"I'm not worrying about it, Zenas. But I've got an idea that sacks of pepper will turn bullets almost as well as bags of sand. The stuff is pretty loosely bagged, you know."
The New Englander rubbed his chin and smiled comprehendingly. "I hadn't thought of that. Let's get on with the business at hand, then. Fox and Pa' Mahmud may weigh anchor at any moment. They could always come back for the pepper, you know."
"They won't leave," Hurst said suddenly.
"How do you know?" Bryant demanded.
"Th' cap'n killed Pa' Mahmud's son, remember? You c'n bet Pa' Mahmud knows that. 'E won't let Fox leave."
"It looks like he'd attack us, then—Pa' Mahmud, I mean."
"Why should 'e? 'E knows, an' so does Fox that th' cap'n, here, is goin' to make a stab at takin' th' ship back. All they've got to do is set on their arses an' wait. Given my druthers, I'd ruther wait until after dark. I ain't seen a Malay yet that could hit th' side of a barn with a musket; but even so, gettin' alongside th' Caroline in th' daytime ain't goin' to be no picnic. She c'n spray right smart of grapeshot from 'er cannon."
"Agreed, my friend, agreed," Bryant said; "but Dorc—Miss Russell is out there in the ship. We can't wait."
"That's putting it exactly," Scott said, grimly approving. "We've not only got to take the fight to the Caroline, we've got to do it now. We can't wait."
28
IN his weariness Scott gave no thought to his own fighting heart and youthful strength. He could think only of the danger to Dorcas, of his ship in the hands of pirates, and of Fox's treachery. These things spurred him; and his desperate companions obeyed him without question. Darus, who knew Pa' Mahmud would never forgive him for his part in the fight at the camp, joined zealously in the preparation to mount the reckless assault. Within an hour the four largest proas available were heaped with sacks of pepper which would afford some protection. In one of them was placed the barely conscious Russell, who insisted on going along.
"I won't be in the way," the man said painfully, "and I might be able to help. After all, Dorcas is my daughter."
Scott thrust his hands into the tepid water of the river and splashed his face in an effort to cool himself. Excitement, the pre-battle tension, was building up in him now; he felt new strength course through his body. Bryant and Hurst looked at him silently. Taking his time, he wiped his face with the sweat-soaked sleeve of his shirt and rubbed his hands almost dry on the coarse cloth of his breeches. Then he hitched up his cutlass meaningfully.
"Where's Kimbrell?" he asked.
"Here, sir!" responded the boatswain, detaching himself from a knot of nervous men who were seeing to their weapons.
"Here's what we'll do," Scott said, forcing himself to speak matter-of-factly. "I'll take one boat and make directly for the starb'd side; we'll board at the waist. You take one, Zenas, and make for the stem; board through the cabin windows, or any way you can. Kimbrell, you take one and approach the bow; some of you can go up the anchor chain. And you, Hurst, go with Darus in the fourth proa. Go well to seaward, keeping out of small arms range as long as you can, and come in on the larb'd side. We'll all attack at about the same time, and most of us will sleep in the Caroline tonight."
Bryant straightened himself painfully. "Fox is for me."
"Fox is for whoever gets him," Scott said flatly. "The important one to get is Pa' Mahmud. If we get him alive, we can bargain, if we have to; if we kill him, his men'll break. Dead or alive, Fox won't make a hell of a lot of difference to Pa' Mahmud's men."
"That makes good sense," Hurst said. He grinned twistedly. "Well, since me an' Darus have got farthest to go, I reckon we better shove off first. Now?"
Scott nodded. "Now. And good luck to you!"
Fox was on the poop with Pa' Mahmud when the first proa stood out boldly from the mouth of Rocky River and together they watched its arrow-straight approach. The rhythmically dipped paddle blades flashed in the hot, white sunlight of the tropical morning. Fox caught up the captain's long glass and stared through it fixedly, but the distance was too great for him to discern faces.
"Chedula?" the rajah asked impatiently.
Without lowering the glass, Fox answered shortly. "I don't know. That boat's loaded, though."
Pa' Mahmud snatched the glass and looked for himself. Finally he returned it with a grunt of disgust.
That can't be Chedula, Fox thought. Chedula never could have overcome Rogers and taken back his fort. Yet it might be; it just might be. His belly knotted with apprehension. The boat came on, riding in the tranquil sea. Fox remembered the pepper that had been in Chedula's keeping. Maybe Captain Rogers was making off with it. Fresh sweat broke out on him.
A mile from the ship, the proa sheered to larboard. The change in course was enough to decide Fox. He had every gun in the Caroline charged with grapeshot in anticipation of an attack. He rushed to the gun deck, followed by Pa' Mahmud. There he sighted the starboard nine-pounder, then caught up a linstock and blew on the smoking match until the tip glowed bright red. He laid the match to the touchhole. The muzzle spewed iron and fire. The spreading shot winked sullenly in the brilliant light. The explosion of gun powder was deafening... the recoil of the cannon against the thick breeching violent. The Caroline shuddered as black smoke was snatched and scattered by the sea breeze.
The missiles fell far short of their target. Fox cursed and ran to the twelve-pounder. It didn't occur to him that the range was too great. Elevate the muzzle, he thought. Raise the sight.
He didn't get to lay the gun, though. Pa' Mahmud caught up a linstock and laid the match on the touchhole. The gun went off with a great roar, and Fox narrowly escaped being crushed when the truck leaped backward.
"God damn it!" he shouted in English, thoroughly angered and alarmed. "You didn't even sight it, you fool!"
Pa' Mahmud was too deafened by the explosion of gunpowder to hear him. Also, he was so delighted by the noise that he didn't even notice that the shot fell even shorter of the target.
Fox got a grip on his temper. He was in no position to insult the rajah. And he wished almost devoutly that he knew more about laying a cannon on the target. Well, at closer range it wouldn't matter. As it was, they had just wasted powder and shot. Calmer now, he swabbed out the barrel and reloaded the piece.
Suddenly there was a terrific blast. Bits of metal whizzed and whined about Fox and the rajah. The ship quivered more than it had when the twelve-pounder was fired. Screams of terror and agony came thinly to Fox. Then he saw.
Some of the Malays had reloaded the nine-pounder, dumping in powder recklessly. When they touched it off, the breech burst. A half-dozen of Pa' Mahmud's men sprawled crazily on the deck, while others danced about excitedly and howled their surprise.
Fox and Pa' Mahmud rushed to the site of the carnage. The cannon was ruined. Some of the men struck down were dead. One fellow's guts were ripped out, but he still was alive. The rajah himself creesed him, easing his agony with one merciful thrust.
Fox's concern was rational and selfish. Except for the loss of useful manpower, the casualties meant nothing to him; but the accidental destruction of the cannon, which might have been used effectively at point-blank range to repel boarders, was a serious loss. Worse, it was obvious that the Malays were shaken, even the rajah. Fox knew how easily their superstitious minds might fasten on the mishap as an ill omen. Glancing through the open gun port, he noted that the proa was holding its new course southward, roughly paralleling the shoreline. Maybe it was not hostile, after all. No other craft had come out of the river.