There would not be much left. What with the confused battle ashore and his own boarding party leaving their weapons behind, he could hope for very little.
Fowlar reported, 'Bare enough for one shot per man, sir.'
'Very well. Send the two best marksmen aft. Give them all the powder you have.' To Soames he added softly, 'We might hold them off until our own boats come for us.'
The canoes had stopped, their paddles glinting as they backed at the water, holding the slim hulls motionless like a pair of pike.
Bolitho wished he had a telescope, but that too lay somewhere in the jungle. He could see the natives clearly enough, their skins very black, their bodies angled to the paddles in readiness to move at a second's notice. In the stern of each hull was a tall man wearing a bright head-dress, his body hidden by an oval shield. He thought of the slaves in the clearing. The girl who had been killed on the brigantine's deck. These silent watchers would show no mercy for anyone. He saw the spears glinting in the growing sunlight. Only blood would satisfy them.
Nearer and nearer, until less than half a cable separated them from the poised canoes. Bolitho looked at the two muskets in the sternsheets. Fowlar had one, and a scar-faced seaman held the other. Between them the pile of powder and shot seemed even smaller now.
'Bear to starboard, Aliday.' He was surprised how unemotional he sounded. 'They will have to move soon.'
As the longboat swung heavily towards the centre of the opening both canoes came alive, the paddles darting into the water at a great pace, the air suddenly filled with the beat of a drum and the animal cry of a single warrior in the prow of the leading craft.
Bolitho felt the boat thrusting ahead beneath his feet, saw the sweat on the oarsmen's faces, the eyes which turned to watch the oncoming canoes widening with fear.
He shouted, 'Take care! Keep the stroke! Eyes in the boat!'
Something hit the water alongside and threw spray over his leg. It must have been a heavy stone, for immediately a whole volley of them rained down on the heads and backs of the struggling seamen, knocking some of them unconscious. The stroke was failing, and one oar had drifted away as still more jagged stones plunged amongst them.
Bolitho said, 'Open fire!'
Fowlar squeezed his trigger, and cursed as the ball went astray. The other musket banged out, and one of the natives screamed and pitched from his canoe.
Soames yelled, 'Keep baling!'
He fired his pistol abeam, and swore with satisfaction as another black figure plunged into the water.
Both canoes were swinging round in a wide arc to follow astern, one on either quarter. They were cut off now from each side of the inlet, and ahead the sea was opening up to greet them, mocking them with its emptiness.
Fowlar fired again, and had better luck, bringing down a plumed figure who was apparently beating out the time for the paddles.
The seamen were all so busy at the oars, or peering fearfully astern, that hardly any of them saw the real threat until it was almost too late.
Bolitho yelled, 'Get forrard, Mr. Fowlar! Fire when you can!'
He stared fixedly at the canoes which had suddenly swept around the green hump of land, spreading out like a fan as they surged towards him. A dozen at least, all filled with whooping, screaming savages. The first shot made them falter, but only for minutes. Then they came on again, the canoes cutting through the inshore swell like sword-blades.
Some of the seamen were whimpering and pulling haphazardly at their oars, others tried to stand up, while a few began to gather fallen stones to defend themselves.
Fowlar yelled, 'That is my last ball, sir!' He cursed as a heavy stone, hurled at extreme range by a sling, glanced off the gunwale and cut open the back of his hand.
The leading canoe was drawing very near, the din of chanting and the drum almost deafening.
Bolitho drew his sword and shouted, 'Ready, lads!' He looked at his cowering men. 'Close quarters!'
But it was not to be. Instead, another volley of stones clattered over the boat, striking one seaman so badly that he fell overboard. The man with the musket fired and brought down two savages with one shot. The canoe swung away, some of the paddles being dropped so that the floundering seaman could be hauled up into their midst.
Bolitho watched, sickened, as they dragged the man to his feet, pinioning his arms and holding him so that he faced -the slow-moving longboat. He could see the blood on his neck where the stone had hit him, imagine his screams which were drowned by the yelling figures who held him. One, with a high head-dress, waved a knife above his head, back and forth, back and forth, so that the captured seamen followed it with his eyes as if watching a snake, his mouth like a black hole as he continued to scream.
The knife came down very slowly, the blood shining in the sunlight and making several of the seamen retch and groan with horror.
Allday said tightly, 'Jesus Christ, they're skinning him alive!'
Bolitho seized the marksman's shoulder, feeling him jump as if he was dying with the man in the canoe.
'Do what you can.' He had to force the words out.
When he looked astern again he saw that the man was still alive, writhing like a soul in hell as the knife did its work.
The musket bucked against the sailor's shoulder, and Bolitho turned away, fighting back the nausea.
Soames said thickly, 'The only way, sir. I'd not let a dog suffer like that.'
Fowlar shouted, 'Brigantine's away, sir!'
The slaver had slipped into deeper water almost without anyone noticing her. Boats hoisted inboard, and already her foresail set and drawing well as she rode clear of the protecting land.
The canoes were forming into two arrowheads again, the drums getting wilder as they manoeuvred for the final attack.
Bolitho held his sword towards the hazy horizon. 'Pull, lads! We'll not go under without a fight!'
It was an empty speech, but it was better than merely standing and watching them overwhelmed, tortured and killed without lifting a finger.
Allday whispered, 'Here they come.' He held the tiller between his legs and drew his cutlass. 'Keep close, Captain. We'll show the bastards.'
Bolitho looked at him. They were outnumbered ten to one, and his men were already fit to drop, the fight gone out of them.
He said simply, 'We will, Allday.' He touched his thick forearm. 'And thank you.'
A great yell made him turn, and as the boat swayed dangerously to the sudden shift of bodies he saw the crisp topsails and jib, the figurehead shining in the milky glare like pure gold, as Undine tacked around the headland, her starboard battery run out in a line of black teeth.
Soames bellowed, 'Sit down! You'll have us in the sea otherwise!'
Allday said hoarsely, 'Now, there is a sight, Captain.'
Fowlar called, 'She's going about, sir! In God's name, she's a'comin' through the shoals!'
Bolitho could barely breathe as he watched Undine's graceful outline shortening, her sails in momentary disarray until the yards had been trimmed again. If she struck now she would share Nervion's fate, and worse, when the survivors were taken by the war canoes.
But she showed no hesitation, and he could see the bloodred coats of the marines along the quarterdeck nettings, and even imagined he could discern Herrick and Mudge beside the wheel as the frigate heeled heavily to the wind, her gunports almost awash.
Keen was yelling, 'Huh.Za! Huh.Za, lads!' He was cheering and weeping, waving his shirt above his head, the closeness of danger forgotten.
The brigantine had already changed tack, clawing clear of a dark smudge below the surface while she set more sail to carry her to the south.
Fowlar said with disbelief, 'She's goin' after the slaver! They must be mad!'
Bolitho,did not speak. Just watching his ship was enough. It told him what Herrick was thinking and doing, as if he had shouted it aloud. Herrick knew he could not engage all the canoes in time to save Bolitho and his small
