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"Jerry, m' lad," he said at last, "it'll be a wonder for sure if one o' them there sakers don't explode when we test it."

Jeremy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I doubt if there'll be any explosions, Dirk. I've gone over every one of the guns, and they all look sound to me. All the same, I hope Captain Thorne's batterymen know their business."

"Me too." Dirk swallowed a large quantity of ale, then thumped his pitcher on the ground. The topic that was foremost in his mind was coming to the surface. "S'pose the sakers are all right 'n' we stop the attack. After that, d' ye reckon we could sneak past the boucanier outposts? We might march right up t' 'em, bold as ye please, 'n' tell 'em we was a-wantin' t' see her high 'n' mightiness, the Duchess. Then they might take ye t' her. Ye could make up somethin' or other in that there fancy talk ye use. Ye could keep 'em busy, ye see, 'n' that'd give me time t' be a-doin' other things."

Carefully finishing a loaf of bread, Jeremy glanced at him obliquely. "What other things?"

"Mostly Esther Mary 'n' Janine—'n' I'm scairt. I don't scare easy, but I'm scairt. After the way we ran out o' that Duchess o' Glasgow's rooms, she sure don't like us much. 'N' ifn she finds out it was us fixed up these cannon, she's like t' be in a right smart tizzy over us. So she might try t' take out her spleen on Esther Mary 'n' Janine. Ifn I ever seen a wench just a-brimmin' over with nastiness, it's her high 'n' mightiness. She's mean right through, 'n' the only one that's meaner is that Scots shadow o' her'n."

Dirk's words merely underlined Jeremy's own concern, and his jaw jutted forward. Through the long hours of the night he had never ceased to be tormented by thoughts of what might be happening to Janine Groliere. The harder he worked, the wilder his imagination had become, and only the constant exercise of will power had prevented him from dropping everything and racing into the town to seek her, sword in hand.

Such a course of action would be foolhardy, however, and he knew it. Now, of all times, he needed to discipline himself. There was no other way he could help Janine. And he knew how easily he could influence Dirk, so he would have to be careful in his choice of words to his friend, who was awaiting his reply.

Jeremy stood up and started to brush the crumbs from his trousers but gave up when he saw how filthy and tattered they were. "I'll be honest with you too, Dirk. I'm as worried over Janine and Esther Mary as you are, but if we try to sneak through the enemy lines to them we're likely to do them no good and ourselves a great deal of harm. There are only two of us—and a lot of boucaniers. My one hope is that they're safe in Reverend Pennywell's house and that they'll continue to be safe until the brigade frees the town."

"Trouble with ye, ye're still too much o' a gentleman for yer own good. Ye don't rightly think them scum will respect a minister's house, d'ye? Sizzlin' Jehos'phat! Them boucaniers has been known t' cut the heart right out o' men o' the cloth, Jerry! B'lieve me, ifn the Duchess says they're t' go fetch Esther Mary 'n' Janine, ye don't think they'll "

"Yes, I do. At least that's what I'm counting on. You've forgotten that Reverend Pennywell has many friends, Dirk. He knows practically every boucanier who has ever visited this island, and they all respect him. What's more, they like Esther Mary. I don't know why she's allowed to wear that boucanier belt of hers, but that might be an indication that they won*t molest either of the girls."

Dirk looked straight ahead. "It so happens I know about that there belt. So ye might be right. Anyways, it won't do us good t' stay here 'n' worry. Let's see if them sakers is cool enough t' test yet."

They found that two of the small cannon, though still warm, could now be fired, and a chosen crew working under the close supervision of the gunsmiths loaded the weapons. Only half an hour remained before the rebel attack was expected to begin, and there was no time to lose. Because of the possibility that one or the other of the cannon might explode, all except those participating in the test were kept at a distance of one hundred feet. At last the crucial moment arrived, and a hush settled over the observers. A lighted straw was applied to one saker, and after a split second's pause there was a sharp, gratifying roar.

The onlookers cheered, then the second gun was fired with equal success. Captain Thorne beamed with pleasure but did not pause to offer his congratulations to the gunsmiths. He immediately ordered full crews to man both sakers, and within a few moments heavy iron balls were being catapulted through the air in the direction of the Citadel. Trained artillerymen standing in makeshift towers which had been erected in the tops of the tallest trees ordered changes in elevation and range and at last announced that the missiles were striking the target.

The time of the planned rebel attack came and went without incident. The artillery had ruined the insurrectionists' timetable, and the initiative passed over to the Crown troops.

Two more repaired sakers were being dragged into position for tests when Sir Arthur Bartlett strode onto the lawn. Unaccompanied, he wore a fresh uniform, but there were deep smudges of black under his eyes. He walked straight to Jeremy and Dirk and shook hands with them warmly. "You young men have saved this colony," he said in a voice husky from lack of sleep, "and there is nothing I can or will withhold from you. What can I do for you?'

Dirk was the first to answer. "We got to test the rest o' these here guns, Guv'nor. After that I'd sure appreciate a soft feather mattress for an hour or two."

"You are both my guests here at King's House," Sir Arthur responded at once, then turned to Jeremy, his tired eyes bright. "And you. Master Stone. Can an eternally grateful Crown viceroy offer you anything more than a soft pallet?"

Grinning appreciatively, Jeremy replied in a quiet voice, "Let me ask you a question in return. Your Excellency. It would seem as though the rebel drive has been stopped before it could start. Now, assuming that we can put several more sakers into commission—perhaps the basilisk, too—when will you attack the rebels?"

Although the governor general had no desire to reveal his most important military secrets, he could not conceal them from men who had contributed so much. "I hope the artillery will soften the enemy sufficiently so the infantry assault can commence by high noon tomorrow."

"I see. Then—will you permit me to take part in that attack?"

Sir Arthur straightened, his tired eyes flashing with both pleasure and pride. "Nothing gives me greater joy than to offer you the rank of senior lieutenant in Their Majesties' brigade, Master Stone. And after the battle, when you have comported yourself as I have no doubt you shall, it will be my further privilege to grant you a permanent commission as a captain. England has few subjects whose worth equals yours, sir, and I want the whole realm to know and recognize your value!"

Chapter Eighteen

June 6, 1692

FOR twenty-six hours the guns repaired by Jeremy Stone and Dirk Friendly pounded the rebel-held Citadel, and observers stationed in hastily constructed observation platforms atop towering gwango trees reported that the fortress was absorbing considerable punishment. Several gaping holes had appeared in the masonry after the batterymen of Captain Thorne first found their range, and these breaks were skillfully widened as round after round of heated iron shot was hurled at the insurrectionists. There was little that Caroline and her trapped cohorts could do at the moment but dig in and suffer the abuse being inflicted on them. Eventually the artillery barrage would be lifted, and there remained a chance that enough of the heavy walls and bulwarked turrets of the Citadel would still be standing to permit the defenders to repel the Crown brigade's infantry charge.