The Angel's Command

huge bow wave. Letting go of the

oar to steady himself, the unfortunate carpenter signed his own death warrant. Spinning like a propeller, the oar

smashed into the man's face, sending him flying from the foremast top. His body struck the rail and bounced off into

the night-dark depths of the Caribbean Sea.

Joby screeched, 'Man overboard!'

Captain Teal gritted his teeth. Men who were foolish enough to fall overboard in the midst of action on a stormy sea

were of little concern to him. Teal winced and ducked low at the boom and flare of gunfire from the Marie's for'ard

end.

Rocco Madrid, from his vantage point at the Diablo's stern, was highly puzzled by the noise. 'Pepe, what's the

Frenchman up to? Where's he firing?'

Pepe, who had been concentrating his attention on the Marie, shouted and gesticulated wildly from his high perch.

'Capitano! I can see a vessel dead ahead of the Frenchman, now—he's firing on it!'

It was at that moment that Anaconda fired off his stern cannon at the Spaniard, close in the Marie's wake. The Diablo's

bowsprit and ornate gallery rails exploded in a cascade of rope, iron and wood splinters.. At the same time, a shot from

the Marie's for'ard end chopped the Devon Belle's foremast off at the stump, and it hung crazily in the mess of ropes

holding it to the mainmast.

All was confusion, smoke and flame aboard both the Spaniard and the privateer. Thuron took advantage of the chaos

to perform his Trinidad Shuffle. Along with a new sail to replace the one damaged by the chain shot, every other stitch

of canvas aboard the Marie was brought into play for the daring manoeuvre. Thuron spun the wheel hard about as full

sail blossomed overhead. La Petite Marie heeled sharply over, her lower sail-tips brushing the waves. Ben could feel

Ned huddling against him as he crouched under a stairway, holding on tightly. The Marie's?, prow dipped deep against

the rollers, sending up a roaring bow wave. For a brief moment she teetered in the stormy sea, broadside on between

both the other two vessels. Then Thuron turned the wheel hard right and gave his Marie her head. Like an arrow from

a bow, the speedy ship shot off shoreward, with the gale ballooning her sails. Two cannon roared out, one from the

privateer, the other from the Spaniard. The cannonballs crossed each other's path in the Frenchman's wake and whizzed

off to splash into the dark Caribbean waters. Thuron laughed like a madman as his ship sped into the night.

Once out of range, he began tacking west to avoid the shore. With Ned howling at his heels, Ben ran out of hiding to

join in with the cheering crew.

Pierre took the wheel from his captain, shaking Thuron's hand heartily. 'You did it, Cap'n! You did it!'

Falling on both knees, the Frenchman hugged Ned and Ben, still laughing as he replied to the bosun, 'Nobody can

dance the old Trinidad Shuffle like Raphael Thuron!'

The Devon Belle's, master gunner hurried to his captain's side, pointing at the Diablo dead ahead. 'If ye bring us

broadside, sir, we can blow 'er out the water!'

Redjack Teal roared at the unfortunate man. 'Blow a prize like that out of the water? Look at her, sirrah, are ye mad?

With our guns mounted at her ports an' my colours flyin' from her masthead, she'd be the finest vessel in any sea! I

intend cap-turin' that ship for me own use. Let the Frenchie go, an' bad cess to him. We'll attend to that fellow as soon

as yon galleon's mine.'

He beckoned to the mate. 'Attend me closely. That ship's already turnin' to run off—'tis your duty to stop it gettin'

away. Take this wheel an' stick to her wake like treacle to bread, keep her close. Gunner, see if you can rig cannon to

fire either side of her, port'n'starboard. We'll chase her in to the shore an' pin her down. Then I'll take her. Demned fine

ship she is, eh!'

Rocco Madrid's normally sallow face paled further at the realisation that he was facing an English privateer. He

watched the Diablo trying to turn sluggishly as Boelee and Portugee wrestled with the wheel. Having no for'ard sheets

and bowsprit hampered the operation greatly. Boelee chanced a frightened glance as the ship began turning. 'I've heard

tell o' that hellshark, 'tis an English privateer. See the coat 'er master wears? He's Capitano Redjack!'

Portugee almost let the wheel slip from his faltering grasp. 'Redjack! They say he's worse than a Barbary corsair!'

Madrid's hand slid to his sword hilt as he hissed a warning. 'Shut your mouths, I know who he is. Listen, this Redjack

has lost his foremast. Maybe he doesn't want to fight. Boelee, easy now, take us a point to starboard.'

No sooner had the Diablo nosed a foot out of place than Teal's cannon boomed a warning shot to starboard,

accompanied by a crackle of musket fire peppering the Spaniard's stern.

Boelee brought her back on course smartly. 'Capitano, that bad man has many, many more guns than us. If we try to

run, he will send the Diablo to the bottom.'

Portugee was in full agreement with the mate. 'How can we run without any bowsails? He will murder us all!'

Madrid focussed his telescope on the privateer less than a quarter of a mile behind. He saw the cannon bristling from

every port, the crew lining the rails with primed muskets, and the red-jacketed figure watching the for'ard culverins

being loaded with grapeshot, a deadly combination of musket balls, scrap iron and broken chain. Grapeshot could

sweep a deck with murderous effect. Two more culverins had been brought up from the stern. Four culverins loaded

with grapeshot at short range!

Madrid felt icy sweat trickle down his brow. This Redjack was a cold-blooded assassin! The Spaniard's mind