The Angel's Command

roaring orders for extra sail and sighting anxiously through his telescope at the four warships

astern of them. He handed Ben the glass, shaking his head and furrowing his brows. "Look,

lad, 'tis the French Navy, an' they're comin' on fast!"

As Ben peered at the lead vessel, he felt icy fear clamp its cold hand in sudden shock on top

of his head. The feeling was transmitted to Ned, who communicated urgently: "What is it,

Ben, what d'you see?"

The four last lines of the angel's poem pounded through the black Labrador's brain, like

hammers striking an anvil.

"Leave behind that life and walk,

Look not back at the sea,

Whilst retribution brings the Hawk,

New times unfold for thee!"

This thought was reinforced by Ben's message. "That big ship in front, it's flying a hawk upon

its flag!"

Thuron grabbed Ben's hand. "Come with me, lad. Bring Ned too!"

Hurrying them both into his cabin, Thuron slammed the door. He knelt by the bed and hauled

out two heavy-packed canvas bags, tied together by their necks. Ben watched as the captain

wrapped the bags in a sailcloth. He could tell by the dull clink that they were filled with gold

coin.

"What do you need those for, Cap'n?"

The Frenchman placed the bags on the bed. "This is my share o' the gold, Ben. Some of it is

for you and Ned!"

The boy stared dubiously at the bags. "But we don't need gold, Cap'n. Besides, Ned and I

never earned it."

Ben was surprised at the force with which Thuron seized him by both arms and shook him.

"Listen, lad, this gold is ours—mine an' yours. I've got to get you both ashore somehow!"

Ben saw the desperation in his friend's eyes. "Is it that bad, Cap'n? Can't we outsail them?

We've done it before."

The Frenchman relaxed his grip. "Not this time, lucky lad, we've got no chance at all. They'd

chase us, surround our Marie an' sink us all, ship an' crew!"

Ben clenched his fists resolutely. "Then let's stand and fight them—you know a few tricks.

Remember the Trinidad Shuffle?"

Thuron smiled sadly and ruffled Ben's hair. "Ben, Ben, 'tis no use, lad. You know as well as I

that we've played out our string. That's why I want you an' Ned off the Marie, before she goes

down. Now here's what you must do. As soon as I can, I'll try an' slip ye ashore in the

longboat with that gold. Wherever you come ashore, Ben, wait for me. They'll probably

engage us long before we reach Spain, but I'll note where ye go ashore. If the Marie goes

down, I'll try to keep her offshore, just far enough for me an' Pierre to swim for land. Now I

must go back on deck, lad. Remember what I said."

Further down the coast, just off a small town called Mimizan-Plage, the Royal Champion and

the Devon Belle lay at anchor. Redjack Teal was taking Madeira in his cabin when the lookout

banged urgently on the door and shouted from outside. "Cap'n, 'tis La Petite Marie! She's just

crossed the horizon behind us to the north."

Teal swiftly donned his red jacket, calling back, "Good man, which way's she headed?"

The reply came without delay. "South, sir, about a point off where we're lyin', headed this

way, though!"

Without waiting for assistance, the privateer buckled on his own sword and hurried out,

muttering to himself, "South, eh? Me luck's holdin' well. Come t'me, Thuron, I'll stretch your

neck an' empty your pockets for ye!"

The mate and the bosun were swinging ropes' ends and bellowing out orders, galvanizing the

crew into life. "Open ports, roll out all cannon!" "Make sail, step lively now, buckoes. Full

sail!"

The crew of the Marie were more intent on what lay in their wake than what lay ahead of

them. Thuron took the opportunity to smuggle the gold from his cabin and drop it in the ship's

jolly boat. He called out an order to his helmsman. "Pierre, take the Marie in closer to shore!

I'll fetch the boy an' his dog."

Ben and the black Labrador emerged from the cabin as Thuron began loosing the jolly-boat

stays. Just then Gascon and Mallon came running, with loaded muskets brandished. Whilst

Mallon covered Pierre, Gascon pointed his weapon at the captain, snarling, "What's goin' on

here, What're ye up to, Thuron?"

The captain gave Ned and Ben a broad wink before turning to answer Gascon. "I'm putting

the lad an' his hound ashore— maybe then our luck'll change. Ye said yourself that they were

Jonahs. Now put that pistol away an' keep your eye on the navy ships, see if they're closing in

on us. Go on!"

Gascon slunk off at the sound of his captain's voice being raised in anger. Before Ben could

resist, the Frenchman lifted him up and dumped him into the boat. Ned leapt in beside his

master.

Thuron let go the ropes, and the jolly boat splashed down into the sea. The captain leaned

over the side, instructing Ben in a hoarse, urgent whisper. "Our gold is under the stern seat,

wrapped with some sailcloth. Ye can see the coast from here, lad. Don't waste time, row for it

fast as ye can. Set a course for yonder hill on the shore—see, the one with the trees growin'

atop it."

He blinked a few times, then managed a broad smile. "Ben an' Ned, my two lucky friends,

may your luck go with ye. Remember now, wait for me, until this time tomorrow at least. Go

now!"

Ben took one last look at Raphael Thuron, the buccaneer captain. Then, turning his back on

the Marie, he gripped the oars and began plying them. He was lost for any words to say as

tears sprang unbidden to his clouded eyes. The boy felt a great leaden weight in his chest. Ned

sat in the prow, facing the coast and not looking back. The black Labrador shared every

thought and feeling with Ben. They had both seen the mark of fate stamped upon Thuron's

face and knew they would never see him again.

Gascon came dashing out of the captain's cabin, pointing at the jolly boat and bellowing to all

hands. "The gold's gone, 'tis in the boat. Stop them!"

Ben threw himself flat, and Ned crouched low. A rattle of musket shot peppered the water

around them. Thuron slew Gascon with a mighty cutlass slash as he roared aloud, "Get away,

Ben! Row for your life, lad!"

Out of the blue came a great whoosh and a bang, followed by a splintering crash. The guns of

Le Falcon Des Monts had shot the Marie's stern away. With cannon blazing, the French Navy

vessels sailed in on their target. Fanning out, the three men-o'-war pounded the buccaneer

vessel broadsides, whilst their flagship sailed straight in, raking the decks from astern with

chain shot and musket fire from the sharpshooters in the rigging. Pierre's body was draped

across the wheel, his dead hand still clutching it. Masts crashed amid blazing sails and

smouldering cordage. La Petite Marie began settling in the water as salvo after salvo of

cannon blasted holes in her from port and starboard. Trapped beneath a fallen jib spar,

Captain Thuron's sightless eyes stared up at the sun through the black smoke of destruction

that surrounded his ship. Settling back like a crippled seabird, the Marie began to sink stern

first.

Navy cannon continued to batter her as her prow rose clear of the waves. She hovered for a