"You can row too, Colonel." Winston waved the pistol. "Barbados is still a democracy, for at least a few more hours."

Morris said nothing, merely grimaced and reached for an oar.

Katherine laid her cheek against Winston's shoulder and looked wistfully back toward the sh.o.r.e. "Everything we made, the Commonwealth's going to take away now. Everything my father and I, and all the others, worked so hard for together."

He held her against him as they moved out through the surf and across the narrow band of water to the ship. In what seemed only moments the longboat edged beneath the quartergallery and the _Defiance_ was hovering above them.

"John, have the boys drop that short sail and weigh anchor

as soon as we're aboard. This westerly off the coast should get us underway and past the blockade. We'll just keep her close hauled till we've doubled the Point, then run up some more canvas."

"It'll be a miracle if we manage to take her by the Point in this sea, and in the dark besides." Mewes was poised in the bow of the longboat.

"When we get aboard, I'll take the helm. You just get the canvas on her."

"Aye." He reached up and seized a notch beneath a gunport, pulling the longboat under the deadeyes that supported the mainmast shrouds. As he began mounting the rope ladder he tossed the line up through the rain.

Winston had taken Katherine's arm to help her up when he heard a buzz past his ear. Then, through the rain, came a faint pop, the report of a musket.

"G.o.d's blood!" He turned back to look. Dimly through the rain he could make out a line of helmeted infantrymen along the sh.o.r.e, muskets in hand. They were disorganized, without a commander, but standing alongside them and yelling orders was a heavy man in a wide black hat.

Benjamin Briggs.

"He betrayed us! He brought them right down to the bay. I wonder what he's figuring to get in return? Doubtless a place in the new government. We've got to . . ."

Before he could finish, Katherine had caught his arm and was pointing over in the direction of the river mouth. "Hugh, wait. Do you see that?

There's someone out there. In the surf. I thought I noticed it before."

"More d.a.m.ned infantry?" He turned to stare. "They'd not try swimming after us. They'd wait for longboats."

"I can't tell. It's over there, on the left. I think someone's trying to wade out."

He squinted through the rain. A figure clad in white was waist deep in the surf, holding what seemed to be a large bundle.

"That's no Roundhead. I'll wager it's likely Briggs' mulata. Though she's just a little too late. I've a mind to leave her." He paused to watch as a wave washed over the figure and sent it staggering backward.

Then another bullet sang past and he heard the shouts of Benjamin Briggs.

"Maybe I owe a certain planter one last service."

"Cap'n, we've got to get this tub to sea." Mewes was crouching behind the bulwarks of the _Defiance_. "Those d.a.m.n'd Roundheads along the sh.o.r.e don't have many muskets yet, but they're apt to be gettin'

reinforcements any time now. So if it's all the same, I don't think I'd encourage waitin' around all night."

"John, how are the anchors?"

"I've already weighed the heavy one up by the bow." He called down.

"Say the word and we can just slip the cable on that little one at the stern."

"Maybe we've got time." He pushed the longboat back away from the side of the _Defiance_. As he reached for an oar, Morris threw down his helmet and dove into the swell. In moments the commander was swimming toward sh.o.r.e.

"Aye, he's gone, Yor Worship. He's a quick one, to be sure." The Scottish infantryman gave only a pa.s.sing glance as he threw his weight against the oar. "You'll na be catching him, on my faith."

"And what about you?"