Sam moved to stand with the crew of a starboard gun, intently watching the cutter as she approached.
“Is she going to ram us, Captain?”
“No, she’ll stay to starboard of us, give us her broadside, and try and prevent our escape out to sea.” And if there’s anything left of us, the pieces will be picked up by that blasted frigate.
Sure enough, just when it looked as though the cutter might collide with them, her jib-boom angled away and it was at that moment that Sam shouted, “Fire!”
Nefarious barked out her own response, Sam already striding to the next gun and its crew before the smoke was even carried away.
“Again!” he yelled, and a wild cheer went up from the pirates as the cutter’s bowsprit, now passing to starboard, exploded in a shower of wood and gilt. Stays snapped, writhing like snakes, and her men began yelling as her mast, teetering precariously without the support of its forestay, collapsed beneath the weight of wind and sail.
“Well done!” Sam cried, raising a fist in triumph as the cutter fell downwind in confusion. He glanced astern. The frigate had changed course, water foaming from her bows as she struggled to catch them.
“D’ ye think we might ’ave a better chance of losin’ ’em closer t’ shore?” Stripes asked. “We could hide among the coves where they can’t reach us.”
“If it were dark, aye. But they’re too close, and there’s no hiding in broad daylight. We need sailing room, and if they catch us before we can clear these islands, they’ll blast us to kindling wood.”
“So what’re we gonna do, then?”
“Why, try for Maine of course. And once we get there, then we’ll lose them among the isles and coves.”
“How we gonna do that, Cap’n?”
Sam pointed his telescope toward the narrow stretch of sea separating Cedar and Smutty Nose Islands, well off the larboard bows. “See that bit of water? ’Tis shallow, but it’s our only chance.”
“There’s another passage between Star and Cedar Islands, Captain. ’Tis closer, shouldn’t we try for that instead?”
Sam shook his head. “Not enough depth and not enough room to tack through it in this wind. We’ll be in irons should we even try, and then blown against the windward shore of Cedar. No, we’ll clear the lee side of Cedar and then come about and slip between it and Smutty Nose. More room there and that bitch—” he pointed his telescope toward the pursuing frigate—“is too deep-drafted to follow.”
“And she won’t be able to sail as close to the wind as we can, either,” said Silas West, who’d come up to join them.
“Aye,” Sam said. “Once through that straight, we’ll make a run for it to windward, where they’ll have a hard time catching us.” He glanced astern, his face grave. “Providing we don’t take any damage before we can get there.”
“Dozens of islands off the Maine coast where we can hide,” Silas said hopefully.
Nathaniel Paige, joining them, spat over the side. “True enough, but nightfall’s still a good eight hours away.”
“How’d anyone know we were gonna be here? ’Twas a trap, Captain!”
“Aye, a trap!”
Angry voices, accusations. Speculation.
Sam shook his head. “’Twas indeed a trap, but maybe it wasn’t meant to catch us, but Teach. We just happened to fall into it.”
“Speaking of Blackbeard,” Phil Stewart snarled in disgust, “where the bloody hell is he? Thought he was supposed to be here to meet us!”
More angry outbursts, cursing, vows of revenge against the pirate who had failed to show and who would not be helping either the men in the Boston gaol or, by the look of things, themselves as the frigate loomed off their starboard quarter, preventing escape out to sea. Sam picked up a telescope and trained it on the warship and still some distance beyond it, the schooner, making good headway against the wind.
The dismasted cutter, at least, was no longer a threat.
Sam sensed a presence beside him. Distractedly, without lowering the glass, he snapped, “What is it?”
“Sam?”
The glass came down in an instant. “Maria, lass. I told you to go below.”
Her eyes were huge, her face chalky, her voice little more than a whisper. She made no move to obey him. “Will they catch us?”
He sighed. He might as well give orders to Gunner for all the good it did him. “Of course not,” he assured her. “We’ve a good ship and a desperate crew and as soon as we reach that stretch of sea between those two islands, there, we’ll slip between them and make a run for it. We’ll lose them.” He grinned and winked. “You can depend on it.”
But beyond her shoulder, Sam could see the grave faces of his crew, hear their nervous whispers, sense their false bravado. Their fear was evident, and that would not do. They were the ones whose actions would either see them to safety, a prison cell, or a watery grave, and he knew he’d have to call on every supposed talent he had as an orator to rally their courage. Striding resolutely to a gun, he leaped atop it and stood there, one hand resting on the hilt of his cutlass.
“Listen up, lads!”
The hushed murmurs ceased, and the men all looked up at him. Some already held swords, pistols, and boarding axes. Others, pawing through the weapons chest, stood up and gave him their attention. Phil Stewart checked the flint of his blunderbuss. Flanagan watched him from the helm. Silas West removed the scarf from his balding head, folded it with a sort of meticulous care that bordered on the absurd, and tied it around his ears to protect them should gunfire soon erupt all around them. Hushed whispers. Nervous eyes. Weapons being checked and rechecked.
In the sudden silence, they could hear the increasing roar of water at the bows of the oncoming frigate. See the sun glinting off her figurehead, a snarling lion with one paw raised.
Sam, his hair blowing about his face, stared down at them.
“Well, lads, looks like we might get our feathers singed, eh?”
The men all exchanged glances, some of them pale with fear.
“Aye, I won’t lie to ye,” Sam continued. “Odds don’t look to be in our favor right now, but we can better those odds if ye listen to me, and listen well.” His dark eyes pinned each man in turn. “That frigate back there’s a fifth-rate. She’s big, she’s nasty and she means to take us. But I don’t want ye to be thinking about odds. No, what I want ye all to do is turn around. Aye, that’s it. Turn around, lads, and have a good, long look at her.” He pointed his telescope toward the frigate, looming astern, and the schooner quickly making up the distance behind her. “His Majesty’s ships. Damned intimidating, aren’t they? All those guns, the marines in their tops, even the figurehead on that frigate meant to induce fear and symbolize the might of bloody England. No, don’t look at me, lads, look at them. At their guns, their sails, their officers. Look long, and look hard. And now, I want you to picture the men upon those decks, at her sheets and braces, and at her guns. Think of how their backs have been laid open with the cat, as many of yours have been; think of keelhauling and shortened rations, of punishments, abuse, mutinies, and desertions. Certainly doesn’t make for a loyal, tight company now, does it?” His eyes flashed in his swarthy face. “Aye, those ships make a terrible sight! But remember, lads, a ship is only as good as the men who sail her!”
Maria, watching him, squeezed the little dolphin in her hand, her eyes filling with emotion. Unbidden memories flashed to mind. Of a long-ago visitor to Eastham, of persuasive speeches and talk of Spanish gold. Of a pirate, weak and battered, but charismatic enough to unite a crew of young malcontents and turn them into a wolf pack. Always, Sam had been able to lead men, to persuade them to do his bidding. And today would be the ultimate test of that skill for if they could not, did not, follow him, death would be waiting. At the bottom of the sea, at the end of a noose, it didn’t matter where, but it would be there.
“Aye…mutineers, press-gang sweepings, would-be deserters,” he was saying, eyes gleaming as he drew his cutlass. “A
surly pack of dogs who’ve not been treated fairly. That is the nature of your enemy! Think about it, lads—think of those men and then think of your shipmates.” He raked them with challenging eyes. “Take a good look around you. Look at the man who’ll stand beside ye today. Look long and hard. Ye’ll depend upon each other, but ye’ll be depending upon the very best there is. Mutineers, deserters, murderers, aye! Criminals and outlaws, aye, the finest the world has to offer! Let’s show them what we’re made of, lads!” He raised the cutlass high. “Damn them, let’s show them we’re not to be trifled with!”
The deck came alive. “Three cheers for Black Sam!”
“Long live the Free Prince of the Seas!”
“Huzzah! Huzzah!”
Whooping, shouting, yelling, they spread out in all directions, running back to their guns, swarming up the shrouds. Sam watched them for a moment, and then he heard a stiff, crackling noise from high above. Shading his eyes, he glanced skyward. Someone had hoisted the Jolly Roger. Win or lose, Nefarious would be defiant until the end.
* * *
“Captain?”
It was Silas, pointing toward the pursuing frigate. “They’re running out. I reckon they mean to give us a broadside as they come up on us.”
“Then I guess that means we can’t let ’em come up on us, eh?”
His words were casual, but desperation clawed at his heart. They were clearing Star Island now, coming up on Cedar and beyond it, that narrow stretch of water that was their only chance at escape off to the west. They caught the wind as they passed the shallows between Star and Cedar Islands and then they were in the lee of the latter, the wind dropping off once more.
But there was plenty of wind for the frigate, her taller masts able to find propulsion denied the smaller Nefarious.
And she was quickly gaining on them, the lion that was her figurehead bared and snarling, its golden paws poised on a shield of the royal arms.
The lion, rushing in for the kill.
Sam grasped Maria’s elbow and steered her toward the hatch. “Time for you to go below, princess.”
“Will they catch us?”
He longed to sweep her up into his arms and crush her to him, to tell her that no, the naval ships would not catch them, that they’d make their escape between the islands and be swallowed up by the rocky Maine coast by nightfall and that everything would turn out all right. But he could not lie to her. Instead, he placed his hands beneath her jaw, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, and raising her head so that her frightened eyes met his, kissed her long and hard.
“I love you, Sam Bellamy,” she said quietly, as Stripes came to take her below.
“I love you too, Maria Hallett.” He stretched a hand toward her as though to hold on to her for a moment longer, then nodded to Stripes. Her golden head disappeared below the coaming and as Sam turned back to his command, he saw the frigate falling off the wind and presenting her long checkerboarded side to them, her ports all open and her guns run out.
“Down!” he shouted, and the world exploded.
* * *
It was the sound of a thousand bees roaring overhead, a wind that blew violence, and a second later, the carnage hit. Iron slammed into sails, rigging, spars and men, took chunks out of the mast, thudded into the hull and tore across the deck. Debris rained down: pieces of canvas, rope, and deadly wooden blocks trailing pieces of singed hemp. Already men were screaming in agony, crying out for their friends, and a mangled corpse came tumbling down from the crosstrees, catching upon a backstay, hanging for a moment, and then plunging to the deck with a sickening thud.
Shielding his face, Sam looked up to survey the damage. Ragged holes dotted the great canvas and the topmast had collapsed, lines dangling. They’d taken a bad hit.
“Hold tight, lass,” he murmured and Flanagan, standing at the helm nearby, wondered if Black Sam’s words of encouragement were for the beauty he’d sent below or the sloop herself. “Just hold tight, a bit longer.”
“If only the legends about her were true,” he said ruefully. “I’d sell my soul for a witch’s help right about now.”
Black Sam gave him a dark glare. “See that pass between Cedar and Smutty Nose Islands? That’s the only thing you ought to be thinking about, Billy.”
Already the frigate was reloading, repositioning for another broadside. Nefarious’s own small armament was meant to cow coastal trade; it was never intended to match force against a king’s warship. The frigate had some three dozen guns, all of them bigger cannon with more range, a crew trained for battle and the support of the schooner, still coming on from the south.
Silas West was there. “’Tis madness to continue, Captain.”
“Aye, we should scupper her and flee ashore to that island.”
“And go where?” Sam’s eyes flashed. “Do ye want to die here today with honor, or in Boston at the end of a noose? I know what I prefer and I’m not giving up without a fight. Gunners! Run out and prepare to fire, on my signal!”
Men roused themselves, ran to the guns that remained standing, and amidst the renewed shouting and cheers, the frigate repositioning herself for another salvo, Sam raised his cutlass.
“Fire!” he shouted, and the pirate sloop barked out a defense. Loaded with scrap iron, broken wine bottles, and every possible projectile they could find, the guns thundered inboard and shook the very decks beneath Sam’s bare feet. An unholy scream of flying metal rent the air like a legion of demons straight from hell. Smoke clogged his vision. He brushed at his stinging eyes and peered through the haze, quickly clearing to leeward. Holes peppered the frigate’s spritsail, and what was left of that arrogant figurehead—symbol of the might of England—was exploding out over the water in beautiful, stately grace. Stays snapped, rigging was blasted away, and the foremast was shaking wildly, but did not topple. Christ, he thought, it didn’t topple!
“Again!” he ordered and the sloop’s guns thundered, but they were as ineffectual against the big frigate as a terrier nipping at the heels of a wolfhound. The frigate was turning, falling off a bit more, and in the next moment she fired again, a full broadside of vicious and unrelenting destruction.
The boom-boom-boom was endless, each shot ripping into the little sloop pinned helplessly against Cedar Island. Iron screamed overhead, carrying off the broken topmast, slicing stays and shredding sails. It thumped into the hull and tore across the deck. It ripped through wood and rope, canvas and flesh alike with no discrimination and no mercy, and as Sam’s ears cleared he heard howls of agony, screams that would not stop, and saw more bodies now sprawled across the deck, gore and blood running with every pitch and roll of the ship.
His face was grim, his mouth hard. Nefarious was crippled, and now the frigate’s gunners were sponging out and running out yet again. To larboard lay Cedar Island and that sweet, sweet channel just beyond, gulls standing on sea-worn granite and watching the battle with indifference. More and more of the short channel was appearing, the sea changing to turquoise there, denoting shallows the frigate’s deep draft could never clear.
“Ready about!”
Men ran to the mainsheet.
“Ready, Captain!”
Flanagan gripped the tiller in white knuckles as Nefarious’s jib-boom began to clear the northern tip of Cedar Island and found the wind once more, and shoved it over.
“Helm’s a’lee!”
Beneath them, the colors went from indigo to deep blue and finally to aqua as Nefarious swung toward the wind and into the short stretch of water that would lead them to freedom. They cleared the northern tip of Cedar Island, every man holding his breath as they waited for the keel to ground itself in the shallows but they were through, Smutty Nose Island passing close off their starboard beam—
“Larboard your helm, Flanagan!” Sam yelled.
Nefarious responded, perilously close to the western edge of Smutty Nose, intending to dash past Hog Island to escape to the northwest with the islands blocking both the frigate’s fi
repower and her pursuit, but in that moment the forgotten schooner appeared, storming toward them from the west side of Star Island, her gunports already yawning open.
“Hard to starboard, Flanagan! For God’s sake, man, now!”
A thunderous explosion rent the air as the schooner opened fire. Guns toppled, silencing screaming men beneath thousands of pounds of red-hot iron. Limbs were severed, and the scuppers frothed with seawater and blood. Nefarious wept with each ball that slammed into her hull, shuddered as her yards came crashing to her bloodstained decks, but never faltered in her desperate run to safety.
“Flanagan!” Sam leaped atop the deckhouse, wildly waving his cutlass. “Not that close, damn you!”
But it was too late. With a hollow, sickening boom, the keel crashed against submerged granite, rocking the mast, snapping stays, throwing men off their feet and sending them toppling over the side. The impact flung Sam to the deck and he saw stars as his shoulder crashed hard against the carriage of a gun. He rolled, the sound of splintering wood ringing in his ears as the mainsail’s huge gaff broke free, dragging the sail and a writhing network of lines down with it. And still Nefarious’s speed carried her forward, her jib-boom pointing toward the open water she’d tried so hard to reach. But her spine had been broken. She staggered, limping, her beautiful mainsail and gaff trailing in her dying wake like a broken wing.
Dazed, Sam picked himself up. “Damn you, Flanagan! What the hell—”
The reprimand died on his lips; Flanagan lay slumped over the tiller, his jaw and most of his neck blown away by the schooner’s salvo.
The sloop lost way and began to drift, heading toward the lee shore that was Smutty Nose Island. They were doomed. Christ, Sam thought numbly. And then: Maria! He made for the hatch at a dead run, barely breaking stride to yank a sobbing Johnnie to his feet and hurl him over the rail to safety. He sent a protesting Stripes the way of the boy, saw his crew already diving over the side. And as he tripped over a cowering white body and almost went sprawling, he gathered the dog in his arms and flung him to safety, too.
Pirate In My Arms Page 35
