'Yes,' Stone said. 'An' you 'auled me aboard thicky little barky of your yerself, zur, when Vantage blew up t'other day. For which I says 'thanky,' zur.'
'Which one of you should I rate as 'sailing master,' for now, and which as 'gunner'?'
'Well, sir, Stone was capting of one of Vantage's carronades.'
'Then that's that. Bold, you're master, and Stone, you're gunner. Take turns at her tiller for a bit, and get used to her. I'd have you both take her 'round the compass, but we haven't time now, if we're to catch Marie Claire up there.'
When Stone had had his turn, Hoare left Bold at Inconceivable's tiller and took the gunner below. He wanted the craft's odd armory overhauled.
'First, Stone,' he said, 'draw the charges in all the weapons. Here's a worm. They must have all been wet when she took on water awhile back. Reload the lot from this barrel.'
Stone rolled up his sleeves and set to. Hoare returned on deck.
After a bit, Stone's head looked up at him from below. He was carrying the powder keg.
'No good, zur. She be started in the 'ead. Soaked through, she be.'
'Clear through?' Hoare's whisper was filled with dismay.
'To the very core, zur. All twanty pounds of 'er. Look 'ere. This lump, she be from the very center of the keg.'
'The pistols? The swivel?' Hoare asked piteously. 'The crossbow?'
'Dunno about the crossbow, zur. Never seen one of 'em before. But like you said, the powder in the other weppings was all damp.'
'The grenades?'
'Can't tell, zur. Un be all sealed up, you know. But the fuses …'
Stone went below, where Hoare heard him rummaging about.
'No good, zur. Fuses be all wet!' he called at last.
Hoare could gladly have beaten his head against Inconceivable's mast. As soon as possible after bringing his waterlogged vessel home the other morning and drying her out, he had replenished her fully. He had replaced hardtack and soft tack. He had made certain that the coal for his galley stove was dry, and likewise the kindling and tinder. He had also been quite confident that his little keg of red large-grain powder and his flask of priming powder were secure. He had failed to make sure. He had not kept his powder dry. Without firearms, how were Inconceivable's three men to take Marie Claire? There could be no question. There were at least as many 'Frenchmen' aboard her, and they would be well armed-with pistols, if nothing else.
For a long instant, Hoare contemplated temporarily abandoning the chase and returning to Portsmouth, there to resume it in some more conventional manner. He would certainly not actually abandon it. He looked ahead to the schooner. Even if the fugitives were only Morrow's minions, he wanted at least one of them. If Morrow himself was aboard, all the better.
From the respectful tones one, and only one, of his two midnight boarders had used on that misty night-just about here, Hoare realized-he was certain the other boarder had been Morrow. That put Morrow in his debt. Hoare thought no more about turning back.
He had seen how Marie Claire gave the Cowes headland a wide berth, so as to clear the nasty heap of submerged rocks just offshore of it. Marie Claire's sails gleamed ivory in the sun of late morning, until she disappeared behind the minor cape on which Cowes lay. She had not dodged south into the Newport estuary. The odds were, then, that she would make a straight run for Weymouth.
So Morrow, or whoever was conning Hoare's chase, knew the local waters. He himself would hoist Inconceivable's sliding keel halfway and shave the rocks, accepting the additional leeway this would give her in exchange for the cable-length he would gain. The tide was just past full.
The rocks now behind her, Marie Claire hove into sight again, making for the Needles, heeling slightly less than before and slicing scornfully through the light offshore chop. She had set her gaff topsails. Little good that will do her, Hoare thought; Inconceivable's plain mainsail overtopped the schooner's main topmast by a good two feet.
Morrow might be a traitor, but nonetheless he had chosen his yacht with an expert eye. With every rag set and gleaming golden in the afternoon sun, throwing an occasional rainbow of spray across her long bowsprit, Marie Claire was beautiful. And since the wind held steady, it promised to be a straight run to Durlston Head-clear in the distance-thence to St. Alban s Head and Weymouth Bay. There was little likelihood that, even if Morrow were not in command, the crew of 'Frenchmen' would commit any blunders that would bring Marie Claire within reach of Inconceivable's jaws. And in any case, to Hoare's shame, those jaws were all but toothless.
'I think we're over'aulin' the chase, sir,' Bold said behind him. 'I can see her crew-some of 'em, anyhow.'
In the glass Hoare thought to see four figures. He handed it to Bold for confirmation.
'Looks like four of 'em to me, sir,' Bold said. 'And we're 'aulin' up on 'em good and pretty, like I said. Thicky crazy rig of yourn…'
'Just the same,' Hoare said, 'it may well be dark before we come up on her. And there are only three of us. Shall we see if it's true that one true British tar can whip any three Frogs?'
'Har har har,' Bold said.
His comrade was more forthcoming. 'Lost 'most all my shipmates in Vantage,' Stone said. 'If it's true, that idee of yourn, I wouldn't mind payin' the bugger off for that.'
'Well, then,' Hoare said, 'here's what we'll do.'
Marie Claire had passed the Needles and had been briefly silhouetted by the setting sun when Hoare and his crew learned that they had come up within pistol shot of her. The ball thumped harmlessly against Inconceivable's mast, just above her toy pin rail, dropped to the deck, and rolled into the scuppers. Hoare suggested that his men take shelter behind Inconceivable's narrow cabin trunk.
'They won't 'ave that much ammunition, zur, will they?' Stone asked. 'Mebbe if we annoys 'em enough, they'll shoot it all off afore we gets within killin' range.' So saying, he rose to his feet, flourished his hat, and delivered a terrible yell. There was another shot from the chase. Stone's hat flew from his hand, and he joined his companions behind the cabin trunk.
'Har har har,' Bold said beside him.
Hoare felt unfairly treated, whether by himself or by the fates. Foot by foot, in slow motion, Inconceivable was drawing up on Marie Claire-and his teeth were drawn. The chase became silhouetted in the westering sun. Her stern was ample enough that four Frenchmen lining her taffrail, side by side, could deliver a steady, slow harassing fusillade. A fifth man stood boldly at her wheel. The enemy must have long since guessed that since she had yet to open fire, Inconceivable had no means of doing so.
The tapping of pistol bullets on her hull and the pop they made when tearing through her canvas was a constant thing. As the gap between the two vessels narrowed, the taps grew sharper. Hoare and his crew stayed crouched in the shelter of Inconceivable's cabin trunk.
Slowly, slowly, the sun reached for the horizon beyond Marie Claire. Slowly, it began to drown itself. A last rare green flash, and it was gone. At the water's surface, the wind all but died except for an infinitesimal cat's-paw every now and then. The two craft lay all but idle on the gently heaving water, commencing to box the compass as they lost steerage way. Splat, as a ball struck the water beside Bold and threw up a trivial spray. Rap, as another stuck the front of Inconceivable's cabin trunk. Tang. That would have been her anchor. By now, Hoare thought, Eleanor Graves and her sling could have brought down every man in Marie Claire. But Hoare had no sling, and if he had, he would not know how to use it.
The Frenchman must have fired a hundred rounds by now in this futile target practice. Surely, as Stone had said hours ago, they would have begun to run short of ammunition.
Apparently the French skipper had the same idea.
'Cease firing, Fortier,' came a quiet voice in French over the water. 'You haven't hit anything but the water and the wind in all this time.'
Hoare recognized the voice instantly. Edward Morrow was aboard, in command of his own yacht.
'Give me your pistols. You can load for the rest of us,' Morrow added. The other Frenchman whined.
Time passed, interminable minutes while the gap between the two vessels barely narrowed. If we don't
