The Angel's Command

Not daring to venture back up the mast again, Gascon crouched on the afterdeck viewing the Devon Belle through

Thuron's telescope. 'The Britisher's pilin' on canvas, y'can see he's pickin' up more speed right away, Cap'n!'

Thuron nodded. 'Just keep us running with the wind on an even keel, Ludon. We'll lose him before we're halfway to

Hispaniola and Puerto Rico.'

The steersman, Ludon, called back to his captain. 'Can't keep 'er runnin' due east, wind's freshenin' to the south. We'll

have to tack, Cap'n!'

Thuron gestured to Ned and Ben. 'Watch me, I'll show you how to tack and skim.' Thuron took the wheel from

Ludon and spun it expertly, explaining his tactics to Ben. 'If we can't sail dead east, the next best thing is to tack. First

into the wind, then away from it, so the ship heels over a touch and skims sideways. That way our Marie keeps up her

speed. Sailing due east in a south wind would slow us down. Gascon, what's the privateer doing now?'

From behind the captain's back the lookout answered. 'The Britisher's doin' the same as us, Cap'n, tackin' an' skimmin'

like a pondfly.'

Beneath his foppish posturing, Captain Redjack Teal was no fool. At that moment, he was watching the French ship

keenly. He, too, had ordered the Devon Belle into a tacking manoeuvre while alerting his gunnery master to attend the

portside cannonry. Teal reckoned he had gained a small distance on the other vessel. He waited until the moment was

right, ready to take a gamble. The opportunity presented itself suddenly when he saw that the two vessels, whilst

tacking, were broadside on to each other. Standing alongside his master gunner, the privateer captain rapped out swift

orders: 'Right, sharpish now, give her a full broadside, quick as y'like man. Now!'

Ten cannon rocked back on their carriages as they went off with one frightening explosion!

All hands aboard the Marie threw themselves flat as they heard the roar of approaching cannonballs. Ben gasped as

Ned hurled himself on his master's back, protecting him. Next moment there was horrendous crashing, smoke, flames

and the sound of screaming men.

Thuron was on his feet instantly, shouting, 'Run south* run south with the wind. Leave off tacking!' He hauled the

dog off Ben. 'Are you alright, boy?'

With the noise still ringing in his ears, Ben jumped up. 'I'm fine, Cap'n, see to your ship!'

Ben and Ned were hard on the Frenchman's heels as he hastened about, checking the damage. Luckily no masts had

been chopped down by the cannonade, the rudder was intact and the Marie had not been holed. But the entire galley

had been blown to pieces, clear off the deck. Pierre, ashen-faced, staggered up clutching a wounded arm. 'Three crew

dead, Cap'n. Galley an' everythin' in it, cook included, all gone. 'Tween decks is burnin', though not badly.'

Thuron ripped a swathe of lining from his frock coat and bandaged Pierre's arm as he issued orders. 'Get those flames

put out! Check all the rigging! Ludon, keep her hard south. Take us out of range!'

Ben saw the captain's brow crease and his eyes narrow. 'Can we still outrun them, sir?'

Thuron stroked his beard and stared back at the Devon Belle. 'Aye, at a pinch, lad, at a pinch. But I've thought of a

better way than running from the enemy. I'm going to stop him chasing us. Anaconda, remember Puerto Cortes?'

The giant's face lit up in a huge grin. 'Aye, Cap'n, that's where we captured little Gerda from that Hollander. Shall I

have her brought aft?'

The Frenchman drew his cutlass. 'Rig a block and tackle!'

Ned sent a puzzled thought to Ben. 'Gerda can't be that little, not if they need a block and tackle to raise her. Ask him

who little Gerda is, Ben.'

The boy asked, and Ned was all ears as Thuron explained. 'Little Gerda is a strange gun we captured from a Hollander

merchant ship bound for a garrison at the tip of Yucatan. It has a long barrel, not wide enough to fit a full cannonball

but built to fire further than a cannon. You'll see.'

Little Gerda was indeed a strange weapon. Ben helped to swing it onto the stern deck and set it up on a pivot, which

was intended for the bow culverin.

The captain stroked its long barrel approvingly. 'I knew this would prove useful one day. See the barrel? It is meant

for long-range firing. Gerda's magazine will take twice the normal amount of gunpowder—her barrel has seven layers

of thick copper wire bound onto it, so it won't split under pressure. The vent is too small for a proper cannonball, so

can you guess what I'm going to use, Ben?'

The boy caught on instantly. He picked up the chain shot that Thuron had left lying by the cracked rail. 'This would fit

into little Gerda's mouth, I think.'

The Frenchman winked broadly at him. 'Right, my lucky Ben! Let's give the Britisher his chain shot back as a

returned compliment. Anaconda, Gascon, set the gun up. We'll get it ready while we're still on the run!'

Ned and Ben scampered below on the captain's orders, where they collected any old soft lengths of cloth to act as

wadding and some palm oil to soak it in. On the way back they took the rammer from the for'ard culverin to tamp little

Gerda's shot down tight.

Between them, Thuron and Anaconda were raising the gun's trajectory and sighting it right.

A crewman aboard the Devon Belle stood dutifully by with tray, decanter and goblet. Captain Redjack Teal took his

morning measure of Madeira wine, asking a seaman who was relaying observations from another stationed in the

crow's nest, 'You fellow, what's the froggy doin' now, eh?'

The seaman shouted up to the lookout. 'Cap'n wants to know what the French vessel's doin'!'

The lookout yelled back down. 'Runnin' due south with the wind, clearin' up the mess we made o' their midship