Before the man hit the ground Dagan brought the barrel
of his gun down across the man's head, feling him.
When Dagan struck his man, Caleb and Kawliga joined in the battle, Caleb fighting two men. One had been hit so hard his eyes refused to focus but his partner landed a punch that felt like a lightening bolt had struck Caleb, causing his jaw to pop and immediately ache.
One man had pull ed a knife and slashed at Caleb but Kawliga charged him and put the man down with his tomahawk. Caleb wobbled awkwardly for a moment before recovering his wits.
Dagan was facing another of the men who was breathing heavily now. The fight had already lasted longer than he would have thought. Dagan's foe had pull ed his blades and the two men circled, each looking for the advantage. Dagan's foot hit a slick muddy spot on the wet ground. Seeing his opponent slip the man slashed out, ripping Dagan's shirt and drawing blood.
With the man off balance, Dagan sent a crashing left to the man's face. Blood started to drip from the man's lips and nose as he struggled to keep his feet under him.
At that time, the man who Caleb had first encountered jumped Dagan from behind. Dagan lurched his body trying to loosen the man's grip. The two men struggled and finally they both hit the ground, roling, wrenching this way and that, before scrambling back on their feet. As Dagan gained his balance, he gave a sudden forward lunge flipping the man over his back and into the rushing river. The man's screams were heard as the swift current swept the man downstream.
Turning back to the melee, Caleb and Kawliga were
holding their own. With three of the rogues down, the numbers were now on Dagan and his group's side.
Kawliga and his opponent circled one another.
Kawliga's foe charged and the two hit the wet ground roling over. Kawliga was much smaller than his man but was quicker. When the man rol ed over, he pull ed a large wicked knife from his boot. Seeing the blade, Kawliga grabbed a hand full of mud and slung it into the man's face and eyes causing the man to spit and sputter.
As the man tried to wipe the mud from his eyes, Kawliga picked up a knife Dagan's foe had dropped and gave it a throw. The blade sunk into the man's throat. With a face full of mud and blood gushing from his neck, the man sunk to his knees then fel face first into the mud Kawliga had just used to his advantage.
Caleb had just landed a blow to his man. It was a vicious left hook. The force of the blow knocked the man backward onto his buttocks. The man felt paralyzed and limp. It suddenly dawned on him the fight was over. His friends were al down. Sitting in the muddy shall ows good sense prevailed. The exhausted man used the last of his strength to jump up and run.
Kawliga quickly picked up a musket to bring the man down but Dagan intervened.
"Let him go. Let's get up to the post and dry out and maybe get a hot meal."
Jubal had kept his attention on the man on the porch. The man had kept seated al during the fight. As the victors approached the trading post he stood up.
"Glad I am to see ’ em gone. Trash. Trash is what they be. Been here three days drinking up my corn squeezing and eating my food without paying a cent.
Yes sir, I'm glad to see ’ em gone. Supper's on the stove and if you've a mind, a warm bed for the night." The group was more than willing to accept the man's hospitality.
Chapter Six
The lanthorn hanging off Warrior's stern gave a yel ow glow through the fog. The lanthorn would swing larboard then starboard with the gentle rol of the flagship. The wet fog bit through the clothes of the men on watch. Like a ghost, patches would drift through sections of the ship making them invisible for a time, then visible again. On the larboard side loomed the rocky shoreline.
"I don't like it," Oxford said as he approached Captain Moffett and Lord Anthony. Both agreed with the master. Above, the faint slapping of cordage against the mast seemed to get on Moffett's nerves.
"Mr. Herrod!"
"Aye, captain."
"Can you not hear that infernal racket?"
"Aye, sir."
"Then dammit, man. Do something about it."
"Aye, sir, right away."
"Good, I hope I don't have to remind you further to take care of your duties."
"No sir, I'll see them done."
Lord Anthony felt clammy as he wiped the moisture from his face. Droplets of moisture had gathered in Oxford 's beard and dripped to the deck.
"I can smell the stench of the shore," Oxford sounded distressed. "Not a fit place for a man-o-war if you ask me."
Anthony had to agree. The Bay of Bundy was narrow and the coast treacherous. Anthony's squadron was escorting a convoy to St. John's, New Brunswick. If Oxford was right the Grand Manan Island was just to larboard.
Privateers had considered this area their personal raiding grounds. It was rumored they had captured from these waters enough powder and shot to keep Washington 's army supplied for a year. small gunboats would dash in and cut out a supply ship before the convoy escort even knew something was amiss.
Anthony had hoped to prevent this from happening to supply ships under his protection. It took daring and experienced captains but Anthony was sure of his captains. Most had been with him for several years.
Drakkar was off on independent patrol but Anthony had the rest of his convoy sail in a diamond formation.
Stephen Earl was in temporary command of SeaWolf and sailed at the head of the formation. Warrior was further astern of SeaWolf and Pigeon and Audacity were on the flanks with Buck bringing up the rear in Merlin.
In the middle sailed the convoy. Anthony had held a meeting with al the convoy's captains and laid out specific instructions and sailing plans for the rest of their journey to St. Johns. From Maine, most had already at some point been witness to the raiders and therefore were willing to comply with the Admiral's orders.
Anthony had been looking towards the invisible coast, sensing the nearby dangers he couldn't see.
"Not a fit day ’ta my way of thinking, sir." Anthony had been so engrossed with the dangerous coast he'd not been aware Bart had approached. "I think it's a prime day for privateers," Anthony responded. "They could be on us before we knew it with this damn fog."
"Aye," Bart answered. "I brung yew a cloth to wipe ye face. Maybe ye glass when the fog lifts." Looking at his thoughtful cox'n, Anthony asked,
"You getting a case of nerves?"
"Nerves? Nay, my lord, it's a bel y full of Silas and that damn ape I'm getting. Do you know my lord Silas asked me to take the damn ape to the head so's he could shat. Damned if I will."
Anthony couldn't help but smile to himself. Bart's anger was more to do with Mr. Jewell s downing a tankard of rum Bart had made the mistake of setting down on the table while he opened a stern window.
"Think the little bastard can swim?" Bart had asked angrily. "I feel like drowning the bugger." It was the first time Anthony had ever heard Bart and Silas have words. "You shouldn't ’na left it to tempt him," Silas had flung back at Bart. "He doesn't know any better."
"I'll be glad when Caleb gets back and gets his damn ape," Bart had said in a raised voice as he'd stormed out of the pantry.
Well, Anthony thought, I'll be glad too, more so if Gabe is with him.
A slight breeze stirred, and then the wind picked up from the south. It rolled back the fog and only small patches remained, and then the remnants thinned and disappeared.
"Gunboats, gunboats to the larboard," the lookout cal ed down.
"Luck," Bart said, "Iffen the wind had held they'd been among us ’fore we knowed it."
Moffett was quick. He'd already given the order to beat to quarters, however, Earl on SeaWolf had already picked out targets and was firing.
The raiders were using galleys, not unlike those the Spanish or Algerians used. The boats carried two short masts and lateen sails with a minimum of canvas and cordage so they could be easily handled by untrained men. They were also pierced for sweeps which gave an added benefit for maneuverability. Each gunboat carried two great guns, one in the bow and one in the stern. Each could be elevated, lowered or transversed.