moment, then with a monstrous hissing and gurgling slid backward into the depths and was
gone forever.
Aboard his flagship, the Hawk held up a hand. "Cease fire!" He turned to a lookout who had
climbed down from the topmast to report. "Well, what is it?"
The man saluted. "Marechal, there is another ship, a gunboat flying English colours!"
The Hawk's aquiline nose quivered, and his eyes lit up. "So, an Englishman eh, where away?"
The lookout replied. "To the south, Marechal. She was hugging the coast, waiting on the other
ship, I think. When she spied us, she veered off and began sailing further south, sir."
The Hawk drew his telescope and scanned the seas ahead. "Ah yes, there it is, a Spanish
galleon sailing under English colours—she has a smaller vessel in tow."
He strode to the forepeak, acknowledging with curt nods the crew, who were cheering his first
victory in the new ship. On the forecastle, the Hawk gave orders to his officers. "Well,
gentlemen, I know my ship's firepower. There is one less enemy in French waters now. Let us
see how we sail under speed. I intend to capture the English ships before they can make it into
Spanish waters. We will not sink them—they will be taken as prizes. Inform the other captains
that I will go under full sail in the vanguard. Tell them to follow with all speed and await my
commands!"
Ben had not turned his head to look back. He was not just heeding the angel's warning; other
demons were closing in on him, too. He lay in the bottom of the jolly boat, oblivious of his
surroundings. The roar and boom of French Navy cannon blended with those far-off noises of
Cape Horn—crashing seas, tearing rigging and howling storm. Vanderdecken laughing madly,
bound to the helm for eternity and being swept off into the maelstrom of oceans at the world's
end. Spine-chilling recollections, mixed with the demise of the Marie, mingled in the boy's
mind until he lost all sense of reality.
It was Ned's blunt, rough claws that brought him to his senses. The faithful dog was scratching
at his back, sending out frantic, urgent warnings. "Ben, wake up! Move, Ben, move. We're
sinking!"
The boy spluttered as his face struck the bottom of the jolly boat. Coughing and spitting
seawater, he sat up. Ned seized his shirtsleeve and tugged at it with his teeth. "Come on, mate,
we'll have to swim for it. This boat's full of musket holes— we're lucky we weren't hit!"
Recovering himself, Ben realised the predicament they were in. He grabbed the dog's collar,
heaved him overboard and leapt into the sea alongside him. Taking a bearing on the shore,
which was only a few hundred yards off, he kicked out. "Straight ahead, Ned, it's not so far!"
For the first time in his life, Captain Redjack Teal knew the meaning of fear: four French
Navy warships were bearing down on him. The master gunner came hurrying up, carrying a
stick topped by a smouldering mixture of tar and rope. He looked hopefully to Teal.
"I could load the stern culverins with chain shot, Cap'n. May'ap we could clip the big feller's
foremast. That'd slow him down a touch, sir."
Teal snatched the stick and flung it into the sea. "Ye demned idiot, yonder's the French Navy!
Can't y'see the guns they're sportin', man? Hah, that scoundrel's just longin' t'see a puff o'
smoke from even a musket an' he'll blow us to doll rags! Get the mud out of your eyes, man.
Did ye see what they did to Thuron?"
He watched miserably as the new ship tacked, circling out to come round in a curve ahead of
him. The other three vessels manoeuvred to close the trap, one to port, the other to starboard,
whilst the remaining one stayed close behind in his wake. The privateer stamped his elegantly
shod foot in temper. Life was so unjust! After pursuing a fortune in gold from the Caribbean,
right across an ocean, his dreams of wealth and glory had been cruelly snatched away in just a
few short hours. Add to this the indignity of being taken by the French without a single shot
being fired. The entire episode was an utter debacle! He sprinted to the stern at the sight of
the bosun and mate loosing the stern ropes. "What'n the name of jackasses are ye about there?
"
The mate saluted, trying to sound helpful. "Er, we were castin' the Devon Belle adrift, sir. She
might make that Frenchie behind us run afoul of her, sir—that'd give us a chance of escape."
Teal was nearly out of his mind. He became quite petulant. Kicking the mate on his shin, he
sprayed him with spittle as he ranted and shouted into the man's face. "That ship is mine,
mine, d'ye hear?"
He rounded on the unsuspecting bosun and kicked him also. "I'm the captain of these ships, or
haven't ye noticed, eh? Demned ass of a gunner, wantin' to fire on four battleships, this other
buffoon thinkin' we can turn an' run away. Has everybody aboard lost their confounded minds
—"
"Englishman, strike your colours and slack sail!" An officer was hailing him with a
megaphone from the ship behind. Teal's shoulders sagged. It was all over.
He turned to the mate, who was rubbing his shin. "Strike y'colours, take in all sail. I'll be in
me cabin."
The Hawk sat in his stateroom, the crimsoning twilight giving its new woodwork a rosy hue.
He listened carefully to the information his officers had gathered from the crew of the Royal
Champion. It was always best talking to the men before interviewing the master. They had less
reason to lie than their captain did.
He sat back and mulled over what he had heard, his fingers tapping a tattoo upon the tabletop.
Then he signalled to a waiting lieutenant. "I will see the Englishman now."
Trying feebly to resist two burly gunners, Teal was swiftly frog-marched into the marechal's
presence. The privateer looked indignant and dishevelled; the gunners held his arms tightly,
preventing him from tidying himself up.
He immediately began to protest. "Sirrah, is this any way to treat the captain of one of His
Britannic Majesty's vessels? Tell these ruffians to release me instantly. I'll not be laid hands
upon in such a demned rough manner!"
The marechal glanced up from some papers he was studying. His unblinking gaze, coupled
with the haughty way he looked a man up and down, had Teal feeling both unnerved and
embarrassed.
The privateer attempted to pull himself free, but the two gunners held him easily. He tried to
sound reasonable. "Sir, I appeal to you, order these rogues to unhand me. I, sir, am like you,
an officer and a gentleman!"
The marechal reduced him to silence with a baleful glare. "You dare compare yourself with
me, you scum?"
He waved Teal's own parchmented credentials at him and spat out the word vindictively.
"Privateer! A filthy mercenary, carrying a letter of marque or reprisal. There is no lower form
of life on land or sea. You are a prisoner of war and will be treated as such!"
Captain Redjack Teal suddenly wilted beneath his captor's scorn. He whined like a bully who
had just had the tables turned on him. "I was only carryin' out my king's orders, sir. You
cannot punish an innocent man for that!"
The marechal snorted. "I do not intend punishing you— that is for a military tribunal to
decide. Whether you hang or go to the guillotine is immaterial to me. Stop weeping, man!
They may spare your life and assign you with your crew to the convict working parties at