"Mister Finney," she replied, trembling a little with fear that he'd dare appear so boldly. "And to what do I owe this unasked visit?"
"Why, 'tis concern, good lady," Finney replied, stepping closer, and making Caroline wish to shy back, though she stood her ground. "We heard you'd birthed a fine man-child, spittin' image of his beautiful mother, so 'tis said in the town, yet never hide nor hair t'be seen of him, nor your fine self since."
Finney had a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes sparkled with secret merriment.
"Call it curiosity, Mistress Caroline," Finney went on'. "Worry about how ye fare. I'm that fond o' children, ya know, and I wish t'satisfy meself that you were recovered an' all. And t'gain a peek at the little lad, if I be so bold, now."
"He is sleeping, and it's best he's not disturbed," Caroline rejoined, losing her fear as her outrage took over, and the crease in her forehead deepened. "He is quite well, as am I, sir. But I am not yet receiving callers, Mister Finney. It's not seemly for you to be here."
"I'm not so polished as most, I'll tell ya, Mistress Caroline," Finney shrugged with a fetching smile." Tis my lack o' manners I most regret, ma'am. But I meant to assure meself o' your good health. And yer contentment I brought a few things for the little lad, d'ya see. Gewgaws from me stores. Toys and pretties. Hope ya won't begrudge a feller bein' so bold as to be offerin' a fine young lady such as yer sweet self a few trifles t' start the lad in life. 'Tis rough I come up, Mistress Caroline, an' ne'er a pretty'd I have fer my amusement. I'd not care t'see yer wee one deprived as me."
"I thank you for the sentiment, sir," Caroline allowed. "But I do not think that my son will lack for ought I could not accept any gift from you, Mister Finney."
"Been a hot one t'day, Mistress," Finney said, fanning himself with his cocked hat and stepping even closer to her. He picked up the wine bottle, peered at the label, and poured himself a glass of Rhenish, spilling a few drops on Alan's letter which was still on the table. "A glass o' somethin' cool'd be appreciated. With yer permission?"
"Ya got comp'ny, missus?" Wyonnie said, coming from the parlor side onto the dog-run. "Oh."
"Company, aye," Finney said, taking a seat in one of the wooden chairs as if he owned the place. "P'raps Mistress Caroline'd be needin' another glass, woman. Fetch it."
"I will not be needing another glass, Wyonnie. And Mister Finney will be leaving," Caroline snapped. "Really, sir!"
Her eyes went to the letter, and she almost gasped aloud at the idea of Finney knowing that she'd heard from Alan. Of knowing what the Boudreaus suspected, and were investigating on the sly! Did he already know, she wondered? Was that why he'd come?
"Oh, I'll be on me way, quick as a wink," Finney promised, taking a tiny sip of the wine. "Soon's I've finished me drink. I know how it is, ma'am. I'm the great bogeyman ye've heard s'much bad about, an' you're a proper lady. But I do wish t'talk to ye, Mistress Caroline. An' seemly or no, I did bring presents fer the lit'l'un. Wot you from the Carolinas'd call an Injun's pipe o' peace. Do sit an' be mannerly, just fer a bit."
"Very well, Mister Finney," Caroline nodded, sitting down in her rocker once more, and reaching out for the letter to fold it up and put it deep in a side-pocket of her child-tending apron.
"A letter from home, is it?" Finney asked with a twinkle. "An' do yer parents know o' the blessed event yet, ma'am?"
"I have written them, sir, but my post will not reach them for at least three months more," Caroline said, relieved he'd not seen it.
"Most tasty wine ya have, Mistress Caroline," Finney said."One o' me best imports, I declare. And does yer husband know? Sure, an' it's that proud he must be, t'be the father of a fine boy! Ye'll not have a glass with me?"
"No, thank you, Mister Finney," Caroline replied coolly, raging though she was as Finney played his cruel game with her, like a cat at a house lizard. "I must keep my wits about me."
Damme if I don't! she thought with fear.
"My son will awaken soon, and want his supper. And I must begin my own. Speaking of… Wyonnie, do go up to the Boudreaus and inform Miss Mustin we'll dine in one hour, will you? Should Sewallis wake up, I can go in to him."
"Yes, missus," Wyonnie replied, and spun about to depart.
"Sewallis. That'd be yer own father's name, now?" Finney said.
"How do you know that, sir?" Caroline frowned, a terror growing.
"Ah, call it me curiosity again, wot killed the cat. Soon's I saw you, Mistress Caroline, I've been that curious, I have, about you. Wot yer poets call 'worshippin' from afar.' Such a fine an' handsome lady, so refined an' all, here in our scruffy little islands, like a goddess fell from heaven. Fergive me, but I've asked about. 'Twas easy, after all, ye bein' so well received at parties an' such, an' so many people as impressed as I, gossipin' about ya, an' praisin' ya to the skies."
"And did that involve…?" Caroline began to blurt in accusation about her intercepted letters! "… did that force you to name your new ship after me, sir? That was most rude and over-assuming on your part. I would never have given you that license, Mister Finney." She caught herself quickly, and picked another complaint, instead.
"Ships is… ships are lovely creations, Caroline," Finney said with an almost mawkish rapture. "I but thought to name the handsomest o' my vessels for the handsomest, and finest, lady o' my acquaintance. I know I shoulda asked, but like I said, I'm new-come t'fine manners o' the quality. I was tryin' to honour you, thet's all."
"I wish you would change her name, then, sir," Caroline replied, turning to see if Wyonnie had fetched Peyton Boudreau from the great house to aid her yet. "People assume I did give my permission, and I will brook no loose talk. Naturally, I'm sure it is an honour, but it was not one of my choosing."
"Ya don't choose honours, Mistress Caroline, they just come to ya," Finney laughed softly. "An' 'tis the devil's own bad cess t'name a ship, then change it. Think of it as a foolish gesture from a man o' deep respeck… respect for you. I thought t'cheer you, abandoned as you've been. A young wife with a child t'care for, all alone in a hard world, so far from home an' all."
"I am hardly abandoned, sir," Caroline retorted, getting to her feet. "If you' ve quite finished, I must insist you leave, sir. And I do not think it proper to take any presents from you."
She almost screamed as he seized her hands and held them harshly in rough but be-ringed bear-paw fists. "Tell ya the truth now, Caroline," he said, losing his teasing, bantering tone, and looking up at her in part triumph, part gruff shyness, "first night I saw ya, dinin' yer first night ashore, I thought I'd seen an angel from heaven. But, there ya were, with yer man, such as 'e is! A fine an' proper young lady, o' the most refined ways, wasted on a ranti-polin' rogue. Know what his nickname is, Caroline? People call 'im the 'Ram-Cat'! Now he's sailed off an' left ya joyless, with a newborn babe t'care for, an' spurned ya fer another. There's talk he won't even answer ya, now ya've had his child. Oh, I seen… I've seen you traipsin' back from town so forlorn, achin' fer news o' him, an' niver a letter did ya get. More people gossiped, the more me heart went out t'ya."
Dear Jesus, is that why you did this to us? Caroline wanted to shout in his face. You read them! So you'd know best how to play on my fears! So you could have me? It was all she could do to keep her face composed, for fear of revealing too much.
"Tis a hard world, it is, with men like that in it, Caroline," he went on with what she thought a well-rehearsed oration. "Ye're now a widow, as much as if he died, and good riddance t'bad rubbish! Yer best shed o' thet caterwauler. But yer alone now. Now, I know 'tis maybe a bad time t'mention it, an' I niver was good with words like a proper feller o' yer upbringin'. But I worship the ground ya walk on, an' thet's the Gospel truth! Caroline, I'm a man with a whole heart, an' it's yours t'command, with thoughts for none but you, these many months past. I've means t'care for ya, t'keep ya in style an' ease! An' you can trim my rough edges as ya get t'know me better. As ya may come t'love me as much as I love you, lass. I mean t'make ya happy, me girl. I mean t'do right by ya, Caroline, as none other can."
Terrified as she was, held prisoner with easy force no matter her attempts to pull away, his words held her pinioned like a rabbit might be hypnotized by a rattlesnake's weavings. Yet, Finney's plaint of love, presented in such a clumsy, lugubrious and teary-eyed way, was amusing to her, as if she were watching an incredibly poor player in a French farce hawking up high-flown sentiment. She could not stifle a giggle escaping her lips, nor a smile of cruel humour.
"Ah, she's smilin', she is!" Finney cajoled, misinterpreting. "S'prised ya may be, bein' spooned s'soon, by a rough 'un such as me. But yer thinkin' on it, aren't ya now? Now yer babe's bom, yer able t'get out an' about more, we could spend time with each other, let ya get accustomed t'the idea. Accustomed t'me, dearest Caroline, an'…"
"Let go of me, sir," she hissed back, pronouncing each word in arch contempt. "Let go of me and leave this house and never come here again!" Even as she said it, she knew she should have played along to delude him until Alan could come back, until Mr. Boudreau could gather enough evidence to hang this rogue. But her grievance against Finney was too great, and her utter revulsion too quick to contain longer.
"There's fine things I could buy ya, things I wish flay at yer feet. Me town house, where ya'd be the finest lady…" he pleaded.
"Never!" she shouted back, struggling against his grip. "I am a married woman, most happily married, sir! Your suit is not only rude and unseemly, it's odious to me! Let me go, sir! Now!"
She was amazed that he did, in shock perhaps, release her hands to sit back in stupefied hurt, all his hopes confounded. She turned and sprinted for the side door to the parlour, slamming it shut behind her and dropping the latchbar. She rushed to her bedroom, scything herself for being a fool, for not being able to play him along until he was ruined. She massaged her wrists where he'd held her, and felt soiled. She heard a noise and froze.
Dear God, the latchstring, she cringed! It wasn't pulled, and he could get in! The key-lock she hadn't thought to turn…!
She opened her chifforobe and took out a large walnut box, and set it on the bed. Peyton Boudreau had wished to give her some pistols the week before, after Alan's letter had come, and she had accepted, never thinking things would become so desperate. This pair were twin-barreled, heavy as fireplace and-irons, but already loaded.
"Dear God, save us!" she whispered as she heard the latchbar rise and fall with a creak, heard the squeak of door hinges. "Where's Wyonnie? Why haven't they come?" In desperation, she picked up the first pistol and drew back both hammers to full-cock, then did the same with the second. She took a deep breath to steady herself, thinking of earlier times in North Carolina, and flipped up the frizzens on the pans to check her primings, as her brothers had shown her.
"Caroline," Finney said, no longer mocking, no longer pleading. She whirled, the pistols hidden behind her skirts, behind her thighs, and came to the door of the bedroom, to deny him entrance, taking one moment to assure herself that her son was still safe.
"No further, Mister Finney!" she warned him. "There're people…"
"Me coachman Liam's got yer nigger wench, so we got all the time in the world, girl," Finney smirked. "An' I know fer a fack yer Betty Mustin's off t'dine with others, so that won't wash, either. Listen t'me good, now, an' heed me," he said, advancing on her slowly. "Yer fine man left ya t'founder, you an' the babe, Caroline. An' he ain't niver comin' back t'ya. His sort don't. They takes their pleasure, then when things get 'inconvenient' for 'em, why divil a care do they have fer the poor, sad objeck o' their lusts. Twenty pound, an' out o' the parish, girl, 'fore the magistrate sics 'is hounds on ya! I had me a sister. She went thet way. All starry-eyed over a feller. Thought he'd do right by her, that rich man's boy, but back she come, half dead from havin' his git, and rooned fer life, an' us too poor t'help her, d'ya see. Now, wot ya want with a life like that, when I kin offer ya…" he crooned, slowly advancing upon her.
"No closer!" Caroline swore, raising the first pistol. "Out of my house, now!"
Finney checked for one brief moment of open-mouthed surprise, then put his hands on his hips, flaring out the skirts of his coat and rocked on the balls of his feet.
"Oh, 'tis a crackin' great barker ya got there, miss," Finney chuckled. "Girl as delicate an' refined as yer sweet self has no business messin' with such brutes. That's a man's thing, girl. Put that down, now, an' let's be easy with each other."
Sewallis Alan Lewrie took that moment to wake up and begin to fret and wail.
"See there, Caroline?" Finney japed. "Even yer babe knows yer doin' wrong. Put that down, girl. Tend yer babe. I'll pour us some wine, an' we'll sit an' get acquainted."
"I said get out, Mister Finney!" Caroline shouted.
"Caroline, darlin' girl," Finney cooed, stepping closer with no sign of fear, arms out as though to cosset her out of a pet. "My…"
She pulled the trigger of the right-hand barrel, and the heavypistol leapt and bucked in her hand near enough to tear away from her!
"Jaysis!" Finney yelped, and backpedaled quickly six paces to the door. There was a fresh hole in the left breast of his coat, level with his heart, having passed through front and back as it had been held out away from his body!
"That was not a lucky shot, Mister Finney," Caroline glowered as she took aim with the gun, going for his groin with one eye shut "My brothers Burgess and Governour taught me to shoot before they went off with their Volunteer Regiment to fight for their King."
"You… you bitch!" he fumed. He started to rush forward, but she fired the left-hand barrel, and he stopped short, turning pale as a corpse's belly as the lead ball stung the flesh between his thighs, inches below his genitals! And before he could rise or even speak, Caroline brought up the second pistol in her left hand.
"No more teasing, sir! The next one's for your black heart!" she shouted over her baby's screams. "Get out of here, you Beau-Nasty bogtrotter! Run, you son of a whore! Buy yourself a fetching drab in town and pledge your love to her. Go roll in the muck like the Irish hog you are, sir. But I warn you, if you do not leave my house this instant, you'll be a dead bogtrotter, as God is my judge!"
Teeth almost chattering in her head, hand sweaty and slick on the curved butt of the pistol, and her vision tunneling, she was just about at the end of her tether. But the twin barrels never wavered. And then, thankfully, there came the sound of running feet thudding through her garden and onto the stone of the dog-run, drawn by her shots!
"What the devil?" Peyton Boudreau shouted, dashing inside with a smallsword in one hand, and a bell-mouthed coachman's shotgun in the other. His freedman black major-domo was behind him with a musket, and Daniel, Wyonnie's husband, backed them up with a cutlass. "You dog, sir! I'D have the bailiffs on you, damme'f I won't, sir!"
"What the devil?" Peyton Boudreau shouted, dashing inside with a smallsword in one hand, and a bell-mouthed coachman's shotgun in the other. His freedman black major-domo was behind him with a musket, and Daniel, Wyonnie's husband, backed them up with a cutlass. "You dog, sir! I'D have the bailiffs on you, damme'f I won't, sir!"
"For visiting a lady o' my acquaintance, Boudreau?" Finney attempted to bluster.
"For frightenin' a lady enough to have her shoot you," Peyton sneered in reply, something at which he was awfully good. "Trying to rape a married lady, were you, you scurrilous ill-bred scum? Damme, that'll make a merry tune for the town criers tomorrow! That'll be a fine topic for a broadside sheet to be handed about in every tavern! 'Calico Jack,' not only spurned, but nigh debollocked by a woman defending herself with a pistol, haw haw! Get out of here!"
"You wouldn't dare!" Finney shot back.
"I would," Caroline vowed. "I will, I promise you."
"Ephraim, take his sword. Pat him down for a knife or pistol," Boudreau instructed his major-domo, pressing the muzzle of the shotgun to Finney's breast. 'Tell your brute outside to let go Daniel's wife, or I'll have your heart's blood. Do it, or it's your life, sir, and worm no more to me than gnat's piss, at this moment, I most heartily assure you, haw! Come near my house again, come near Mistress Lewrie one more time, anywhere on New Providence, and you're a dead man. Do you even dare to ride past my property, I'll shoot you dead in the road as I would a rabid cur, sir! That all of it, Ephraim? Good. Now begone! Hear me?
"Begone, you son of a bitch, haw haw!"
With Finney disarmed, Caroline at last lowered the pistol and carefully rode the hammers forward one at a time, almost blind to the task through tears of relief, her hands now trembling like sparrows' wings. Now that the threat was ended, she was in horror of what she had almost done. She'd never aimed at anything but stationary gourds or bottles in her life, and here she'd almost taken a man's life!
She wanted to throw up, to scream, to fall to the floor and let her shuddering wails loose at last. But, now that Finney was being herded out the door and off the property, she went instead to her baby to pick him up and try to comfort him as he squalled in terror. She held him snug to her chest and shoulder, patting his back and stroking him, dandling him up and down as she paced the bedroom in a small circle, and commanding herself not to faint as long as he needed her, much as she wished for a ladylike spell of the vapors.
"There, there, little man," she wept, trying to smile for him. "There, there. It's all over. Bad man's gone, and won't be coming to hurt you. Momma's here, and she won't ever let anyone scare you ever again, Sewallis! Swear to God, baby, swear to God! And your daddy'll be home soon. Your daddy's coming, and he'll make everything better, you'll see!"
And pray God, make it soon, she thought as she paced.
Chapter 7
"It's Walker's Cay, sir," Lewrie said at last.
"Again?" Commander Rodgers scoffed. "They wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, they'd dare, sir," Lewrie replied grimly. "And think it a knacky jest. It's perfect as a hideout, as we already know. And why would anyone ever suspect them to return to it, after we scoured it so well before, sir? Added to that, mere's no Navy patrol stationed in the Abacos except for a visit now and then by a cutter, and never to the north of Pelican Harbour, Marsh Harbour, or Carleton Settlement."
"Finally, sir, there's that Portuguese captain we spoke to," Lieutenant Ballard stuck in, a hopeful note in his voice. "On his passage south past Walker's Cay, he reported seeing masts, and lights ashore as it grew dark. There should be no one there, sir."
"He wasn't chased," Rodgers muttered. "He saw no pirates." "They didn't see him at twilight, sir, to the east'rd of the island," Lewrie suggested. "He got lucky."
"God, I wish you'd never talked me into this," Commander Rodgers sighed heavily, rubbing his face in puzzlement "God Almighty, I've half a mind to…"
"Could be Finney's Guineaman, sir," Lewrie added. "Still caching undutied goods there, still smuggling. We could burn him out, hurt him sore as we did the last time, and then be off for Nassau, with evidence enough this time to prosecute him for smuggling, if nothing else."
Come on, you dithering twit, Lewrie thought; don't whiffle out on us now!
"There is that," Rodgers allowed, grudgingly. "Sarah and Jane's ready, sir," Alan pressed. "Do you transfer your Marines into her, Lieutenant Ballard can be off Walker's Cay by dawn to see what's what. If no pirates come out to pursue him, he could sail in, anyway, and how would they know he wasn't there to deliver goods, sir? I'll give up thirty hands to help, and take Captain Grant and his crew aboard Alacrity to guard 'em, whilst you keep Whippet fully manned."
And if it's Arthur doin' it, there's less involvement for you to fear, you hen-hearted dog, Alan thought; upon my head be it!
"Oh, very well, then," Rodgers said at last, permission to go wrung from him like a dishclout in a mangle.
"Right, sir!" Ballard said quickly. "I'll go aboard Sarah and Jane at once, with your leave, sir. With your Marines, we'll soon make hash of'em!"
"If you will excuse me, sir, I'll see Mister Ballard over the side, and transfer my spare hands over to the merchantman," Alan said, rising to gather his hat and sword. And they left the great-cabins before Commander Rodgers could change his mind.
"Christ, I thought he was going to back out," Lewrie complained in a soft voice as the sideparty mustered to see them off.
"He is a damned good seaman, though," Ballard assayed with a wry expression. "If not…" he shrugged in conclusion.
"Well, here you are, then, Arthur," Lewrie said, clasping him by the shoulders at arm's length. "An independent action of your very own at last Take joy of it."
"Thank you for getting it for me, sir."
"Think he'd want his first lieutenant that involved?" Alan japed in a whisper. "If it all goes bust, then it's less risk for him. And, Lord, I owe you after Conch Bar, don't I? Should have given you charge of the landing, and I could have gone into Aemilia to put some bottom in 'fool' Coltrop. Hindsight's better than no sight at all, I guess! But I know you'll do us proud. Just take care of yourself, mind? As stiff as you are, me lad, I'd miss you should anything happen. Be your knacky self. But not too bold, Arthur."
"Coming from you, Alan, that's a wry 'un," Ballard snorted. "Do but listen to yourself, gainsaying 'bold.' Sir."
"God speed, then, Arthur," Lewrie smiled, stepping back to doff his hat to him. "Mister Ballard. Now go catch me some pirates for my breakfast!"
Sarah and Jane stood west-nor'west, loafing along under all plain sail, the striped flag of the United States flying from her mizzen-mast truck. Marine Lieutenant Pomeroy's thirty-five privates, one corporal and sergeant were sprawled on the deck in what shade they could find, dressed in their usual slop-clothing for workingparties, though with their Brown Bess muskets, hangers and bayonets close by.
Ballard was showing only ten seamen on deck or aloft, what would be expected of a skin-flint Yankee shipmaster, with the others napping below, or resting beside the great-guns. Sarah and Jane mounted only twelve six-pounders, little better than Alacrity's batteries, with two of those disposed in the mates' wardroom below facing aft, or up on the forecastle for chase guns. The rest were spaced out to either beam at every second gun port, so that Sarah and Jane, designed for a stronger armament, sailed en flute, like a piccolo with "open holes."
Huge bags of "white gold" had been hauled up from her holds to line either beam between the guns, piled up three deep to make breastworks on the gun deck, on the sail-tending gangways above, to absorb the expected musketry, and the impact of a pirate-ship's guns. There was a low breastwork around the quarter-deck and fo'c's'le as well, with a final redoubt of bagged salt around the double wheel and binnacle to shelter the helmsmen.
"Dawn for fair, sir," Midshipman Parham said, looking at his pocket watch. "And my watch is accurate for once, there's a wonder."
"Reefs an' breakers t'larboard!" the masthead lookout sang out "On the 'orizon, sir!"
"That should be about six miles to leeward," Ballard told mem, muttering half to himself. "Close enough to prance past Walker's Cay and see what comes out, but not so close that they think we're stupid. Mister Parham, go aloft. You've seen these isles before-from the sea. Tell me which we're closest to, Walker's Cay, Grand Cay or Romer's."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Schooner to loo'rd, sir!" the lookout called suddenly. "Hull down an' bows on! Two points off the larboard bows!"
"Belay, Mister Parham," Ballard said, with only a slight twitch of his mouth to indicate any excitement, or notice. "It no longer matters." He paced aft to the taffrails, savoring the windward side which was a captain's by right, then back to the railings overlooking Sarah and Jane's waist and gun deck. Hands clasped on his rump, fingers not even twining upon each other, as much as he wished to do so. Arthur Ballard had a firm grip on his emotions, as a man who aspired to the status of gentleman should, as a taciturn, self-controlied Navy man should. He envied Lewrie his boyish lack of control, his ability to enthuse or show anger, sorrow, or frustration so easily, and Lewrie's ability to command and keep the hands' respect even if he did "let go." But it was not his style; it was not for him.
So Ballard paced, and the sun rose in the sky as the schooner stood out from the islands, seeming as if to pass ahead of the trading ship in all innocence, and Sarah and Jane kept her course, and her somnolent lack of notice.
"Schooner's crossin' ahead, fine on the bows, an' two mile off!"
"He'll haul his wind, keeping the wind gauge, and fall down upon our starboard side," Ballard announced as he paused in his pacing near the wheel. "See, he tacks, as if he's cleared ahead of us."
"Soon, sir?" Parham inquired, all but wriggling like a puppy on his first hunt in excitement "Time for Quarters, sir?"
"Calmly, Mister Parham, calmly. You are never to show fear or excitement to the people," Ballard instructed. "They're steadier for your being steady."
"Aye, aye, sir," Parham grimaced, as if his bladder were full, and Ballard were detaining him from dashing forrud to the "head."
"Hmm," Arthur Ballard sighed, peering at the schooner, which was then a point or two off their starboard bows, sailing off sou'easterly, close-hauled. "I should think now, Mister Parham. Beat to Quarters. But keep them down and out of sight. Lieutenant Pomeroy? Your men To Arms, if you please! On the gun deck, still. Stay away from the gangways until they're close-aboard!"
"Bearin' up, sir!" the lookout announced. "He's tackin' 'cross the wind to the starboard tack!"
"About three-quarters of a mile off the starboard bows," Ballard muttered. "Very nicely done! Even better than wearing off the wind to fall down on us and round up alongside on the same course. Saves sparing hands on the sheets and braces to continually adjust on a rounding course to come close-aboard us, do you see, Mister Parham? That means more men free to serve his guns, and make up a boarding party."
"I see, sir."
"And all settled down and ready for it when it comes," Ballard went on with his praise. "One may learn a lesson or two, even from a pirate."
Once tacked to a parallel course with Sarah and Jane, the schooner hauled her wind almost at once and began to fall down on them fast, giving them little warning, and pinning their ship between threatened gunfire and the jagged teeth of the coral reefs to south and west. If they chose to loose sail and run, they couldnot find enough sea-room for an escape, nor could they tack and flee sou'east as long as their foe lay off their starboard bows.
"Panic party, Mister Odrado!" Ballard shouted. Designated men ran to the shrouds to scale them, as if going aloft to cast off reefs and make sail. Others rushed to the gangways for the braces to their squaresails to adjust their angle for a new course, and more speed.
"Hands at Quarters, sir," Early, the quartermaster's mate, said. "Guns run out to the portsills, an' port lashings cast off. Swivels loaded, tompions out, an' manned. Larboard gun crews shifted to starboard, an' that Lieutenant Pomeroy is ready to mount his men on the starboard gangway."
"Very well, Mister Early," Ballard nodded quickly, then smirked just a trifle. "I wonder, Mister Early. Do you think they will run up the 'Jolly Roger'? Or is such a convention out of date these days?"
"Well, I don' know, sir, it…" Early began, then paused. "Ah, that's a little joke, isn't it, Mister Ballard, sir?"
"Aye, Mister Early," Ballard said with a sober face. "But a feeble joke. Away with you, now, and stand ready."
The schooner was sidling up to them quickly, closing the range to about a cable. She was as gaudy as a Spanish royal galley, tricked out with gold leaf on bow and stern, down her upper bulwark rails, and around her entry ports. There had to be at least seventy men in her crew, making Ballard wonder how they got out of each other's way when working the ship. He could espy a larboard battery of five nine-pounder cannon, and at least half a dozen swivel guns on either beam.
"Let's not look too easy," Ballard called. "Mister Woods? Do you fire the forrud chase guns! Make it look clumsy!"
One six-pounder fired, raising a splash near the enemy's bows. A moment later, the schooner fired in reply.
"Everybody, down!" Ballard called, though he kept his feet, and his calm composure as the heavy balls droned in. Sarah and Jane leapt and cried in protest as round-shot tore through her thin scantlings and bulged the bulwarks inwards. Bagged salt thumped and tumbled, and some bags burst apart, spilling white crystals about like snow.
"Ahoy, there!" came a call from across the narrowing channel between them. "Strike yer colours, cut yer braces an' sheets, and let-fly-all, or I'll let ya have another broadside! Gimme no resistance, and you'll still be alive when this is over! Show me fight, though…"
"Let-fly-all, Mister Odrado!" Ballard shouted, putting a panicky edge to his voice, then turned to shout to the pirate schooner with his brass speaking trumpet. "Hold your fire, for God's sake! We'll strike to you! Mercy, in the name of God! Hold your fire!"
The American flag came tumbling down to trail astern as its halyard was cut, and the sails began to luff and thunder in disarray.
"Now, sir?" Parham insisted.
"Not yet, Mister Parham," Ballard said. "Calmly, now, remember? We'll do it the way our captain said he served a French privateer during the late war. Close enough to smell 'em, first! But do you extend to Lieutenant Pomeroy my compliments, and tell him it's time he posted his men on the starboard gangway, below the bulwarks, and be ready to volley at close range."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Parham replied, dashing off in haste, in spite of Ballard's cautions.