end.
Rocco Madrid, from his vantage point at the Diablo's stern, was highly puzzled by the noise. "Pepe, what's the
Frenchman up to? Where's he firing?"
Pepe, who had been concentrating his attention on the Marie, shouted and gesticulated wildly from his high perch.
"Capitano! I can see a vessel dead ahead of the Frenchman, now—he's firing on it!"
It was at that moment that Anaconda fired off his stern cannon at the Spaniard, close in the Marie's wake. The Diablo's
bowsprit and ornate gallery rails exploded in a cascade of rope, iron and wood splinters.. At the same time, a shot from
the Marie's for'ard end chopped the Devon Belle's foremast off at the stump, and it hung crazily in the mess of ropes
holding it to the mainmast.
All was confusion, smoke and flame aboard both the Spaniard and the privateer. Thuron took advantage of the chaos
to perform his Trinidad Shuffle. Along with a new sail to replace the one damaged by the chain shot, every other stitch
of canvas aboard the Marie was brought into play for the daring manoeuvre. Thuron spun the wheel hard about as full
sail blossomed overhead. La Petite Marie heeled sharply over, her lower sail-tips brushing the waves. Ben could feel
Ned huddling against him as he crouched under a stairway, holding on tightly. The Marie's?, prow dipped deep against
the rollers, sending up a roaring bow wave. For a brief moment she teetered in the stormy sea, broadside on between
both the other two vessels. Then Thuron turned the wheel hard right and gave his Marie her head. Like an arrow from
a bow, the speedy ship shot off shoreward, with the gale ballooning her sails. Two cannon roared out, one from the
privateer, the other from the Spaniard. The cannonballs crossed each other's path in the Frenchman's wake and whizzed
off to splash into the dark Caribbean waters. Thuron laughed like a madman as his ship sped into the night.
Once out of range, he began tacking west to avoid the shore. With Ned howling at his heels, Ben ran out of hiding to
join in with the cheering crew.
Pierre took the wheel from his captain, shaking Thuron's hand heartily. "You did it, Cap'n! You did it!"
Falling on both knees, the Frenchman hugged Ned and Ben, still laughing as he replied to the bosun, "Nobody can
dance the old Trinidad Shuffle like Raphael Thuron!"
The Devon Belle's, master gunner hurried to his captain's side, pointing at the Diablo dead ahead. "If ye bring us
broadside, sir, we can blow 'er out the water!"
Redjack Teal roared at the unfortunate man. "Blow a prize like that out of the water? Look at her, sirrah, are ye mad?
With our guns mounted at her ports an' my colours flyin' from her masthead, she'd be the finest vessel in any sea! I
intend cap-turin' that ship for me own use. Let the Frenchie go, an' bad cess to him. We'll attend to that fellow as soon
as yon galleon's mine."
He beckoned to the mate. "Attend me closely. That ship's already turnin' to run off—'tis your duty to stop it gettin'
away. Take this wheel an' stick to her wake like treacle to bread, keep her close. Gunner, see if you can rig cannon to
fire either side of her, port'n'starboard. We'll chase her in to the shore an' pin her down. Then I'll take her. Demned fine
ship she is, eh!"
Rocco Madrid's normally sallow face paled further at the realisation that he was facing an English privateer. He
watched the Diablo trying to turn sluggishly as Boelee and Portugee wrestled with the wheel. Having no for'ard sheets
and bowsprit hampered the operation greatly. Boelee chanced a frightened glance as the ship began turning. "I've heard
tell o' that hellshark, 'tis an English privateer. See the coat 'er master wears? He's Capitano Redjack!"
Portugee almost let the wheel slip from his faltering grasp. "Redjack! They say he's worse than a Barbary corsair!"
Madrid's hand slid to his sword hilt as he hissed a warning. "Shut your mouths, I know who he is. Listen, this Redjack
has lost his foremast. Maybe he doesn't want to fight. Boelee, easy now, take us a point to starboard."
No sooner had the Diablo nosed a foot out of place than Teal's cannon boomed a warning shot to starboard,
accompanied by a crackle of musket fire peppering the Spaniard's stern.
Boelee brought her back on course smartly. "Capitano, that bad man has many, many more guns than us. If we try to
run, he will send the Diablo to the bottom."
Portugee was in full agreement with the mate. "How can we run without any bowsails? He will murder us all!"
Madrid focussed his telescope on the privateer less than a quarter of a mile behind. He saw the cannon bristling from
every port, the crew lining the rails with primed muskets, and the red-jacketed figure watching the for'ard culverins
being loaded with grapeshot, a deadly combination of musket balls, scrap iron and broken chain. Grapeshot could
sweep a deck with murderous effect. Two more culverins had been brought up from the stern. Four culverins loaded
with grapeshot at short range!
Madrid felt icy sweat trickle down his brow. This Redjack was a cold-blooded assassin! The Spaniard's mind was in a
racing turmoil as he turned to his men. "Keep a straight course. I'll talk to this Redjack in the morning. Mayhap he'll
listen to a proposition. I'm going to my cabin. Keep dead ahead. Don't upset him."
With the onset of dawn the rain ceased. Mist floated across the soft, lapping sea, the sun rising like a great blood
orange in the east, setting a wondrous hue of pale cerise over the Caribbean waters. Captain Thuron joined Ben and
Ned, who were breakfasting off fruit and coconut milk on the forecastle deck. He sat with them, watching a backing
breeze dissolve the light fog.
"A pretty sight, eh, Ben? I will miss these waters. Do you know where we are?"
The boy nodded. "Almost into the Mona Passage. We should sight the Isle of Mona off the port bow before midday,
sir."
Thuron's bushy eyebrows raised. "Very good, how did you know?"
Ned looked up from the coconut he was gnawing at. "Tell the good captain that it was your faithful hound who
informed you of our position. Go on!"
Ben smiled at his friend's message as he addressed the captain. "Ned told me that he heard Anaconda saying it to
Pierre when he relieved him at the wheel."
Thuron ruffled Ned's ears. "Do you really talk with this dog?"
Ben kept a straight face as he answered. "Oh, all the time, sir!"
The Frenchman chuckled. "I believe you, how could I not? You have such honest faces, both of you."
Ned passed his friend another thought. "I'm the one with the honest face, really. You've grown to look quite furtive
over the last few decades. But I've grown more innocent. Look: truth and honesty are stamped all over my noble
features!" Ned panted. Letting his tongue loll, he waggled his ears.
Ben could not help laughing aloud. Thuron laughed with him.
"Tell me, what is Ned saying to you now, lad?"
The boy stroked his dog's back. "Ned says he wants you to teach him the Trinidad Shuffle so he can use it sometime."
Ned left off chewing his coconut to reprimand Ben. "Ooh, you dreadful fibber. I said no such thing!"
Thuron interrupted the mental conversation. "Tell him I'll teach you both to catch flying fish—they come through these