The bosun replied scornfully. "Dancin', did ye call that dancin' ? I've seen a duck on a hot plate dancin' better than you
lot—"
"I agree with ye, sirrah, demned sloppy lot, ain't they?" The captain had sneaked from his cabin and was standing close
by. He liked surprising his crew—it kept them alert. Now he took a sip from his goblet and remarked languidly, "Lack
a day, tired are we, lying about like a lot of half-paid skivvies. No meals to make, Cook, not a soul on watch, no
lookout, ship takin' care of itself, eh?"
The crew leapt up and tried to look busy. Everyone knew that Captain Redjack could always find work for idle hands.
Teal was thinking up a few more sarcastic remarks when a shout came from the topmast.
"Ship ahoy, 'tis the Frenchman, sir!"
Sprinting smartly up into the bows, Teal swept his glass over the coast until he caught sight of La Petite Marie. "Hah,
so 'tis! Skulkin' west an' huggin' the shore. A pound to an ounce o' China tea the Frenchie's makin' for the passage out
into the ocean, eh!"
He slammed the telescope shut decisively. "Well he ain't goin' t'make it! We'll take a point west an' cut the impudent
whelp off with a straight run for the headland at the channel mouth. Meet him almost bow on!"
Teal hurried the length of the ship, cuffing anyone who was not fast enough to move out of his path, then seized the
wheel from the steersman and spun it to alter course. "Leave this to a qualified captain, the froggy won't escape me
this time!"
The steersman protested. "But Cap'n, the wind's runnin' onshore, we'd have to tack to make your course!"
Teal looked at the man as if he had lost his mind. "So, d'ye think I know so little of navigatin' that I can't tack, eh?
Stand aside, sirrah, an' watch me!"
Trying to keep his voice reasonable and respectful, the steersman explained. "Beggin' y'pardon, sir, 'tis alright running
with the wind on a jury-rigged foremast. But if ye try tackin' her, the mast won't take it. 'Twill either snap or flop over,
whichever way the wind takes it, sir."
Redjack Teal's face turned the colour of his hunting jacket. He lashed out and slapped the steersman's face, hard.
"Demn your insolence, fellow! Who d'ye think you're talkin' to, eh, eh? Tellin' me how to steer me own vessel? Go
below an' polish the anchor chain. Mr. Mate, put a gag on this man, that'll curb his impudent tongue!"
Shoving a belaying pin sideways into the steersman's open mouth, the mate tied it there with a length of cord that went
tightly around the back of the man's neck. He led him off to the anchor-chain locker, whispering to him, "Sorry matey,
I've never had t'do a gaggin' before, but orders is orders. Thank y'stars Redjack never had ye flogged."
The steersman looked dumbly at the mate, tears running from his eyes at the injustice of the punishment.
Teal watched the foremast start to sway as he ran the ship side on to the wind. He called out, "Carpenter, attend me
quickly! Move, man!"
The ship's carpenter ambled up and tugged his forelock. "Sir?"
Teal nodded toward the awkwardly swaying foremast. "Can ye not do something t'stop that confounded thing wobblin'
about?"
The carpenter scratched behind his ear. "What d'ye want me to do, Cap'n? I did all I could to it in the first place."
Teal's knuckles showed white as he grasped the wheel. "Do anything t'keep it still. I know, take another man with ye
an' coils of rope. He'll climb the mainmast, you'll climb the foremast. Get as much rope 'twixt both masts as ye can,
then stick a boat oar through the ropes an' twist until they get good an' tight. That'll steady our foremast."
The carpenter had never heard such a stupid idea. Squinting his eyes, he scratched behind his ear again. "Beggin'
y'pardon, sir, but are ye sure 'twill work?"
Redjack looked from the anchor-chain locker to the carpenter. "D'ye wish to argue with your captain, sirrah?"
The man came to rigid attention. "No sir!"
Teal nodded. "Good. Then get on with it. I know 'twill work, I've heard of it done before. Jump to it!"
Joby, the carpenter's assistant, draped two coils of rope across his shoulders as he held a whispered conversation with
the carpenter. "What's goin' on? What're we supposed to be doin'?"
Adjusting the ropes on his own shoulders, the carpenter picked up a jolly-boat oar. "Redjack's orders! You've got to
climb the mainmast, an' I've got to climb the foremast. Cap'n says our job is to wind ropes between both masts. Then
he wants me to stick an oar through the ropes an' twist it round an' round 'til it gets tight. He reckons it'll brace the
foremast break so that the ship can tack properly. Up y'go, Joby!"
Shaking his head, Joby began climbing. "It won't work!" The carpenter shrugged. "You an' me both know that, but
who are we to argue with Redjack?"
Aboard the Diablo Del Mar, the lookout scrambled down from his watch point in the crow's nest. Dashing to Rocco
Madrid's cabin, he burst in, shouting, "Capitano, I've found the Frenchman, he's running up the coast, sailing straight in
our direction. Come an' look!"
Madrid grinned like a hungry wolf. Sheathing his sword, he winked at Ludon, who was bound, spread-eagled, to the
table. "A lucky day for you, amigo. We'll talk later."
The Marie was still a good distance off as the Spaniard watched her through his telescope. He spoke his thoughts
aloud to the lookout. "Has Thuron gone blind? Does he not see us, Pepe?"
Pepe picked at his yellowed teeth with a grubby fingernail. "Who knows? What do we do now, Capitano?"
Madrid's mind was racing, and now he formed a swift plan. "Portugee, steer us in closer to land. No use standing out
here in full view. Thuron looks as if he has all sail piled on, maybe he's fleeing from something. Who cares? We'll lie
in close to shore and spring out on him once he gets close enough. Boelee, get a boarding party ready, hooks and
grappling irons. If we're quick enough, we can take Thuron's vessel without firing a cannon. Pepe, make sure we're
showing no lights. 'Twill be dark soon. We'll sail out of the night an' pounce on him!"
Ben and Ned were on the stern deck with Captain Thuron, watching the privateer. Thuron pointed. "See, Ben, they've
changed course. I wager the Englishman is trying to cut us off before we reach the Mona Passage."
Ben looked anxiously at the Frenchman. "And will he, sir?"
Thuron chuckled. "Nay, lad, not with a jury-rigged foremast wobbling about—he could never outsail our Marie. Even
so, I could still give him the slip once 'tis dark."
Ned's paw scratched against Ben's leg, and he caught the dog's agitated thought. "Ben, I can feel the Dutchman up
ahead, can you?"
The boy patted his friend's back. "You must have sharper instincts than me. I can't feel a thing. Are you sure?"
Panting anxiously, the black Labrador pulled him along the deck toward the prow. "I'm not certain whether 'tis the
Dutchman or not. But I've got a very bad feeling that there's something waiting for us up yonder."
Ben trusted the dog's instincts. Letting go of Ned, he went back astern and spoke to Captain Thuron. "Sir, I feel there's
something not right with our course. Wouldn't it be better if we stood out to sea a bit more ?"
Thuron stared into the lad's strangely clouded eyes. "You look worried, Ben, what is it?"
The boy shook his head. "I don't know, sir, maybe there's hidden reefs along the coastline. I know I'd feel a lot safer
out in deep water. It's just a feeling I've got."