THE GUN KETCH

And she fired another, lying, broadside!

Sarah and Jane was shaken hard. Ballard could hear her timbers wail as they were shattered below, hear scantlings and bulwarks starred open with ragged holes as round-shot ripped into her. But the bags of salt kept deadly wood splinters from flying to scythe her crew down.

'Close pistol-shot,' Ballard muttered, smiling thinly at last 'Open your ports! As you bear, fire!'

Double-shotted guns erupted in smoke and flames! Chain-shot to take rigging down, the halves of the balls flying apart as they left the muzzles and whining through the short space between them, linked with chain that made them whirl like birds' wings. Canister on top of that, bags crammed with musket balls that spread out like gigantic shotgun pellets in a cloud of deadly lead. All aimed at the upper bulwarks, all designed to take down people, instead of rigging.

'Marines!' Ballard screamed as the smoke ragged away enough to see what was what. 'Swivels!'

The panic parties that had gone aloft fired swivels down onto the schooner's decks; more canister-shot to erase the pirates about the wheel, on the schooner's quarter-deck, forecastle, and rails.

'Cock your locks!' Pomeroy shouted. 'Level! By volley,fire!'

The schooner's decks were about six feet below Sarah and Jane, so pirates trying to find a hiding place anywhere but close upto the larboard bulwarks were wide-open to the shattering volley of musketry. There was a concerted groan of terror at the sight of those muskets, then screams as the volley rattled out like a short roll on a drum.

'Grapnels away!' Ballard shouted, drawing his sword. 'Boarders! Remember, we want prisoners! Away, boarders!'

Seamen and Marines went over the side as the hulls crashed into each other. Grapnels flew and lodged deep in wood as both vessels rebounded and threatened to part. Upwind as she was, though, the schooner could not slip away, pressed to Sarah and Jane by the Trades. The boarding party surged over the schooner's decks; meeting light resistance, and beating that aside quickly. These pirates were used to having their own way by dint of terror and confusion. Few of them were used to a hard fight against disciplined opponents, so the survivors threw up their hands and dropped their weapons, while their comrades lay bloody and still, or shrieking with pain.

'Not much to 'em, hey, sir?' Pomeroy sniffed, disgusted that he hadn't even had a chance to bloody his sword. 'My lads didn't even get up a good sweat!'

'Make sure they've no hidden weapons, and herd them forrud, if you please, Lieutenant Pomeroy,' Ballard said, sheathing his own blade. 'And I'll have those survivors from the afterguard brought here.' 'Aye, sir.'

Half a dozen men were brought to him by the Marines at bayonet or cutlass point, and were forced to kneel, hands already bound behind their backs.

'Now, who is captain of this vessel?' Ballard inquired. 'Well, speak up! Where's the dog in charge of you?'

' 'E's dead, zur,' a surly little fellow replied in a grunt. 'How convenient,' Ballard simpered. 'What was his name?' 'Anastario Ruiz,' another volunteered, in a painful whimper. 'And the mates?'

'Oh, they be dead, too, zur,' the little fellow added, speaking from a mouth almost devoid of teeth. He had the gall to smirk.

'Dear God,' Ballard said, drawing a pistol. He had simply been appalled by what Lewrie had done at Conch Bar. But he had to admit it had been effective. 'Tell you men what I'm going to do. I am going to start shooting you, one at a time, until I get some answers. For your information, I am from His Majesty's Sloop Alacrity. Does that name ring a bell, hey? The same as did for Billy 'Bones' Doyle, down in the Caicos last year?'

'Ye cain't be, she's s'posed t'be posted t'Cat Island,' one of the younger survivors exploded, almost indignantly. 'She ain't got no Marines, so…'

He shut his mouth and gulped as Ballard cocked the pistol, and laid it against his temple.

'The Marines are from Whippet,' Ballard said coldly. 'Remember Whippet, from Walker's Cay? And no, we are not supposed to be here! But we are, by God, and if one of you doesn't start talking this very instant, then God save you!'

'Oh God, sweet Jesus, holy Saviour!' the threatened sailor wept, all but fouling himself in sudden terror. 'Don't, sir, please! Don't shoot me like yer cap'n done Ramirez! I know ya, sir, yer that Ballard feller! They say yer meek an' mild, a true Christian, sir, an' a true Christian'd not, sir!'

'Stop yer snivelin'!' the surly one warned. 'Die game, damn ye!'

'At the count of three, lad, I send you to Hell for your sins,' Ballard assured him. 'Want to die game for this bastard? One… two…'

'Jesus, no, don't do it, I'll tell ya, I'll tell ya!' the young man screamed as he fell to the deck to writhe and wriggle away from his compatriots.' 'E's Laidlaw, 'e's first mate, 'e knows! Christ, I wuz just aboard a year, sir, I don't know much, please don't shoot me when I tells ya I don't know somethin', please!'

'The man who tells me all will live to see the sunset,' Ballard promised them. 'And, if he testifies in court, he doesn't hang. The ones who don't cooperate with me…' Ballard paused dramatically as the thought came to him, and he smiled as he concluded, 'the ones who don't tell me the truth, who don't lay it all out for us, I'll give to my captain, 'Ram-Cat' Lewrie. He doesn't like pirates much, ya know.'

Several of them turned quite pale at that threat. Throats went dry, and they gulped saliva to ease themselves, before they began to bay a chorus of expostulation in noisy competition with each other.

Guineaman and another of Finney's ships waiting at Walker's Cay; his agent Runyon ashore, serving up free rum to all to keep them hot; Nassau whores at bargain prices for those with money; cargoes piled up waiting to be smuggled into ports all across the Caribbean; Finney, yes, it was Finney, it was always 'Calico Jack' Finney!

'Mister Parham, Mister Early, Mister Woods,' Ballard beckoned to bis more literate fellows who had good handwriting skills.'Dry work for us, I fear. We'll separate those that sound eager to talk, and get it all down on paper, with their signatures or marks made against their confessions, before we rejoin Alacrity. Mister Odrado? Do you go into Sarah and Jane and get her underway, out to sea. Soon as we have this vessel squared away, we'll follow you.'

And, to the amazement of all who were familiar with the taciturn first officer, Arthur Ballard actually cackled out loud with glee!

Chapter 8

Whippet and Alacrity fell upon the anchorage just at the break of dawn the next morning. Sou'west down Walker's Cay Channel, east through the upper passage above the shoal; Whippet taking position to block the southern pass this time, much closer to the island, and Alacrity given the task of scouring the moored vessels, after she had landed Lieutenant Pomeroy and his Marines in the twenty-one-foot-deep oval tongue of water to the east between Walker's Cay and Grand Cay. With most of the ships' boats used, they landed on the eastern tip in the dark, after a two-mile row in from the hasty anchorage, and a slow march down the three-quarter-mile length of the isle to take the camp unawares from an unexpected quarter.

'There's Guineaman,' Lewrie spat. 'Anyone know the other ship?'

'By those white upper bulwarks, I'd say she must be the Dublin Lass, sir,' Sailing Master Fellows opined. 'Seen her in Nassau. One of Finney's ships, for certain, sir. I know that house flag.'

'Better and better, Mister Fellows!' Lewrie exulted, rubbing his hands together. 'No schooners present which might escape us into shoal-water this time, we did for her yesterday. And most of their boats on the beach, not gathered 'round the anchored ships.'

'Bulk of their crews ashore, most like, still roistering, sir,' Ballard commented. 'Or sleeping it off.'

'Well, here's a rough awakening, then,' Lewrie grinned. 'Mister Fowles, we'll close yon farthest ship, the Guineaman. Ready the starboard battery!'

'Hullo, they're up and awake, some of them, sir,' Ballard warned. 'On Dublin Lass.