'Your friend Surcouf wouldn't think much of that for an argument,' said Jolival. 'The next time you see him, you must ask him to tell you about the Kent. A duel between two ships at sea is more a matter of seamanship and winds, and of stout hearts if it comes to grappling. And I've an idea our men are stout enough at heart!'
There was no doubt that the faces of the men about them on the deck were alive with the excitement of the coming fight. The seamen had smelled powder and it made their eyes shine and their nostrils flare. Marianne caught sight of Gracchus among them: armed with a pistol and clearly as happy as a king, the young coachman was preparing to do battle with the best. Up in the rigging, men were busy with the sails as, amid a flow of orders, the brig heeled round with a proud and stately grace into the wind. The Englishman, less easily manoeuvrable, had barely begun to turn but a fresh volley rent the air and white puffs dotted the air between them as the Alcestis let go her stern chasers.
Craig O'Flaherty came hurrying up to Marianne.
'Captain's compliments, ma'am, and will you go below. No need to expose yourself. We're going to try and capture his wind.'
The flush on his face owed nothing to drink this morning. If Jason had ordered rum all round for the crew to hearten them for the coming action, he had taken care to pass over his first-officer. O'Flaherty made a move to take Marianne's arm to lead her below but she hung back, clinging to the rail like a child that would not go to bed.
'I don't want to go below! I want to stay here and see what happens. Jolival, tell him I want to see!'
'You can watch from the portholes. You'll be safer there, although you may not see so well,' Jolival told her.
'It's an order, ma'am,' the first-officer added. 'You must go down.'
'An order? To me?'
'Well, to me, actually. I'm afraid my orders are to see you to safety, by force if necessary. The captain went on to say that if you insisted on exposing your life it was scarcely worth him risking the lives of his men.'
Tears welled up in Marianne's eyes. Even now, with death threatening them both, Jason was sending her away from him. She surrendered, acknowledging defeat.
'Very well. In that case, I'll go alone. You are needed, Mr O'Flaherty, I believe.' She glanced significantly towards the poop where Jason, apparently having dismissed her from his mind, was absorbed in his strategy. His eyes were fixed on the enemy and a stream of orders issued from his lips.
The Alcestis was showing her elegantly carved and gilded stern windows as the Witch came across on an oblique course to windward, neatly cutting the wind from her sails. Then, as her canvas flapped helplessly, the Witch's carronades roared. Smoke billowed over the brig's deck but through it came a shout of triumph.
'A hit! There goes her mizzenmast!'
It was echoed grimly by the voice from the masthead:
' 'Nother vessel coming up astern, sir! She's opening fire on us!'
The last words were drowned in the noise of another report, a little farther off.
The newcomer had slipped out from behind the small green island called Phanos and was bearing down on them under every stitch of canvas, flying the unmistakable British flag. Jolival blenched and seizing hold of Marianne began to drag her towards the companion.
'It's a trap!' he cried. 'We'll be caught between two fires. Now I see why the Alcestis let us take her wind so easily.'
'Then we're lost? In that case—'
Tearing herself from his grasp, Marianne made a dash for the poop, determined at all costs to get to Jason and die with him. But Kaleb was before her, barring her way.
'Not that way, madame! It's dangerous.'
'I know! Let me go! I must go to him!'
'Stop her!' Jason bellowed. 'If you let that lunatic woman up here, I'll have you in irons!'
The end of this speech was lost in the smoke and din as part of the rail disintegrated and the shot sliced through the shrouds and ploughed on into the deck-house roof.
Instantly, Kaleb had flung Marianne to the ground, hurling himself on top of her and pinning her to the deck with all his weight. The noise was deafening and visibility down to no more than a few feet. The guns' crews were firing almost before they had finished reloading. Fire belched from every one of the brig's gun ports but her decks were rent with agonizing screams and the groans of injured and dying men.
Coughing and choking, Marianne fought vigorously to free herself from the smooth and powerfully muscled body holding her down. At last, with the energy of desperation, she managed to push him off and struggle to her knees.
Without so much as a glance of gratitude for the man who had saved her life, and who, in any case, was already returning to his duties, she peered through the smoke in search of Jason. She could not see him, the entire after part of the ship being enveloped in a thick fog, but she heard his voice yelling, with an inexpressible note of triumph, in response to another shout from the masthead:
'Reinforcements are coming! We'll make it yet!'
Staggering to her feet, Marianne began to run towards the sound and literally fell into the arms of Gracchus who, his face blackened with powder, loomed ghostlike out of the reeking smoke.
'What is he saying, Gracchus?' she gasped, clinging to him. 'Reinforcements? Where?'
'Come with me. I'll show you. There are more ships coming. French ships. They're coming from the big island. And in the nick of time too. We were in a bad way between these two misbegotten Englishmen!'
'You're not hurt?'
'Me? Not a scratch. In fact, I'm almost sorry it's all over so soon. Battles are good fun!'
Marianne allowed herself to be towed to the rail. The smoke was thinning now and, with a broad sweep of his arm, Gracchus indicated the three vessels which could be seen rounding the small islet of Samothrace. They were three frigates, their sails bellying in the sun, and looking as unreal as three icebergs advancing through the blue morning. Their colours fluttering gaily at their peaks. They were the Pauline, Capitaine Montfort, the Pomone, Capitaine Rosamel, and the Persephone, Capitaine Le Forestier.
All sails set, the three ships came swooping to the American's rescue, their sleek keels cleaving through the blue water.
On board the Sea Witch, the men greeted their appearance with a frantic cheer. Caps waved in the air.
But already the two English ships were drawing off, abandoning the fight. One after the other, they rounded the rocky coast of Phanos and, knowing themselves safe from pursuit in those dangerous waters, sailed away slowly into the morning haze, followed by a last, defiant broadside from the brig.
Marianne stared after them, frowning. It had all happened so quickly… far too quickly. The two ships appearing one at a time, as though they had been lying in wait behind their two islands, and then the fight which was over after a few shots fired: it was all very strange and unlikely. Above all, the question remained: how had the English learned of her presence on board an American brig and, more important still, of the secret mission given her by Napoleon? Hardly anybody knew, and those few could be trusted absolutely because, apart from the Emperor and Marianne herself, they were limited to Arrighi, Benielli, Jason and Jolival, all of whom were above suspicion. Who, then?
Jason meanwhile had embarked on an inspection of his ship. The damage, in general, was not serious and would be easily repaired when they came to port. There were some wounded lying on the deck with John Leighton already busy attending to them. Coming to where Marianne was kneeling by a young seaman with a splinter in his shoulder, the privateer bent down and took a quick look at the wound.