Using a long-handled ladle, he and the men began to shove precisely measured charges of powder, twenty pounds, into the muzzle of each cannon. The indentures were heaving round shot onto their shoulders and stacking piles beside the guns.
Winston watched the approaching sail, wondering how and why it had suddenly all come to this. Was he about to be the first man in the Americas to fire a shot declaring war against England? He looked around to see Dalby Bedford standing behind him, with Katherine at his side.
"You know what it means if we open fire on the Rainbowe? I'd guess it's Cromwell's flagship now."
"I do indeed. It'd be war. I pray it'll not come to that. I'd like to try and talk with them first, if we can keep them out of the bay." The governor's face was grim. "Try once across her bow. Just a warning. Maybe she'll strike sail and let us know her business."
"Care to hold one last vote in the Assembly about this, before we fire the first shot? Something tells me it's not likely to be the last."
"We've just talked. There's no need for a vote. No man here, royalist or no, is going to stand by and just hand over this place.
We'll negotiate, but we'll not throw up our hands and surrender. There's too much at stake."
Winston nodded and turned to Canninge. "They're pulling close to range. When you're ready, lay a round across her bow. Then hold for orders."
"Aye." Canninge smiled and pointed toward a small gun at the end of the row, its dark brass glistening in the early light. "I'll use that little six-pounder. We'll save the eighteen-pounders for the work to come.
"Have you got range yet?"