"Be ready, lads. Stand together! "He saw them leaning on the oars, or squeezing between the thwarts to hear him better. They needed more time to recover from the long pull. But there was no time. "No quarter!"
He sat down and undipped his belt. Suppose the schooner had slipped away, even as they were idling with the dhow? How would Bolitho excuse that to the commodore? Or to himself? There was a splash and a piercing shriek, then a violent flurry of wings close, even under the bow itself.
Vincent saw the oars sliding to a halt, men heaving them inboard as if in response to a spoken order.
The anchored schooner lifted out of the darkness as if to run them down.
Habit, drill, disciplineThe tiller was hard over, a grapnel clattered across the schooner's bulwark, while another fell close by in the water.
There were shouts, even as the vessel's bowsprit swept over their heads and both hulls ground together.
Vincent had the hanger in his hand, and could feel some one pushing him from behind as he reached for the schooner's bulwark.
Something screamed and slithered against his legs as a cutlass slashed past him, and there were more shouts, mingled with curses, as they fought and stumbled across the deck. A pistol flashed, and Vincent felt the ball thud into the planking by his feet.
More blades, and figures swarming up through a hatch by the foremast.
The hanger crossed with a heavier sword, sliding hilt to hilt; he was falling back under his attacker's strength and determination. He felt his breath, the beard rasping against his skin, the great blade forcing him back and down. His foot slipped, perhaps on blood, and he knew his life was over. Like a door slamming.
He tried to twist the hanger, but he was falling.
"At ‘em, Onwards! "More shouts, feet thundering as men climbed up from the second cutter and charged across the deck.
Vincent was on his feet again, a sailor offering him his hanger, eyes wild, staring around for another enemy.
Squire picked up the broad-bladed sword and hefted it thoughtfully.
"Hmm. Scimitar. Can take a man's head off. "He leaned toward him. "Near thing. Are you all right now?"
Vincent was still breathing harshly, haunted by the strength behind the heavy blade.
"Thanks to you, James."
Men were shouting, waving cutlasses or boarding axes, a few kneeling by injured companions, and some who might never move again.
Squire glanced up as a hurrying seaman paused to jab his thumb up before running aft where others were guarding prisoners.
"We've taken her. Thank God!"
Vincent repeated, "Thanks to you, James!"
Fitzgerald strode toward them, dragging a bearded prisoner, with a boarding axe poised above his head by way of persuasion.
"Caught this bastard tryin "to ditch a box over the side, sorr!"
He took a deep, rasping breath and shook the axe.
"Sure, an' I wonder if it's what we came lookin "for!"
"You may be right. "He looked down at the dead man by the bulwark. Teeth still bared in a grin of triumph when Squire had cut him down.
He asked, "What's the bill?"
Squire walked to the side to look down into the cutter.
"Two. "One of the seamen signalled to him. "Now it's three.
And a few cuts and bruises. The leech can put those right when we get them back to the ship."
Vincent felt his mind clearing, as if in response to some command.
"We'll cut the cable and warp her into deeper water. Two boats "crews should be able to move her far enough. " He looked at the huddled prisoners. The same men who had fired on unarmed traders and left them to die. "I'm sure we can rely on their help? "He wanted to smile, to break the tension, but his jaw felt locked, and his hand was clenched and trembling with reaction. "If it can't be done, we'll sink the bloody thing where she can do no more harm."
One of the marines was calling to him, "We can mount the old murderer over "ere, sir!"
Some one had lifted the musketoon from the cutter and mounted it on an improvised swivel by the main hatchway.
"That was quick thinking. "He could not remember the marine's name. "Cover the prisoners. And if you have to, use it!"
Squire was already organizing men to pass out a hawser, for towing the vessel once the cable was cut.
One of Onward's seamen was shrouding the three corpses with scraps of canvas. Unhurriedly, as if he were beyond emotion.
Vincent looked toward the dark edge of land and the faint gleam of water marking their escape to the sea. The stars seemed so much paler now, although it had taken no time to board and seize the schooner. Men had died, obeying orders.
No questions asked. The old Jacks always insisted, never volunteer. But they were usually the first to step forward when the call came.
He tried to clear his throat; his mouth was as dry as dust. A seaman padded past, wrist wrapped in a crude bandage. The blood looked back in the feeble starlight.
"We'll get some prize money for this, eh, sir? "He could even chuckle about it.
They would never know how close it had been. If that startled seabird had raised the alarm two minutes sooner, or some lookout had been posted… would not be standing here.
"Boats ready, sir!"
Vincent waved to the man standing by the cable.
"An extra tot if you can do it in three! "He saw him grin and lift his axe.
The boats had cast off, the towing hawser already trailing in the water.
"Give way!"
There was a thud and he heard the man yell, "In one, sir! Does I get a double tot?"
Vincent felt the deck quiver, and heard the splash of oars as the two cutters took the strain.
Once in open water they might find it harder, but at least there was less weight in each boat now.
Some of the men on deck were waving and shouting encouragement, until a voice silenced them with a few well used threats.
The cutters were pulling away on either bow, and he could hear Squire calling across to the other boat, where Fitzgerald would still be standing at the tiller like a rock.
A snail's pace, but at least they were moving…
He felt the seaman beside him almost jumping with relief and excitement.
"We did it, sir! We showed the buggers!"
The big scimitar was still lying where Squire had dropped it.
But for his swift and brave action, there would be nothing.
Vincent would be lying with those three pathetic bundles awaiting burial.
He turned and grasped the seaman's shoulder. It could have been any one of them; it no longer mattered.
He said, "Yes, we did it, and we did it together!"
He stared up at the foremast, sharper now against the paling sky. The fore-and-aft rig would make it simpler to spread some sail when they had enough sea-room.
He had been given a second chance. He would not allow himself to forget.
"Stand by to cast off!"
And he was ready.
16. Out of the Shadows
"There's a sight to touch your heart! "Captain Adam Bolitho lowered the telescope and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. He trained the glass again, he had lost count of the times, and waited for the image to steady.
"I prayed for this. "He heard Julyan the master clear his throat, and realized he must have spoken aloud, his guard down, and unable to hide his true feelings.
He moved the glass very slowly: figures, even faces coming alive, working at sheets and halliards, the big sails fighting back as the schooner butted too close to the wind. The two cutters were towing close astern, and he had already seen the uniforms, aft by the schooner's tiller. Vincent was safe, and so was Squire. He had closed his mind to the harsh possibility that accompanied every raid or cutting-out attempt. But it was always harder to accept if you were waiting, and not personally at risk. The canvas-covered shapes by the bulwark had been visible when the schooner rolled to the wind. It was wrong to feel thankful, but, like the flag they had hoisted above the captured vessel, he was conscious only of his pride in them.