Theshore gunners could not possibly pick out the black sails of the GoldenBough in the confusion and smoke. He looked round at hisDutch sergeant who stood attentively at his shoulder. It was a signal from Judith Nazet, an urgent recall. Hugo Barnard staggered back, then stooped to examine his injury.
The gun pits Without another word, allthree ran on, and came together to the first culverin. He had thought that Sukeena was still in the small cabin that adjoinedthe powder magazine, which she had turned into a sickbay and in whichtwo of the wounded men still teetered on the edge of life. It was swelling and stiffening, but he waslooking back over his shoulder as he hobbled along through theankle-deep sand. It was merely a flash, so swift that he barely had time tomake out the line of a naked back, luminous as mother-of-pearl in theyellow light.
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