Biddlecomb watched the land glide past and felt suddenly uneasy, and he knew that something was wrong, knew something more than his current situation made him feel that way. It was a feeling developed after years of inshore navigation, like an alarm bell ringing in the back of his head, but he could not tell what it was.
He looked to his right, toward the eastern bank, but it was too far to be seen, even in a generous moonlight. He looked over at Rumstick. Now his friend was looking up as well, a confused expression on his face.
The land that had been tending away from the longboat was tending back again, fifty yards off the starboard side.
Biddlecomb leaned against Rumstick, leaning his head a little toward Rumstick's ear. "Conimicut Point," he whispered, and even as he pronounced the words, the longboat staggered to a halt, hard aground on the sand lying two feet below the surface. The marines fell like bowling pins, landing in a red, cursing, thrashing heap. The sailors did not fare much better, and at least one man dropped his oar. Biddlecomb watched it as it was swept downstream. The current was moving even faster than before.
"God damn it!" Norton exclaimed as he regained his seat. Biddlecomb scrambled upright as well, grabbing Rumstick under the arms and helping him up. The current had already caught the stern of the longboat and was swinging it around, pivoting the boat on its grounded bow.
"Over you go, you men!" ordered Norton, and the sailors leapt over the gunwale into the waist-deep water. Biddlecomb heard sharp intakes of breath as the men hit the frigid river. They grabbed the side of the boat and began to push in an uncoordinated manner.
"No, no! Belay that!" shouted Norton. Larboard side, push away; starboard side, pull toward you!" The men obeyed, pulling and pushing with audible effort, but the current held the boat fast on the sand.
"Get the bloody bullocks out of the boat," suggested an anonymous voice from the dark.
"Watch your bloody gob!" screamed the sergeant, who then, in a gentler tone, added, "Righr, marines, out you go."
There was a clash as the marines laid their muskets down on the thwarts, and then they followed the seamen over the side.
The longboat sat noticeably higher, relieved of the weight of over a ton of men and gear. The sailors and marines were now able to swing the boat back unto the stream, and with hands still gripping the side began to walk it over the shallows.
Biddlecomb turned, just barely, toward Rumstick and looked up at his friend. Their eyes met, and Biddlecomb could see that they shared the same thought.
"Wait for it," Rumstick said under his breath, and Biddlecomb nodded, so slightly that only Rumstick could see.
It seemed to take an inordinate time for the soldiers and sailors to walk the boat across the bar, and Biddlecomb feared that his feigned disinterest was wholly apparent. He looked at the men on the starboard side, just feet from where he sat. They were not pushing the boat any longer, rather they were holding it back in the current. Biddlecomb felt the soles of his feet tingling like mad and he pressed them down hard to deaden the sensation. He saw Conimicut Point passing astern and knew that they were almost over the bar.
Just then the forwardmost man spoke. "Water is getting right deep here, Lieutenant."
"Very well—" said Norton, but he got no further.
Biddlecomb leapt to his feet, screaming like a banshee, and snatched up one of the heavy oars that lay across the thwarts. The sailor in the water beside him let go of the gunwale and yelled in surprise. Biddlecomb swung the oar in a great sweeping arc and smashed it into the men holding the starboard side of the boat. They let go, as much from surprise as pain, and the boat began to spin sideways. Rumstick fell on his back and lashed out with his feet, kicking the men within his reach on the larboard side. Biddlecomb swung the oar back, catching the other marines and sailors on the larboard side, knocking them away from the boat. A marine grabbed the blade of the oar and tried to pull him off-balance, but Biddlecomb let go of the oar and the marine disappeared astern.
"Son of a bitch!" cried Norton, leaping to his feet. A few men in the stern still clung to the longboat beyond the reach of Biddlecomb's flailing oar, but now the current had a solid hold on the big boat and was sweeping it downstream. One by one the men lost their grip, flailing about in the water as they did.
Biddlecomb looked aft. Norton was standing now. He jerked his sword from his sheath and advanced forward between the seats as the sergeant struggled to his feet. Biddlecomb looked down for a weapon. There were muskets, but he doubted that they were loaded, and he did not care to counter an agile sword with a clumsy bayonet. A cutlass was on the thwarts as well, left behind by one of the seamen. He snatched up the unfamiliar weapon and held it horizontally above his head as Norton slashed down on him. The heavy blade absorbed the shock of the blow.
He drew the blade back and swung at Norton, but the lieutenant had recovered and parried Biddlecomb's stroke. The sergeant blasted past Norton, anxious to join the fight. The clumsy marine sliced at Biddlecomb, but there was no room to swing and Biddlecomb easily deflected the blow, in the same move pivoting and slashing at Norton. Norton's sword caught the cutlass, but the strength of the blow threw him off-balance. Biddlecomb stepped forward and jammed his shoulder in Norton's chest, toppling the lieutenant back over the thwart, and turned to see the sergeant thrusting the point of his sword at his belly. Biddlecomb twisted and the blade pierced his jacket. He lashed out with his left hand, seizing the hilt of the sergeant's sword, preventing him from drawing back, and smashed the hilt of his cutlass into the surprised man's face. He released the sergeant's sword as the marine toppled backward, then turned to face Norton as the lieutenant regained his feet.
The two men faced each other in a dueler's stance, each waiting for the other to make a move that could be exploited. Norton thrust, Biddlecomb parried and brought the cutlass around and slashed down, but Norton caught the blade with his hilt and twisted the cutlass aside. He thrust again, and again Biddlecomb parried using the weight of the cutlass to push the sword well away, providing himself with an opening. He slashed at Norton, his eyes fixed on Norton's throat, but the lieutenant was quick and his sword stopped the stroke that would have killed him. He took the full force of the blow on the thin blade of his sword, which broke like a toy six inches above the hilt. Biddlecomb drew back again and stopped, both men panting and looking at the broken weapon. Biddlecomb lowered the cutlass to his side.
"Congratulations, Biddlecomb," said Norton. "You will, of course, hang for this."
"I had figured on hanging anyway." Biddlecomb looked down at the sergeant, who still lay on the bottom of the boat, gripping his jaw. "Get his keys and take the manacles off Rumstick."
Norton bent down to obey, aqnd suddenly the night exploded with noise and light and a blinding yellow flash from the stern of the boat. Biddlecomb felt his jacket jerk as if someone had tugged on it, hard, and he and Norton and Rumstick shouted out in surprise. Biddlecomb was blinded by the flash and stood motionless.
"The midshipman!" he had Rumstick shout. Looking aft, his eyes beginning to see again, Biddlecomb could make out the shape of the midshipman standing in the stern sheets, his dirk in one hand, the smoking pistol in the other. Biddlecomb's vision grew stronger and he could see that the midshipman was trembling.