Several of the other militiamen were nervously mounting, having realized with alarm that their own plantation houses were unprotected. Winston whirled on Bedford. "Can't we stop this? If every man here with a house to worry about abandons us, I'll have nobody save my own men. Am I expected to fight Walrond's regiment, and the Commonwealth, all by myself?"
"I can't stop them." Bedford shook his head. "Maybe we can reassemble in the morning, assuming this rebellion matter can be contained."
"But morning's going to be too late. By then the sea may let up, and they'll have their heavy ordnance in place." Winston felt his gut tighten as he watched the cavalry and militia begin to disperse into the night. "They'll slice us to ribbons with cannon fire if we try to storm their position then."
"This is not an army. It's a militia." Bedford sighed. "No man here can be ordered to fight."
"Well, you've lost it. Before you even began." He gave the governor a quick salute, then seized the reins of his gelding. The horse was still lathered from the run back from Little Island to Bridgetown. "If it's going to be every man for himself, I've got my own affairs to look to. So damned to them. And to their sugar and slaves."
"Where are you going?" Bedford stared at him gloomily.
"If this war's as good as lost—which it is—then I've got to get the Defiance afloat. As soon as I can." He vaulted into the saddle, and gave his horse the spur. "The Americas just swapped liberty for sugar. They can have it."
[Chapter Sixteen]
They had waited in the open field to watch as the moon broke above the eastern horizon, sending faint pastel shimmers through the rows of cane. The first shadow cast by the moon on this the fourth day of the Yoruba week—the day sacred to Ogun—was the signal to begin.
"May Ogun be with you, son of Balogun."