with the blade of a knife. It was a long, slow, laborious process continuing on into the night, when the white sail target was replaced by a small fire. But by midnight, they had all thirty-two cannon aimed, loaded, and run out. The cargo had been brought topside and lashed to the starboard railing, partially compensating for the list to port. Enders pronounced himself satisfied with the trim of the boat, but his expression was unhappy.
Hunter ordered all hands to get a few hours sleep, and announced they would sail with the morning tide. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he wondered what Bosquet would make of the day’s cannon fire inside the cove. Would he guess the meaning of those shots? And what would he do if he did?
Hunter did not ponder the question. He would know soon enough, he thought, and closed his eyes.
Chapter 30
HE WAS ON deck at dawn, pacing back and forth, watching the crew’s preparations for battle. Lines and braces were being doubled, so that if some were shot away the others would allow the ship to sail. Bedding and blankets, soaked in water, were lashed along rails and bulkheads to protect against flying splinters. The entire deck was washed down repeatedly, soaking the dry wood to reduce the danger of fire.
In the midst of all this, Enders came up. “Lookout’s just reported, Captain. The warship is gone.”
Hunter was stunned. “Gone?”
“Aye, Captain. Gone during the night.”
“It is not in sight at all?”
“Aye, Captain.”
“He cannot have given up,” Hunter said. He considered the possibilities a moment. Perhaps the warship had gone to the north or south side of the island to lie in wait. Perhaps Bosquet had some other plan or, perhaps, the pounding by the saker had done more damage than the privateers suspected. “All right, carry on,” Hunter said.
The immediate effect of the warship’s disappearance was salutary, he knew. It meant that he would be able to make a safe exit from Monkey Bay with his ungainly ship.
That passage had been worrying him.
Across the bay, he saw Sanson directing preparations aboard the Cassandra. The sloop sat lower in the water today; during the night, Hunter had transferred half the treasure from his vaults to the hold of the Cassandra. There was a good likelihood that at least one of the two ships might be sunk, and he wanted at least part of the treasure to survive.
Sanson waved to him. Hunter waved back, thinking that he did not envy Sanson this coming day. According to their plans, in an attack the smaller ship would run for the nearest safe harbor, while Hunter engaged the Spanish warship. That was not without risk for Sanson, who might find it difficult to escape unmolested. If the Spaniard chose to attack Sanson first, Hunter’s ship would be unable to attack. El Trinidad ’s cannon were prepared only for two volleys of defense.
But if Sanson feared this eventuality, he gave no sign; his wave was cheery enough. A few minutes later, the two ships raised anchor and, under light sail, made for the open sea.
The sea was rough. Once past the coral reefs and shallow water, there were forty-knot winds and twelve- foot swells. In that water, the Cassandra bobbed and bounced, but Hunter’s galleon wallowed and slopped like a sick animal.
Enders complained bitterly, and then asked Hunter to take the helm for a moment. Hunter watched as the sea artist moved forward in the boat until he was standing clear of all the sails in the bow.
Enders stood with his back to the wind and both arms stretched wide. He remained there a moment, then turned slightly, still keeping his arms wide.
Hunter recognized the old seaman’s trick for locating the eye of a hurricane. If you stood with your arms out and your back to the wind, the eye of the storm was always two points forward of the left hand’s direction.
Enders came back to the helm, grunting and swearing. “She’s south-southwest,” he said, “and damn me if we won’t feel her strong before nightfall.”
Indeed, the sky overhead was already darkening gray, and the winds seemed to strengthen with each passing minute. El Trinidad listed unhappily as she cleared Cat Island and felt the full roughness of the open sea.
“Damn me,” Enders said. “I don’t trust all those cannon, Captain. Can’t we shift just two or three to starboard?”
“No,” Hunter said.
“Make her sail smarter,” Enders said. “You’d like it, Captain.”
“So would Bosquet,” Hunter said.
“Show me Bosquet,” Enders said, “and you can keep your cannon with nary a word from me.”
“He’s there,” Hunter said, pointing astern.
Enders looked, and saw the Spanish warship clear the north shore of Cat Island, in hot pursuit of the galleon.
“Right up our bum hole,” Enders said. “God’s bones, he’s well set.”
The warship was bearing down on the most vulnerable part of the galleon, its aft deck. Any ship was weak astern - that was why the treasure was always stowed forward, and why the most spacious cabins were always astern. A ship’s captain might have a large compartment, but in time of battle it was assumed he would not be in it.
Hunter had no guns aft at all; every piece of bronze hung on the port side. And their ungainly list deprived Enders of the traditional defense from a rear attack - a twisting, erratic course to make a poor target. Enders had to hold his best course to keep the ship from taking on water, and he was unhappy about it.
“Steady as you go,” Hunter said, “and keep land to starboard.”
He went forward to the side railing, where Don Diego was sighting along an odd instrument he had made. It was a wooden contraption, roughly three feet long, mounted to the mainmast. At each end there was a small square frame of wood, with crossed hairs, forming an X.
“It’s simple enough,” the Jew said. “You sight along here,” he said, standing at one end, “and when you have the two sets of hairs matched, you are in the proper position. Whatever part of your target is in the crossing of the hairs is what you will strike.”
“What about the range?”
“For that, you need Lazue.”
Hunter nodded. Lazue, with her sharp eyes, could estimate distances with remarkable accuracy.
“Range is not the problem,” the Jew said. “The problem is timing the swells. Here, look.”
Hunter stepped into position behind the crosshairs.
He closed one eye and squinted until the double X overlapped. And then he saw how much the boat pitched and rocked.
One instant the crosshairs were pointing at empty sky; the next, they were pointing into the rolling sea.
In his mind, he pretended to fire a round of shot. Between his shouted command and the moment the gunners tugged on the shot-cords there would be a delay, he knew. He had to estimate that. And the shot itself was slow-moving: another half-second would pass before the target was struck. All together, more than a second between the order to fire and the impact.
In that second, the ship would roll and bounce madly on the ocean. He felt a wave of panic. His desperate plan was impossible in heavy seas. They would never be able to get off two accurately aimed volleys.
“Where timing is paramount,” the Jew suggested, “the example of the duel might be useful.”
“Good,” Hunter said. It was a helpful thought. “Notify the gun crews. The signals will be ready to fire, one, two, three, fire. Yes?”
“I shall tell them,” the Jew said. “But in the noise of battle…”
Hunter nodded. The Jew was very acute today, and thinking much more clearly than Hunter himself. Once the firing began, verbal signals would be lost, or misunderstood. “I shall call the commands. You stand at my side and give hand signals.”
The Jew nodded and went to tell the crews. Hunter called for Lazue, and explained to her the need for
