COLOURS ALOFT!

6. SUPREME

CAPTAIN Valentine Keen clung to the weather netting, his eyes raw from staring into sea and wind. Even his palms felt torn from gripping the tarred nettings to keep his balance.

All night long the gale had lashed the sea into a fury of leaping crests and great torrents of water which had boiled over the gangways and hurled men from their feet like flotsam. Now, as silver-grey streaked the sky, the motion was easier; dawn had come to mock their puny efforts.

There had been no point in trying to keep station on Icarus. Like the little brig Rapid, she had been out of sight throughout the onslaught. Argonaute had laid into the wind, hove-to under a reefed maintopsail for most of the time. If the ships had attempted to remain under sail they would have been scattered miles apart before dawn.

The first lieutenant staggered towards him. "I can get her under way again, sir."

Keen glanced at the sailing-master in his sodden tarpaulin coat. Old Fallowfield said nothing, but it looked like a shrug.

"Very well. Pipe all hands. Change the masthead lookouts too. We'll need good eyes today if we are to re-form the squadron."

Paget had done well, he thought, and his voice had kept the men at it from nightfall until now.

"All hands! All hands aloft to make sail!"

The yells of the petty officers and here and there the slap of a rope's end drove the battered, weary men back to the braces and yards.

Keen tugged at his neckcloth. Like the rest of him, it was sodden from spray and perhaps rain. The ship had responded better than he had expected. She was, as claimed, an excellent sailer.

He was vaguely pleased with his own efforts. He had controlled his ship throughout and the men and discipline which drove her. The deck trembled as the fore-topsail and jib were set and, flapping wetly, brought the helm under control again. Tuson would be busy. Keen had seen several hands injured. Worse, one seaman had been swept overboard, a terrible death for anyone, to watch the wind driving your ship away, your friends unable to help while you drown alone.

"Steady she goes, sir! Nor'-east by east!"

The sky was already clearing; it might even be a fine day after the night's fury. It was a strange sea, Keen thought.

"Take over the watch, Mr Paget." Keen rubbed his sore eyes. "As soon as the galley fire is alight, send the hands to breakfast by divisions. Tell the purser to break out a tot per man. They've earned it."

Paget grinned. "That'll rouse them, sir!" He turned away, obviously pleased to be left in charge with a big sea still running. Keen decided to mention him in his report; he needed a good first lieutenant, but the fleet needed those who could command.

Keen walked beneath the poop, his figure swaying in the darkness. He had not realized he was so tired and under so much strain. A scarlet coat loomed through the shadows and he saw Captain Bouteiller of the ship's Royal Marines waiting for him.

"Morning, Major." Keen never really understood the marines although he admired them. Even the term "major" for the officer-in-charge seemed odd.

Bouteiller said, "I thought I should tell you myself, sir." He had a clipped way of speaking, like a piece of equipment. "The, er, passenger wishes to speak with you."

Keen nodded. "I see. When was this?"

The marine considered it. "Two hours back, sir. You were very busy at the time."

It was too dark to see his face, not that Bouteiller would give anything away. What was he thinking?

"Very well. Thank you."

Keen groped his way to the small door and could almost hear the sentry holding his breath. For once guard duty would have been most welcome, he thought. Every other man and boy, even the after-guard, had been on deck fighting their natural enemy.

A lantern, shuttered low, swung from the deckhead and he saw the girl lying on the cot, one leg hanging over the side and swaying with the ship, as if it was the only part of her alive. Keen closed the door. Tuson would definitely not approve, he thought.

Very gently he took her ankle and raised her leg towards the cot. She was still wearing her shirt and breeches, and as a beam of light swung across her face Keen thought she looked incredibly young.

Then her eyes were wide open and she stared at him with terror, her fingers gripping the shirt to her throat.

Keen did not move and waited. The fear, like a stormcloud, was slowly departing.

He said, "I am sorry. I only just heard you were asking for me. You were asleep. I would have gone-"

She pulled herself into a sitting position and peered at him. Then she reached out and touched his coat and shirt.

She whispered, "You are soaking, Captain."

Even the simple formality tore at Keen's heart.

He replied, "The storm has passed over." He watched her fingers on his lapels and wanted to seize them, to press them to his lips. Instead he said, "Were you frightened?"

"Not as much as the other thing." Ozzard had told him how he had found her cowering, hands pressed to her ears, while a seaman had been flogged for insubordination.

She said, "Such a big ship and yet there were times I thought she would break apart." She played with a lapel, her lashes lowered. "I thought you might be worried for me. I wanted to tell you I was safe."

Keen said, "Thank you." Once during the storm he had imagined her beside him in the gale, her hair streaming, her teeth white while she had laughed, had ridden the storm with the ship.

"Yes, I was worried. You are not used to this life."

Despite his guard he pictured the convict ship, what she would be like in a storm. He knew at once the girl had read the same thought.

She said, "I still cannot believe I am safe." She looked up, her eyes bright and dark in turns as the lantern pivoted round. "Am I safe?"

He saw his hands take hers and hold them. She did not protest or pull away, nor did she take her eyes from his face. "Tell me, please."

Keen said, "I had hoped to put you ashore at Gibraltar as you know. Now it seems I must wait. I sent word with the courier brig, the one commanded by Sir Richard's nephew. Letters will be sent as soon as mine reaches the City. Maybe you will have to remain aboard until my ship is ordered to Malta. Part of our work here is to protect the convoys. In Malta I have friends too." He found he was pressing her hands in time with his words. "One thing I do know, Zenoria," he let his voice linger over her name, "you will not be put aboard any convict vessel. I shall see to that."

She asked quietly, "All this, you do it for me? You do not know me, sir, only what others have told you. You have seen me stripped and beaten like some whore." Her chin lifted. "But I am not."

He said, "I know that."

She looked past him into the leaping shadows. "Would you care if we were somewhere else? In London maybe, or where your wife might see us?"

Keen shook his head. "I have never married. Once I-" She responded by holding his fingers in hers. "But you loved somebody?"

Keen nodded. "Aye. She died. It was a long time ago."

He looked up. "I cannot explain it, but it is real. Call it Fate, God's will, call it luck if you wish, but it is there, and it is not imagination. Some might say that everything is against me-" He tightened his grip as she made to speak. "No, it must be said. I am so much older than you. I am a King's officer and my duty lies with my ship until this damned war is won." He raised her hands to his mouth, just as he had seen himself in his thoughts of her. "Do not laugh at me but hear me. I love you, Zenoria." He expected her to pull away or to interrupt but she sat completely still, her eyes wide. He continued, "It is like a great weight hoisted from my mind." He said it again, slowly, "I love you, Zenoria."

He made to rise, but she threw her arms round his neck and whispered, "Do not look at me." Her voice was in his ear. "I am dreaming. It cannot be happening. We are both bewitched."

Very gently he prised her away and studied her face, the two bright lines of tears on her cheeks.

Then, still holding her, he kissed each cheek, tasting the salt, feeling his elation, the swift, impossible happiness.

He said, "Do not speak. Try to sleep now." He stood back, her hands still in his. "It is not a dream, and I mean what I said."

His mind rushed on. "You can come aft for breakfast later on. I shall send Ozzard."

He was speaking quickly, and he knew it was to prevent her from stopping it here and now.

He reached the door but her arms were still outstretched as if she was holding on to him.

Outside the little cabin there were two sentries and a marine corporal who was relieving the guard, hissing out his orders in a fierce whisper.

Keen nodded to them and said, "Good morning, Corporal Wenmouth, I think we have ridden out the storm, eh?"

He strode aft and did not see the astonishment on their faces.

Keen entered the stern cabin and stared around at the shadows and at the tossing water beyond the windows.

He was tingling, almost helpless with an excitement he had never known before. He threw his hat on to the bench seat and said aloud, "I love you, Zenoria."

With a start he realized that Ozzard was watching him from the other screen door, his paws folded over his apron.

Ozzard asked politely, "Breakfast, sir?"

Keen smiled. "Not yet. I am expecting, er, company for that in an hour or so."

"I see, sir." Ozzard made to leave. "Oh, I see, sir!" Others might be less pleased, but Keen did not care.

"Is everything satisfactory, Miss?" Ozzard hovered by the table, seizing a dish as it slid dangerously towards the edge.

She turned and looked up at him.

"It was lovely."

From across the table Keen watched her profile as she spoke with Ozzard. She was beautiful, with her hair loose now across her shoulders; even the midshipman's shirt could not disguise it.

She turned and saw him watching her. "What is it?"

He smiled. "You. I could admire you all day and find something new every minute."

She looked at her empty plate. "That is nonsense, sir, and you know it!" But she looked flushed. Perhaps even pleased.

Then she said quickly, "Tell me about your Sir Richard. Have you known him long?"

Keen listened to her voice. So alien here in a man's world. Yet so right.

"I have served under him several times. I was with him when he nearly died of fever."

She studied his features as if to remember them. "Was that when you lost your love?"

He stared at her. "Yes. I did not say so-"

"It was written on your face." She nodded to Ozzard as he removed the plate, then said, "War, fighting, you have seen so much. Why must you do it?"

Keen glanced round the cabin. "It's what I am. I have been at sea since I was a boy. It is what I am trained to do."

"And do you never miss your home?" Her eyes were misty again but she seemed quite controlled.

"Sometimes. When I am on land I want to get back to my ship. At sea I think of fields and cattle. My brothers both farm in Hampshire. Sometimes I envy them." He hesitated; he had never spoken like this to anyone.

She said, "Now I can tell you not to be afraid. Your words are safe with me."

Overhead, feet slapped across the wet planking, and near the skylight a man laughed, another snapped a reprimand.

She said, "You love these men, don't you? Where you lead, they will follow."

He reached across the table, the one where he had sat with the other captains. "Give me your hand."

She offered it; they could barely reach one another.

He said, "One day we will walk ashore together. Somewhere, somehow, but we shall."

She pushed some hair from her eyes and laughed, but her eyes were sad.

"Like this? I would be some companion for one of the King's officers." She squeezed his hand and whispered. "The King's finest officer."

Keen said, "I boarded a Genoese trader the other day."

She looked surprised at his change of subject.

Keen added, "I bought a gown for you. I will have my servant bring it to you." He felt unsure and clumsy. "You may not like it, or it might not fit, but-"

She said softly, "You are a sweet man, Captain. Even to think of it when you have all this to do. And I will like it."

Keen ended lamely, "I have two sisters, you see-" He broke off, confused as the sentry beyond the screen doors shouted.

"Surgeon, sir!"

Keen released her hand. It felt like being cast adrift. Guilty.

He called, "Enter!" Then said, "I do not wish this to end-"

Tuson entered and eyed them impassively. His hands looked red, as if he had been scrubbing them.

"Some breakfast?" Keen waved him to a chair.

The surgeon gave a wry smile. "No, sir. But I'd relish some strong coffee."

He looked at the girl. "How are you today?"

She dropped her eyes. "I am well, sir."

Tuson took a cup from Ozzard. "More than can be said for your companion, young Millie."

Millie was the Jamaican maidservant. She seemed to have no other name.

Tuson added, "I think she'd risk fever on the Rock rather than go through another storm like last night."

Keen looked up at the skylight as the masthead lookout shouted to the deck.

Tuson said, "Sounds like another ship." But he was watching the girl, her small hands gripped into fists, the quick movements of her breasts. Keen must have said something. She looked different.

She said to Keen, "Is it friend or foe?"

Keen restrained himself from getting up and opening the skylight. They would come to him when he was needed. Another lesson Bolitho had taught him well.

He replied, "Both of our ships were sighted an hour ago." He watched her mouth. "While you were asleep."

She held his gaze. "I did not go back to sleep."

Tuson pricked up his ears, but masked his curiosity.

The sentry called, "First lieutenant, sir!"

Paget entered, his coat black with spray. "The masthead has sighted a sail to the sou'-west." His eyes stayed firmly away from the girl at the table. This made his interest all the more obvious.

Keen said, "South-west?" Without looking at the chart he could picture the other vessels. Icarus was almost three miles abeam, and Rapid far ahead, little more than a shadow against the murky horizon.

Paget added, "I went aloft myself, sir. She's a Frenchie, I'll stake my life on it."

Keen eyed him thoughtfully. He was learning more about Paget every day.

Paget waited and dropped his shot with great skill. "She's rigged like us, sir. Sail o' the line, no doubt about it."

Keen was on his feet, unaware that the others were watching him, Paget with pride at what he had discovered without being ordered, Tuson with interest as he studied Keen as he had Bolitho on many occasions. Weight of command, a captain's ability, determination, it was all there. Only in the girl's eyes was there tenderness, anxiety too for this other side to Keen's character.

"She will know what we are about." Keen paused by the stern windows and pictured the other vessel. "She is following us. Reporting our movements to another ship maybe."

Paget said stubbornly, "She's made no signals, sir. I've put Mr Chaytor aloft with a glass. He'll tell me if he sees any hoists."

Keen walked reluctantly to the chart and wished suddenly Bolitho was here. The French were using one of their heavy ships, even though frigates had been reported. Argonaute could come about and give chase. It might be hopeless, it would certainly take a long time with a southerly wind across the starboard quarter.

He said, "Make a signal to Icarus to remain on station."

In his mind he saw not the ship but the sour face of her captain. "Then signal Rapid to close on the flag."

Paget hesitated by the door. "Shall we chase her, sir? We might catch her if the wind backs a mite further. I reckon this ship'd outfly anything!"

Keen smiled grimly, warmed by Paget's enthusiasm.

"Make the signals, then call all hands and set the t'gan's'ls, after that the royals too."

Paget glanced quickly at the lively crests astern, blurred and unreal through the salt-caked glass. It was blowing hard to set more canvas just yet. But his captain seemed to hold no doubts. The door closed and moments later the shrill calls and the stampede of feet made the ship stir herself yet again.

Tuson asked, "She'll run, won't she, sir?"

Keen brought his mind back to the cabin. "I've no doubt." He smiled. "I'm a poor host. What did you come to see me about?"

Tuson stood up and swayed to the slope of the deck. "News of last night's injuries, sir. Ten in all. Broken bones mostly. It could have been far worse."

"Not for the wretch who went outboard. But thank you. They are in good hands. I think you know how I appreciate your presence amongst us."

Tuson walked to the door. In his plain dark coat with his white hair hanging neatly over his collar he looked more like a cleric than a ship's surgeon.

He never drank. Keen had seen his eyes on some of the others when they had been filling their glasses. Something terrible must have happened in his past.

The door closed and he said quietly, "A good man."

They faced each other across the table.

She spoke first. "I will leave." She looked at her bare feet, small against the checkered canvas. "I saw you just now. The man. The one who cried out aboard that ship after the whip had cut my back. The one who comforted me, and now who insists he loves me." She walked round the table, her slim figure angled to the deck. "What will become of us?"

He waited until she had walked up to him and said, "I will make you love me."

He shut his mind to a cry from the masthead. That must be Chaytor, the second lieutenant.

"She's making more sail, sir!" So the French ship was in pursuit, did not want to lose them.

She reached up and laid her palm on his cheek. When he made to hold her she said quickly, "No. Not like this." She held her hand to his face for several seconds, her eyes never leaving his. Then she said, "I shall go now." She sounded reassured, satisfied by what she had discovered. "If Ozzard can take me?"

Keen nodded, his mouth quite dry.

"Do not forget."

She turned by the door and looked at him. "That would be impossible."

Ozzard opened the door and she was gone.

Keen walked round the cabin, touching things, seeing none of them. Then he paused by the new, high-backed chair and smiled at it. What would he have done?

Then he went on deck and saw Paget and the officer-of-the-watch studying the braced yards and the set of every sail. The great main-yard was bending like some huge bow. Even the master glanced at him with some apprehension.

A midshipman called, "Rapid's acknowledged, sir!" He saw Keen and fell into a confused silence.

Keen gripped his hands together beneath his coat-tails and felt suddenly chilled.

Lieutenant Chaytor yelled, "She's set more sail, sir!"

Keen looked at Paget. "Shorten sail, if you please. Take in the main course." He saw something like relief on their faces.

Keen watched Icarus responding, her sails being fisted to the yards as she followed the flagship's example.

Minutes dragged past. Perhaps he was wrong. Suppose the French captain wanted to close and fight? Two to one, but it could happen. He let out his breath very slowly as the masthead called, "She's shortening sail, sir."

Keen walked to the foot of the mizzen and touched the boarding pikes which were racked around its fat trunk.

That Frenchman wants me to turn and go after him. He's goading me. It is what he expects of me! The realization was still a shock.

He said, "As soon as Rapid is close enough, tell her to make all sail and find Supreme. Quarrell will have noted the first landfall on his chart."

Paget watched him guardedly, aware of Keen's sharpness, his change of mood.

"Tell him that our admiral must know we are being followed but not pursued. There is no time to write him separate orders." The same chill swept through him. The French captain expected him to begin a chase. It would divide their force even further. The realization made him feel pale. He added, "Tell Rapid to make haste. As soon as Quarrell understands, we shall set all plain sail." He glanced at the masts and added, "Even if we tear the sticks from her."

Later, in the stern cabin again, Keen heard Paget repeating his orders, his voice booming through a speaking-trumpet.

Rapid would live up to her name. He felt suddenly anxious and when he looked at Bolitho's chair it was with the thought it might remain empty for ever.

Bolitho sat on the side of a low bunk in Supremes tiny cabin. It was stiflingly hot between decks and he knew it must be evening.

Someone squeezed through the door and said, "Getting dark, sir." Bolitho reached out and seized his arm. It was Hallowes; he sounded beaten and subdued, so much so that he had not noticed what he had said, Bolitho thought despairingly.

He touched the damp bandage across his eyes. Perhaps it will always be dark for me? Why the sudden fear? He should have expected something like it to happen. God knew, he had seen enough good men struck down. But like this?

He said, "Tell me what you're doing!" There was a bite in his tone, and he knew it was to crush his own self-pity.

During the afternoon Hallowes had tried to recover one of the boats. A strong swimmer had volunteered to go out for it. It was maddening for Hallowes to see both of his boats drifting in the distance, out of reach and unconcerned.

It was strange but men who could swim well were rare in the Navy. This one had got only twenty yards when a solitary musket shot from the shore had killed him. There had been a great groan from the watching seamen as their messmate threw up his arms and vanished, a pink cloud rising above him.

The French sailors who had been landed earlier must be still there, watching the cutter and waiting for their own ship to recover them.

Hallowes said tightly, "I've had all the guns loaded with grape and canister, sir. We'll give a good account of ourselves when those devils come at us."

Bolitho released his hold and sank back against the curved hull. The sobs and cries had all but finished. Seven men had been killed in that brief mauling. One, the diminutive midshipman named Duncannon, had died lying across Bolitho's lap. He had felt the boy sobbing quietly, his tears mixing with his blood.

Bolitho said, "Help me on deck. Where's my flag-lieutenant?"

"Here, sir." Stayt had been with him and he had not known. The realization made him suddenly angry. They had all depended on him; now they were losing heart so fast they would have no fight in them despite what Hallowes thought.

He said, "Put more swimmers over the side. If we can get the boats we might kedge Supreme closer to the headland. There are rocks there. We'd be safer from that damned frigate."

"Aye, sir." Hallowes sounded doubtful. "I'll see to it right away."

He hurried away and Stayt murmured, "Ready, sir?"

Bolitho stood up carefully to avoid the deckhead. Every time he moved the pain in his eyes returned, stinging like fire, pricking them into torment.

He held Stayt's arm and felt the man's pistol bump against him.

The frigate had left them alone, prepared to wait until nightfall. They were in no hurry. It would have been different if they had known they had the English admiral almost in their hands. Bolitho winced as his eyes stung with emotion. A useless, helpless admiral.

On deck it felt clammy although a steady breeze slapped wavelets along the hull like catspaws.

Stayt whispered, "He's had them all keep down, sir. Behind the bulwarks. They all seem to be armed."

"Good." Bolitho moved his head from side to side. He could smell the land, could picture it in his mind. What a place to die, he thought, like the young midshipman, the hill lookout, all the others he had not even known.

He heard Okes' resonant voice and Sheaffe answering.

"Where's my cox'n?"

Bankart was right behind him. "Present, sir."

If only Allday were here. Bolitho held his bandaged eyes in his palms. No, Allday had done and suffered enough.

Hallowes said in a hushed voice, "The swimmers are here, sir."

Sheaffe sounded very near. "I'm going, Sir Richard. I learned when I was a child."

Bolitho held out his hand, "Here, take my hand." He said, "I was taught early too." Somehow he had known it would be Sheaffe. "Listen to me. When you reach the boat, either of them, no matter, I want you to stay there. Drop a stream anchor if you will, it's shallow enough. Who is with you?"

The seaman's name was Moore. He had a soft Kentish dialect. Like Thomas Herrick, Bolitho thought desperately.

"Keep together."

Sheaffe asked, "But why must we stay out there?"

Bolitho wanted to tear the bandages from his face. It was a nightmare, and he felt the urge to scream as the pain probed his eyes again.

"What can you see?" Bolitho moved towards the bulwark and grated his knee against a gun truck.

Stayt touched his left shoulder. "The headland's that way, sir. Then as you turn slowly right there's the bluff on the other side of the bay, where the frigate first appeared."

"Yes, yes." Bolitho gripped a belaying-pin rack. He could see it, he remembered it. Just those last moments before he had been cut down.

"The French will come around the headland." He moved his face. "What say you, Mr Okes?"

Okes replied, "Most like, sir. They'll be closer to their bloody- beg pardon, sir-to their friends ashore."

"My thought exactly." He touched the midshipman's bare back. The flesh felt icy, like a corpse.

"Off you go. Take care, both of you." As they moved away Bolitho said, "No heroics. When you see boats on the move, yell out." He heard them splash down the side and he half expected a shot to follow.

"Is it very dark?" He felt so helpless. Like a child in the night.

"Aye, sir. No moon as yet."

"When they reach the first boat," he had almost said if, "be ready. We shall see nothing, but if Sheaffe can see the French coming we shall open fire."

Hallowes asked, "Shoot blind, sir?" He stammered, "I'm sorry, sir. That was stupid of me."

Bolitho reached out again and touched his coat. "No. But that is exactly what we shall do."

Stayt said in a low voice, "The Frogs will follow the coastline and expect to get between us and the beach. Once alongside they could overwhelm us."

"It's what I would do." Bolitho gripped his sword and let it fall into its scabbard again. Even that seemed to mock his helplessness. How could he tell Belinda? He could not face being a prisoner-of-war again. He would die first.

Hallowes asked, "If they board us-"

Bolitho said quietly, "Fire the ship." He felt his words rip into the young lieutenant like canister. He added, "There is no easy way, Lieutenant. The enemy must not take your Supreme as a prize." He pulled him closer so that the others were excluded. "Strike if you must to save the people. But sink the ship." He let his words sink in.

When Hallowes spoke again his voice was changed. Firm, determined. "I'll not let you down, sir."

Bolitho turned away to hide his agony. "I knew that when I recommended your appointment."

Oh, Belinda, the foolish things I said and wrote. Now it is all too late.

He thought of Keen and knew he would command the squadron in his own way. He would fly an admiral's flag one day. Bolitho gasped. So God help him!

A man murmured, "I 'eard somethin'!"

Another said, "An oar in a boat."

Hallowes said, "They've got one of the boats, sir."

Bolitho thought of Sheaffe's unsmiling features. His father would be proud of him. Or would he? Did he even envy his son as he did leaders like Nelson.

Bolitho rested his head in his hands. He'll not have to envy me any more.

The cry came across the water and seemed to hang above the gently swaying deck like an echo. "Sheaffe's seen 'em!"

There was a single shot, and someone jeered, "Couldn't hit a bloody barn door!"

Stayt said, "By God, that fool with the musket has marked down their position well enough, sir." He sounded excited, ready to kill, as Keen had described him aboard the convict ship.

"They're still coming." Stayt must be crouching down, eyes level with the bulwark to seek out the dark shapes on the water.

"Three boats at least, sir."

Voices murmured along the deck and Okes rumbled, "Not a bloody squeak out of any mother's son, right?"

Bolitho heard the metallic clink of a swivel gun being depressed, and here and there a handspike squeak as a four-pounder was made snug against the side, each little muzzle pointing blindly into the darkness.

Bolitho said, "Bankart, come here." He felt the young seaman beside him. As Allday would have been.

"I shall use you as my eyes." To Stayt he added, "Go forrard and take charge of the foc's'le. Be ready to cut the cable if need be." He heard Stayt move away and felt suddenly lost without him.

He thought of the girl Keen had brought to the flagship, the look in his eyes whenever he mentioned her name. If Argonaute was called on to fight, she might still be aboard.

The pain pricked his eyes again as, like an additional torment, another memory came to him.

Called on to fight. Cheney had been aboard his ship when the decks had thundered to the roar of broadsides. Cheney.

"Ready, lads!" Hallowes was drawing his sword, his face hidden in the darkness as was his despair.

"As you bear!"

Bolitho leaned forward; he had heard the splash of oars.

"Fire!"

The night exploded.