beyond the spit of land marked on his chart as 'Bakoven Point'.
Huron was committed to her present course. She could not bear up for the land lay close under her weather rail, and the chart showed breaking shoals well offshore there was one of them now, close on her starboard beam, showing its round black granite back and blowing like a whale. Huron was in a trap, and her only escape would be to find the extra turn of speed which would carry her away out of gunshot range, and there it was, the wind, less than three miles ahead of her.
There was a loud banging from the deck below Clinton's feet and he glanced irritably at Ferris. See what that is, he snapped, and turned his full attention back to the clipper. Three short miles she had to go, but even as Clinton stared at her through his glass he saw her huge square mainsail quiver and then shake gently as she luffed in the flukey airs below the mountains. Please God! ' Clinton whispered, and Huron's speed bled off perceptively, all her sails were losing their taut clean shape and she checked away, baulking like a weary animal. She's found a hole in the wind, ' Lieutenant Denham called exultantly. 'We've got her now, by God! 'I'll thank you not to blaspheme on this quarterdeck, Mr. Denham, Clinton told him sharply, and Denham's expression was instantly crestfallen. I beg your pardon, sir. ' At that moment Ferris arrived breathlessly back on deck. The stokers, sir, be panted. 'They are knocking out all the furniture from the officers' quarters. Your bunk's gone, sir, and your desk also.'
Clinton barely glanced at him, he was studying the clipper, evaluating each yard of difference in their speeds, judging as finely as he dared the angle of his interception.
Yes, he decided, with Huron's loss of speed, he could edge in a touch more. Bring her up a point to starboard, he told the helmsman, and then he glanced up at his own sails that were helping the big bronze screws under the stern to hurl Black joke forward. The alteration of course had affected them. Mr. Ferris, see to the trim of your jib, if you please.'
Ferris bellowed an order to the foredeck watch, and watched critically as they hardened up the long triangular sail.
All Huron's sails shivered, and then refilled, once more taking on their true shape, and she spurted away, a curl of white sparkling under her bows. The dark windswept water was much closer ahead of her.
It had been Denham's unnecessary blasphemy, Clinton was sure of it, and he glanced darkly at his Lieutenant, and then reluctantly gave the order. Let her fall off a point.'
Huron was head-reaching again. If Black joke held on she would be aiming to cut behind the clipper's stern . The alteration was an acknowledgement of the advantage changing hands once again.
The engine voice pipe squealed, and it was a relief to have even the small distraction. Engine room, Captain, ' he snapped into the mouthpiece. 'Coal long ago gone, sir. Pressure down to 100 pounds, sir, and falling. 'Burn everything you can find. 'Wood goes up like paper, sir. No body to it, and it chokes the flue. ' MacDonald seemed to relish the gloomy news, and Clinton felt his irritation turn to anger. Do your best, man, nobody can ask more than that, and he snapped the voice pipe closed.
Was he close enough yet to try a shot with his bowchaser, he wondered?
The long sixteen-pounder had almost twice the range of the big thirty-two pounders that made up Black joke's main armament. A lucky shot might carry away one of the clipper's spars, might even bring down a yard, and at that moment he distinctly felt the change in the engine vibrations coming up through the deck, Black joke was faltering, the steam in her boilers losing pressure. Mr. Ferris, break out the colours, if you please.'
As the Ensign unfurled at the peak, spread gloriously against the pale blue sky, crimson and silky white, shouting a challenge on the wind, Clinton felt that tightness in his chest, that swell of pride which never failed him. Huron's replying, Denham muttered, and Clinton lifted his glass, and watched the American's colours k bloom like a flower high above her shimmering piles of white canvas. And be damned, Denham interpreted the show of colours. Huron was scorning their challenge. Mr. Ferris, we'll give her a gun now, Clinton decided grimly. 'Put one over her bows. ' And Ferris scrambled away to the bows to supervise the loading and laying of the bow-chaser.
The shot when it came was a puny little pop of sound, muted by the wind and the long spurt of grey powder smoke was whipped-away almost before it could form.
Though they were all watching avidly through the telescopes, not one of them could spot the fall of shot, and Denham spoke aloud for all of them. She's not altering. She's ignoring us. 'Very well. ' Clinton kept his voice low. 'We'll try one into her rigging.'
The sixteen-pounder banged again, like an unlatched door in a high wind, and this time they both exclaimed in unison. A pinprick of light appeared in one of the Huron's studding sails, pierced by shot; it held its shape for an instant and then burst like a paper packet and was blown to tatters.
Clinton saw the bustle of Huron's seamen on the decks and yards, and before the bow-chaser could be reloaded, the ruined sail was hauled down and another clean new sail spread open in its place. The speed with which the sail change was made impressed even Clinton. The devil is a good sailor, I'll grant him that-, And then he broke off, for Huron was turning boldly, seeming to aim to cut the gunboat's bows, and Clinton realized what her Captain was doing. He was anticipating the rush of the wind, and as Clinton watched it struck her.
It came roaring aboard the clipper, howling through her rigging, like a pack of hunting wolves, and the tall ship heeled and seemed almost to crouch, gathering herself like a blood stallion feeling the cut of the lash, and then she hurled herself forward and was away.
The dark wind-scoured sea burst open before the long lithe knifing hull, and joyously Huron tossed the dashing white spray over her bows. She's making twenty knots, Denham cried with disbelief, as Black Joke seemed to come up dead in the water, a wallowing log when compared to the swift and lovely ship that cut daringly across her bows, just out of cannon shot, and dashed away into the open Atlantic Ocean.
Through his glass Clinton saw that the seamen who lined Huron's yards were gambolling and waving their caps, mouths wide open and they cheered and jeered, and then he focused the glass on Huron's deck.
There was a tall figure at Huron's near rail, clad in a plain dark blue jacket. Clinton could not make out the man's features at this distance, but he recognized the set of wide shoulders, the arrogant carriage of head, that he had last seen over the sights of a duelling pistol.
The acid bile of hatred rose to scald his throat as the figure lifted a hand in a laconic salute, a taunting gesture of farewell, and then turned away from the rail unhurriedly.
Clinton snapped his telescope closed. stern chase! he ordered.
'We'll keep after her!
He did not dare look at his officers' faces, lest one of them wore an expression of pity.
