"Who do you suppose? Nobody else knows you've got them."
"Anthony Walrond knows." Winston laughed. "I'll say one thing. It would be perfect justice."
"Then use them to arm our militia. With your guns, maybe –-“
"I'll be needing those flintlocks where I'm going."
Joan pushed forward with a scowl. "Give me leave to put you in mind, madam, that those muskets belong to Hugh. Not to the worthless militia on this island." She turned on Winston. "Don't be daft. You give those new flintlocks over to the militia and you'll never see half of them again. You know that as well as I do."
He stood studying the locked fo'c'sle in silence. "I'll grant you that. I'd be a perfect fool to let the militia get hold of them."
"Hugh, what happened to all your talk of honor?" Katherine drew back. "I thought you were going to fight to the last."
"I told you . . ." He paused as he gazed into the rain for a long moment. Finally he looked back. "I'd say there is one small chance left. If we went in with a few men, before it gets light, maybe we could spike the cannon in the breastwork. Then at least it would be an even battle."
"Would you try it?"
He took her hand, ignoring Joan's withering glare. "Maybe I do owe Anthony Walrond a little farewell party. In appreciation for his selling this island, and me with it, to the God damned Roundheads."