led by a weasel of a man, Sam Bowles, a
forecastle lawyer, whose greatest talent lay in his ready tongue, his skill at arguing the division of spoils and in brewing dissension and discontent among his fellows.
Sam Bowles darted up into the galleon’s stern and dropped over the rail to the Lady Edwina’s deck, followed by four others.
The interlocked ships had swung round ponderously before the wind, so that now the Lady Edwina was straining at the grappling lines that held them together. In panic and terror, the five
deserters fell with axe and cutlass upon the lines. Each parted with a snap that carried clearly to Hal at the masthead.
‘Avast that!’ he screamed down, but not one man raised his head from his treacherous work.
‘Father!’ Hal shrieked towards the deck of the other ship. ‘You’ll be stranded! Come back! Come back!’
His voice could not carry against the wind or the noise of battle. His father was fighting three Dutch seamen, all his attention locked onto them. Hal saw him take a cut on his blade, and then
riposte with a gleam of steel. One of his opponents staggered back, clutching at his arm, his sleeve suddenly sodden red.
At that moment the last grappling line parted with a crack, and the Lady Edwina was free. Her bows swung clear swiftly, her sails filled and she bore away, leaving the galleon wallowing,
her flapping sails taken all aback, making ungainly sternway.
Hal launched himself down the shrouds, his palms scalded by the speed of the rope hissing through them. He hit the deck so hard that his teeth cracked together in his jaws and he rolled across
the planks. In an instant he was on his feet, and looking desperately around him. The galleon was already a cable’s length away across the blue swell, the sounds of the fighting growing faint
on the wind. Then he looked to his own stern and saw Sam Bowles scurrying to take the helm.
A fallen seaman was lying in the scupper, shot down by a Dutch murderer. His musket lay beside him, still unfired, the match spluttering and smoking in the lock. Hal snatched it up and raced
back along the deck to head off Sam Bowles.
He reached the whipstaff a dozen paces before the other man and rounded on him, thrusting the gun’s gaping muzzle into his belly. ‘Back, you craven swine! Or I’ll blow your
traitor’s guts over the deck.’
Sam recoiled, and the other four seamen backed up behind him, staring at Hal with faces still pale and terrified from their flight.
‘You can’t leave your shipmates. We’re going back!’ Hal screamed, his eyes blazing green with wild rage and fear for his father and Aboli. He waved the musket at them,
the smoke from the match swirling around his head. His forefinger was hooked around the trigger. Looking into those eyes, the deserters could not doubt his resolve and retreated down the deck.
Hal seized the whipstaff and held it over. The ship trembled under his feet as she came under his command. He looked back at the galleon, and his spirits quailed. He knew that he could never
drive the Lady Edwina back against the wind with this set of sail: they were flying away from where his father and Aboli were fighting for their lives. At the same moment Bowles and his gang
realized his predicament. ‘Nobody ain’t going back, and there’s naught you can do about it, young Henry.’ Sam cackled triumphantly. ‘You’ll have to get her on
the other tack, to beat back to your daddy, and there’s none of us will handle the sheets for you. Is there, lads? We have you strapped!’
Hal looked about him hopelessly. Then, suddenly, his jaw clenched with resolution. Sam saw the change in him and turned to follow his gaze. His own expression collapsed in consternation as he
saw the pinnace only half a league ahead, crowded with armed sailors.
‘Have at him, lads!’ he exhorted his companions. ‘He has but one shot in the musket, and then he’s ours!’
‘One shot and my sword!’ Hal roared, and tapped
forecastle lawyer, whose greatest talent lay in his ready tongue, his skill at arguing the division of spoils and in brewing dissension and discontent among his fellows.
Sam Bowles darted up into the galleon’s stern and dropped over the rail to the Lady Edwina’s deck, followed by four others.
The interlocked ships had swung round ponderously before the wind, so that now the Lady Edwina was straining at the grappling lines that held them together. In panic and terror, the five
deserters fell with axe and cutlass upon the lines. Each parted with a snap that carried clearly to Hal at the masthead.
‘Avast that!’ he screamed down, but not one man raised his head from his treacherous work.
‘Father!’ Hal shrieked towards the deck of the other ship. ‘You’ll be stranded! Come back! Come back!’
His voice could not carry against the wind or the noise of battle. His father was fighting three Dutch seamen, all his attention locked onto them. Hal saw him take a cut on his blade, and then
riposte with a gleam of steel. One of his opponents staggered back, clutching at his arm, his sleeve suddenly sodden red.
At that moment the last grappling line parted with a crack, and the Lady Edwina was free. Her bows swung clear swiftly, her sails filled and she bore away, leaving the galleon wallowing,
her flapping sails taken all aback, making ungainly sternway.
Hal launched himself down the shrouds, his palms scalded by the speed of the rope hissing through them. He hit the deck so hard that his teeth cracked together in his jaws and he rolled across
the planks. In an instant he was on his feet, and looking desperately around him. The galleon was already a cable’s length away across the blue swell, the sounds of the fighting growing faint
on the wind. Then he looked to his own stern and saw Sam Bowles scurrying to take the helm.
A fallen seaman was lying in the scupper, shot down by a Dutch murderer. His musket lay beside him, still unfired, the match spluttering and smoking in the lock. Hal snatched it up and raced
back along the deck to head off Sam Bowles.
He reached the whipstaff a dozen paces before the other man and rounded on him, thrusting the gun’s gaping muzzle into his belly. ‘Back, you craven swine! Or I’ll blow your
traitor’s guts over the deck.’
Sam recoiled, and the other four seamen backed up behind him, staring at Hal with faces still pale and terrified from their flight.
‘You can’t leave your shipmates. We’re going back!’ Hal screamed, his eyes blazing green with wild rage and fear for his father and Aboli. He waved the musket at them,
the smoke from the match swirling around his head. His forefinger was hooked around the trigger. Looking into those eyes, the deserters could not doubt his resolve and retreated down the deck.
Hal seized the whipstaff and held it over. The ship trembled under his feet as she came under his command. He looked back at the galleon, and his spirits quailed. He knew that he could never
drive the Lady Edwina back against the wind with this set of sail: they were flying away from where his father and Aboli were fighting for their lives. At the same moment Bowles and his gang
realized his predicament. ‘Nobody ain’t going back, and there’s naught you can do about it, young Henry.’ Sam cackled triumphantly. ‘You’ll have to get her on
the other tack, to beat back to your daddy, and there’s none of us will handle the sheets for you. Is there, lads? We have you strapped!’
Hal looked about him hopelessly. Then, suddenly, his jaw clenched with resolution. Sam saw the change in him and turned to follow his gaze. His own expression collapsed in consternation as he
saw the pinnace only half a league ahead, crowded with armed sailors.
‘Have at him, lads!’ he exhorted his companions. ‘He has but one shot in the musket, and then he’s ours!’
‘One shot and my sword!’ Hal roared, and tapped
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