“Quite a few of those ships could have outgunned us,” Quince offered reflectively. “Only they had more to lose, to their way of thinking, and it wasn’t their fight.”
“It was more than that,” said Paul, emerging from his self-absorption and casting a glance at the dark piece of cloth fluttering at the Star’s mainmast. “It never ceases to amaze me that once you identify yourself as a wolf, the sheep and cows back off, no matter how big they are.”
“What? What are you blatherin’ about, Paul?” Quince had that look of stolid forbearance he assumed when Le Maire was priming himself for one of his soliloquies.
“Just that, you know—I mean, here Jack goes, asking all the proper officials for justice, and they smirk at him. Now that we’ve defied their laws, burnt their butts, and spit in their collective eyes, hell, they treat us with a measure of respect. I mean, look at them. They’re not so haughty now.”
“Still surprises me they haven’t come for us,” said Quince. “I thought the Dons was keeping at least two pickets around the harbor… seemed like a fifth rate and a brig. They’d play hell catching us but could sure outgun us if they did.”
“Been wondering that myself,” remarked Jack. “Maybe they figured enough blood has been spilt over that murdering de Silva. Long as they can keep their damn slaves and make their damn money to keep their women in fancies, these righteous businessmen could care less for his poor fortune.”
The entire crew of the Star had left their posts and were gathered at various points along the starboard rail, savoring the moment.
“Ya aren’t having second thoughts about going back after de Silva, are ya, Jack?” Mentor spoke in his usual measured tones.
“No. We can’t go back in there without ending up dancing from a gibbet…. We’ve burnt his home to the ground and destroyed his business—we’ll have to let things settle down before we show our faces again.”
“I believe we’ve done worse than kill him, tied as he is to everything he owns,” added Paul.
“But I do worry for Quen-Li. That concerns me even more right now than not having de Silva’s head in a bag. I thought we’d rouse him with all the havoc we caused. I’m really worried something’s happened—I know he would have come back once the ruckus started—if he was able.”
Others ayed to that, especially Hansumbob, particularly distraught that his “Chinee friend what had saved his life” was missing.
Paul took a deep breath. “I sure wish—” he started, when suddenly the bulwark on the port side of the Star seemed to explode into a thousand pieces.
“What in hell!”
The report of the cannon followed instantly, slightly behind the ball itself. Jack turned in time to see another puff of smoke from a ship bearing down on them from the east. With the sun at its back, the Spanish brig-of-war came out of the bright glare at full sail.
“All hands to quarters,” Quince bellowed instantly. Then to Jack, “Caught us napping he did, right out o’ the sun. That Spaniard’s a clever one.”
Jack grimaced. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let down his guard but vowed it would be an even longer time before it happened again. Then his instincts took over.
Seeing they were at a distinct positional disadvantage—and outgunned—Jack yelled to Red Dog, “Hard to port! All sails to the wind!”
Quince gave him a quizzical look. “That’ll take us right under her guns.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
A second shot from the picket’s bow chaser hissed harmlessly through a low piece of sail and on over the side, where it splashed and skipped in the bay several times before sinking.
The Star’s sails caught wind as soon as they unfurled, and the vessel was transformed from a floating hulk into a sleek sea wolf. Even caught off guard by a larger vessel, she had the lines of a predator, not a victim. And by God she would act like one.
“Head for the Spaniard!” Jack shouted. “Collision course!”
All eyes fixed on the fast-approaching brig. With a smile, Jack yelled to Quince, “Are you thinking I’m daft?”
“Aye, like a fox.”
Jack knew Quince now understood that his daring move had taken the advantage from the attacking ship by putting both at equal risk. With one gut-level order, the young skipper had evened the odds.
With a sense of satisfaction, Jack watched the Spanish captain hesitate. The unexpected maneuver seemed to have totally thrown him. The brig heeled to starboard to avoid collision, which allowed it only an ineffectual broadside at the Star on the turn. Though the Star had no time to return fire, no projectile from the brig found its mark.
“They’ve dropped the wind from their sails,” yelled Jack. “Lay it on, every strip of canvas.”
“Great bollocks of the papist prince, ’at was friggin’ beautiful!” Coop couldn’t contain himself.
The Star fairly leapt through the water as the Spaniard was forced to come about and resume pursuit after losing all her momentum.
“Remember that cove to the west?” Jack said.
“Aye,” Quince replied.
“Let’s make for it. It’s out of view of the harbor and we’ll settle with the Spaniard on our own terms.”
“She outguns us!” yelled Paul. “Even if we win, we’ll suffer heavy losses. Why not make for open sea?”
“The cove. Make for it!” Jack turned Paul aside and said in a low voice, “I’ve no intention of engaging her. She has four times our complement and I don’t fancy dying in a death grip with some poor bastards just doing their duty. But I don’t fancy chasing around the ocean trying to get away from her, either.” Then to Coop, “Get Jacob and the Belaurans and start making fast our biggest length of chain to any barrels you have big enough to float one end of it.”
The brig entered the cove under reduced sail. The skipper had obviously developed a new respect for his adversary and was wary of approaching too close to a lee shore. Jack, placing himself in the man’s head, knew the Spaniard wondered why the sleek raider had allowed itself to be cornered so easily. The Star was facing out of the cove from the windward side, but had reefed sail and to all appearances seemed to have dropped an anchor from the stern. Jack knew the men on the brig could, through a spyglass, see the heavy hawser trailing into water aft of the Star and trace it up to where it played through an aft fairlead and was secured to heavy mooring bitts. The drag of the line did serve somewhat as an anchor, with the Star stationary.
“I’d pay a king’s ransom to see the look on that captain’s face if he knew that anchor line we’re trailin’ runs all the way across the cove to them barrels his men are pointing to off his lee side,” said Quince.
True, the pirate ship now had an angle on the wind that would allow it to clear the cove on one sharp tack, but it would have to pass within easy range of the brig’s broadside, which was being cleared for action.
“He knows, he just bloody knows something’s wrong,” said Peters.
Jack had all the cannon on the port side prepared for firing but then pulled everyone except Mentor off the guns to handle lines and man the crow’s nests with long rifles. Between them, Yanoo and Matoo carried two blankets soaked with seawater into the rigging. They draped it over the perches, set for marksmen in the nests. Between the lead sheathing patches and the wet blankets, the crow’s nests had become impregnable perches for expert riflemen.
With Red Dog at the helm, two marksmen in the nests, and Mentor under cover with a match for the six loaded cannon, Jack devoted the rest of the crew to quick, efficient handling of lines and canvas under Quince’s direction. He waited until the brig was two-thirds the way into the cove, past the barrels bobbing on her far side. Then he yelled “Now!”