"Great God help us." Walrond sucked in his breath.
"Aye, that was my thinking as well." Ruyters glanced back. "If I had to guess, I'd say your English Parliament's sent the navy, gentlemen. So we may all have to be giving God a hand if we're not to have the harbor taken by daylight. For once a rumor's proved all too true."
"God's life, how many were sailing?" Bedford whirled to squint toward the dim horizon.
"His maintopman thinks he may've counted some fifteen sail. Half of them looked to be merchantmen, but the rest were clearly men-of-war, maybe thirty guns apiece. We're all readying to weigh anchor and hoist sail at first light, but it's apt to be too late now. I'd say with the guns they've got, and the canvas, they'll have the harbor in a bottle by daybreak."
"I don't believe you." Walrond gazed skeptically toward the east.
"As you will, sir." Ruyters smiled. "But if you'd be pleased to send a man up to the top of the hill, right over there, I'd wager he just might be able to spy their tops'ls for himself."
Winston felt the life suddenly flow out of him. It was the end of his plans. With the harbor blockaded, he'd never be able to sail with the indentures. He might never sail at all.
"God Almighty, you don't have to send anybody." Bedford was pointing toward the horizon. "Don't you see it?"
Just beneath the gray cloudbank was an unmistakable string of flickering pinpoints, mast lights. The crowd gathered to stare in dismay. Finally Bedford's voice came, hard and determined. "We've got to meet them. The question is, what're their damned intentions?"
Ruyters picked up his lantern and extinguished it. "By my thinking the first thing you'd best do is man those guns down there on the Point, and then make your enquiries. You can't let them into the bay. We've got shipping there, sir. And a fortune in cargo. There'll be hell to pay, I promise you, if I lose so much as a florin in goods."