The man grinned nervously and nodded, uncocking the piece. "Looks like they ain't shootin' at anybody but us, sir."
"Faster!" Scott ordered in the Malay tongue. "Faster!"
In response paddles dipped, flashed and dipped again, driving the proa steadily nearer the ship. Scott's eyes searched the men crowding the brig's rail in the waist. He spotted the yellow cap and sarong of Pa' Mahmud, but he couldn't see Fox. On the gun deck, he supposed. The sound of exploding gunpowder came to him. They're firing on Hurst and Darus now, he thought. Men broke away from the starboard rail and rushed to the larboard side of the Caroline. Hurst and Darus must be closer than he figured.
"Faster!" he rasped again. "Faster!"
He could make out the damage where the nine-pounder had exploded. The gun port was jagged and black. The flashing paddles drove them closer... closer. Before the twelve-pounder belched again they had gained two hundred and fifty yards. This time a spreading pattern of iron balls liberally peppered the proa, ripping open sacks of pepper and slightly wounding one of the Malays.
Now they could hear howls of defiance from the brig. With luck, Scott figured, we'll get alongside before they can reload. He decided to lay the proa directly under the gun port of the nine-pounder.
"Hold your fire, lads!" he shouted. "They can't hit us with the cannon now!"
That was true. They were so close now that the twelve-pounder could neither be tilted downward nor slewed to the right enough to bear on them.
Scott steered directly for the gaping gun port, paying no attention to the musketry opened on them. Lead balls whined past him and splashed into the sea. Suddenly the Malays realized what he was up to, and a group made a rush for the gun deck. By the time the proa was within a few feet of the ship's side they were clustered thickly where the nine-pounder had been. They brandished swords, creeses, spears and javelins; they screeched like demons from the pit.
Scott's voice rose in a great bellow. "Fire into the gun port! I'm laying her alongside."
The seamen's volley was ragged but effective, melting away the men confronting them. Scott laid the boat alongside and just under the gaping hole. Then he fired, too, carefully picking as his target a man peering from the opening. Spears rained down on them, wounding several boatmen and one of the white men.
Scott couldn't spare the time to see where the other boats were. From the yelling, though, he could guess that Hurst and Darus must already be alongside. Risking a hand, he caught at the jagged edge of the gun port and held the boat tightly against the brig's side. He freed his cutlass.
"Away, boarders!" he yelled, climbing aboard.
Four or five Malays rushed him murderously, almost forcing him back into the boat. Disregarding their spears, swords and creeses, he swung his own weapon like a scythe, making room for his mates.
The Malays couldn't stand up against him, now that he was in his own ship again. Battle madness lighted his eyes and fired his brain. His men scrambled aboard in his wake, yelling and cursing, and in a compact little knot they drove their opposition forward. The crew of the twelve-pounder, suddenly aware of their own danger, leaped into the fray courageously, but were hampered by their retreating comrades.
"Kill!" Scott roared above the clash of steel and the shouting in two tongues. "Sweep the deck!"
He was too embattled to realize it, but his plan was working almost perfectly. The pirates were forced to divide themselves into four groups to meet the attackers swarming aboard.
Scott's fury was such that it endowed him with abnormal strength and inspired his men, white and brown alike. The defenders of the brig gave ground on a deck growing slippery with blood, stubbornly at first, then in panic. One or two leaped into the sea, while the others still on their feet fled topside, closely pursued by the attackers.
Scott consciously sought Pa' Mahmud and Fox, either or both. Suddenly he saw the Malay rajah rallying his men in the waist near the mainmast. Pa' Mahmud, who was wielding a long parang, saw him at the same moment. Neither man hesitated. They rushed at each other like two wild animals, faces distorted with fury, the lust to kill in their eyes.
"Dog!" the Malay shouted. "Son-of-a-dog! Slayer of my son!
Scott said one word and said it in English. He spat it out in contempt and wrath. "Pirate!"
Cutlass clashed against parang as white captain and brown rajah fought for supremacy. Both were inspired by desperation. Each knew this was a fight to the death. Steel rang on steel as they slashed and lunged savagely.
Pa' Mahmud was a good swordsman, perhaps better than Scott, but he lacked the judgment of the captain. He shouted continually, wasting breath in insults, while Scott kept silent and watched for an opening. Although none of his fury had evaporated, Scott was cooler now; he had sampled Pa' Mahmud's mettle and skill, finding both worth consideration.
Little flecks of foam appeared on Pa' Mahmud's lips as they fought; he was beside himself with rage. He began to take longer chances, and once he nicked Scott's left shoulder slightly. The captain didn't even feel the wound. Then Scott's cutlass snapped off at the hilt as the rajah parried a terrible slash. For the hundredth part of a second neither realized exactly what had happened. Then Scott flung the hilt of the broken weapon into the rajah's face, gashing it deeply. Pa' Mahmud staggered back involuntarily and Scott leaped on him barehanded, catching his sword arm and twisting it until the fingers let go of the hilt.
The rajah was far from finished, though. With a mighty effort he wrenched free, jumping back and drawing his creese. Scott booted him in the groin and he doubled over in agony.
But still he clutched the wavy-bladed dagger and clung to his determination to avenge the death of his son. Lunging sideways, he almost got the captain; the creese ripped his trousers. Scott struck him on the back of the neck with his fist, but the blow glanced off.
In terrible pain, Pa' Mahmud straightened up and came at Scott again. His eyes were red and his mouth spewed foam. The captain ducked under the dagger and caught the rajah by the waist, lifting him off his feet and hurling him against the mast with such force that his back was broken. And in that moment one of Darus' Malays darted in and stabbed the stricken pirate in the throat. He, not Scott, snatched the rajah's yellow cap and waved it over his head with wild screams of triumph.
Scott caught up the fallen Pa' Mahmud's parang and charged into a mass of fighters.
"Pa' Mahmud is dead!" he roared. "Where is Fox?"
The defense in the waist of the brig deteriorated with astonishing suddenness. Without Pa' Mahmud the pirates' ferocity turned to terror. Breaking, they scattered frantically, each man seeking safety. A score leaped into the sea, striking out for shore. A few took to the rigging. Some allowed themselves to be chased along the deck and killed when there was no place left to run.
Scott didn't try to call off the killing. But he did look for his own men. He saw Bryant, wounded and supported by Hurst, and he saw big Kimbrell throw a screaming native into the water. Darus' yellow cap flashed in the sun as he joined in the butchering of pirates who had thrown down their weapons and were entreating mercy.
"Where's Fox?" Scott demanded.
"Dead," Hurst said.
"You killed him?"
Hurst nodded. " 'E was serving the twelve-pounder on our side of the ship. I got a shot at 'im. Got 'im between th' eyes."
"Dorcas!" Bryant cried. "Where's Dorcas?"
Scott rushed to the cabin. Then he searched the other two cabins quickly. He ran to the forecastle, where a wounded pirate tried to creese him. He killed the man with Pa' Mahmud's sword. Fear for Dorcas' safety mounted in him, approaching hard-to-control panic. He returned to the deck to be confronted by Bryant, who clung pitifully to Hurst for support.