Fin ran headlong from stern to bow and leapt as the ships met, letting her momentum throw her into battle. She drew both pistols and spent their issue upon the soldiers doomed below, then lit upon the deck with sword in hand. Her crewmates cried as one and let fly their hooks. They hurtled across the rail in a tide of swinging ropes, whitened knuckles, and thirsty blades. As the crew of the Justice fled her groaning hull and boarded the British vessel, they turned their hatred to the work of war. With rusty cutlasses, they drove into the British, painting strokes of crimson across the deck.
The Justice was failing quickly; the sea rushed into her, gurgling through the emptiness of her holds like a beast gorging on the blood of its prey. Jack steadied himself on the tilting deck, urging every man to escape the Justice before it was too late.
“Defain! Open the bilge!” roared Jack. Armand Defain disappeared down a hatch, and a growl arose from the lower decks. Defain, grinning like murder, reappeared, and from behind him, like a dark cloud, came those mongrels of the bilge: half naked, filthy, and drunken on bloodlust. Defain pointed to the British vessel and commanded them with a word. Like wild animals, they howled and ran with lolling tongues, leaping from the wreck of the Justice to assail the British with bare hands and teeth. Horror and disgust took what men they flung themselves upon, and they preyed easily. Defain looked on, laughing with wicked glee. Then, fetching daggers from his shirt, he darted in amongst them.
Fin parried and dodged, agile and untouchable amongst the stiffly uniformed soldiers. Tan was beside her, his grin as quick and sharp as his blade. Her long hours of fencing lessons came unbidden to her sword arm, and she carved her way through the enemy in a fury of steel. She glimpsed Armand a few yards across the deck, swirling among the British like a mist, his daggers flashing in a grim coalescence of death. Each bite of his daggers fed the villainous smile upon his face. But it was far different from Tan’s smile. Tan’s pleasure arose from challenge and action, Armand’s from cruelty and death. Armand’s eyes found her suddenly, and with horror, Fin realized she also was smiling. His eyes shone and his smile deepened. Fin wrenched herself away from his stare and ground her teeth to quench the smile.
A figure rose in front of her, dark and terrible, snarling like a beast. One of Defain’s dogs. He twisted up a licentious grin and lunged at her. Then an arm seized him by the throat, snatching him from midair, and pinned him to the deck. Daggers opened his throat, and Armand looked up from his work and winked at her before spinning away and hurling himself back among the British.
Behind her, the last groans of the Justice followed the ruined ship as it slipped beneath the waves. Jack and Topper were the last to come aboard and stood back to back: Topper, swinging his cutlass in wild, bloody arcs; Jack, hammering blows upon men with fists like stone.
The British ship didn’t appear to have suffered at all from the collision. Its stalwart timber was more than a match for the rotten hull of the Justice. Then, with dismay, Fin saw across the water that the other British vessel, the one they’d fired upon, had also suffered little damage. It was bearing straight for them. In minutes, it would be alongside and her complement of soldiers would join the fight. Fin recalled Knut pointing ominously at the two ships approaching from the south. She jerked her gaze around and beheld their last despair. Those ships also were only moments away. No matter what the outcome of the battle on deck, they would never survive whatever fate the remaining three ships offered.
Fin clenched her jaw and launched herself at the nearest soldier with renewed fury. She spewed curses as she fought, cursing Creache for his cruelty and greed, cursing herself for being helpless to prevent his violation of her home.
She slew two men and three appeared to take their place. She saw red-coated soldiers streaming out of every hatchway like blood from an open wound. Even this victory would be denied her. Fin and her company of desperate sailors couldn’t hold the deck for more than a few more breaths. They were too few.
They gathered in a small circle with what remained of the Justice’s makeshift crew. Jack was on her left and Tan, her right. Topper was there also, along with Armand Defain, Sam Catcher, and few others. All around them circled more British troops. She cast around franticly looking for help, for hope, but there was none.
“We made a good run of it, boys,” said Jack. No one spoke. Around them, soldiers brought forward muskets and leveled them at Fin and her companions, ordering their surrender. Jack was the first to drop his sword and raise his hands. Reluctantly, the others followed suit.
A dull thump shook the deck as one of the two ships from the south knocked alongside.
Jack swore, and his eyes widened in disbelief. “By the milk of a mermaid’s blessed breast!”
Musket fire crackled through the morning air, and three British fell dead at Jack’s feet. Fin looked around in confusion. From the ship alongside she saw a wave of blue-coated soldiers leap onto the deck with flashing swords. First among them was Ned Smithers and behind him, Fred Martin. Their muskets spat fire and belched smoke, and British soldiers all around fell dead.
“Ho! Jack Wagon!” cried Ned with a laugh. Then a flurry of red-haired O’Malleys dressed in blue uniforms came crashing onto the deck and, with a loud cry, set themselves to war.
Fin looked up the mast of the ship alongside. Atop it flew a flag she’d never seen. Stripes white and red ran across its flanks and a crown of white stars adorned its deep blue shoulder. Not a British flag at all. Then the report of cannons rollicked across the waves, and she looked around to see another ship borne from the south, the same flag raised above her, assaulting the other British vessel. The Continental Marines had joined the battle.
CHAPTER XXIII
The marines streamed aboard the British warship, and Fin and her companions charged back into the fight. Jack laughed loud and threw himself at the British. His laughter spoke what was in all their hearts: hope, amazement, joy. Ned Smithers and Fred Martin. The last time any had seen them was in Tun Tavern, Philadelphia, when Jack had tried to knock them flat for jumping ship. A fortunate twist of fate is never ill-spent upon an old sailor, so Jack bellowed a laugh to quake the timbers of the earth. Over the screams and sounds of war rose the resounding peal of his laughter like a call to battle and a cry of victory.
The solid reinforcement of marines boarding the ship struck fear into the English, but they had no avenue of retreat. As the O’Malley brothers gleefully fought their way across the deck, their ferocity turned English faces white with terror. When they reached the forecastle, the last Englishmen, trapped between the Irish and the rail, threw themselves overboard to escape. Tan led a group down the hatch into the belly of the ship and flushed out what men remained below. They emerged, fleeing Tan and his men, to find Ned Smithers and a group of marines waiting with muskets. Soon the clatter of surrendered arms falling to the deck rattled around the ship as British soldiers and sailors flung them away and begged for mercy. Of the few British who still breathed, some quivered and prostrated themselves before the company, and many more flung themselves into the sea rather than beg succor.
Across the waves, a mile distant, the marines’ sister ship harried the remaining British vessel with cannonfire as it fled east. A riotous cheer arose from Fin and all those around her. A smile that she could wear without shame spread across her face.
“Lucky for you lot, we happened along,” said Ned Smithers with a raised eyebrow and a grin. Jack bellowed another laugh that split the air like a cannonade.
“Lucky I let you go in Philly,” said Jack. The crew gathered round and laughed. “Just what in bloody hell are you boys doing out here, Ned?”
“It’s no accident. We’re bound north with dire news of the war. The English are moving out of Savannah, sweeping north, burning and pillaging as they go. Word is they aim to take Georgia and the rest of the South while Washington is busy in the North. We make for Philadelphia for reinforcements.”
“Bloody hell. How far are we from Savannah the
n?” asked Jack.
“We just run north of the river when we saw your sail. Savannah’s right ’round the hill there.” Ned pointed southwest. “Now you want to tell us what you’re doing here?”
“You seen the ’Snake?” asked Jack.
“No, but I heard from others it passed up the Savannah sometime yesterday.”
“We aim to take her.”
Ned eyed him warily, as if he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to know. Jack stared back, quiet a moment, before deciding to elaborate. “We set Creache adrift. Reckon you heard about that.”
“Aye, we heard. Can’t say I believe everything I hear, though.”
“Believe it. Had it coming, he did.”
“I don’t need convincing. He’s the reason me and Fred run off.”
“Aye. Now the bastard’s got us on the run. Turned us in as pirates. Ain’t but one way to put an end to it.”
“You’d best keep your head down. You and your crew are wanted men and not just by the British. Your name’s up for bounty in every port from here to Boston. What do you aim to do, Jack? We’ll help if we can, but we’re in the middle of a war.”
“Think we can sail this tub up the river without raising too many questions?”
“Well, you don’t want to put in at Savannah, that’s for sure. You lot walking off a ship o’ the line would draw more attention than you want to deal with. And the British have the mouth of the river blockaded. They’ll board and search any vessel going upriver.”
“Any vessel except one of their own,” said Tan with a devilish grin. Ned and Jack considered it in silence.
“Might work. Might get you dead all the same,” said Ned.
“If we get through, you got any idea what’s waiting upriver?” asked Jack.
“Well, so far the British haven’t bothered much with Georgia. Been satisfied to sit in Savannah and control the river. But they aim to change that. They’re headed toward Ebenezer, we reckon, and like as not, the British will be there within a day. Augusta within the month.”
“Ebenezer?” exclaimed Fin.
“A little town a few miles upriver.”
“That’s where Creache is going!”
“Aye, seems so.”
“Creache is going to Ebenzer?” asked Ned.
“Long story—but Fin’s right.”
“Fin?” asked Ned with a confused look. The last time he saw her, he thought her a man. Ned didn’t even recognize her. “The Fin Button that’s got the British trade running like scared goats?”
Fin blushed.
“Aye, that’s the one. Not that she done a fat lot of scaring without the rest of us,” muttered Jack. Fred’s eyes bulged and Ned’s mouth dropped open.
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” added Fin.
“Well, bloody hell!” cursed Ned, and both of them broke into belly laughs. Fin rolled her eyes at Tan, who smiled back and laughed at her.
“All right you two, off to your ship. We’re making for Savannah, then upriver.”
“Best keep that Union Jack waving if you aim to slip past the blockade without trouble.”
“What’s the name of this tub anyway?” Jack wondered.
“The Monarch,” said Fred.
Jack chuckled and spit on the deck. “Always wanted to spit on a king.” Tan shook his head and groaned at Jack’s humor. “All right then, off with you. Let’s go.”
Jack wasted no time. He swung around and spat his orders to the crew. Of the fifty or more that had climbed aboard from the Justice, less than thirty remained. Ned and the other marines bound what British still lived and hustled them across the rail onto Ned’s ship, the Constellation, where they disappeared below decks—prisoners of war.
Fin and the crew followed Jack’s orders and commenced to clearing the Monarch of bodies. The deck was slick with blood, and it was a gruesome task. Those of the crew that had died, they carried below to await an honorable burial at sea; the British dead they threw overboard. Fin spotted Armand Defain against the rail, rifling through the pockets of a dead British officer. He happily slipped a pocket watch and ring into his shirt. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and then noted with satisfaction that all of Defain’s “dogs” seemed to have perished in the fighting. Defain raised his head and caught her looking at him. He grinned at her as he pushed the officer’s body over the rail.
Fin and Sam Catcher worked their way aft cleaning off the deck. As they picked up the last dead soldier and tossed him over the rail, they heard a curious thump and a grunt before the body splashed into the water. Fin stuck her head out over the rail and looked down. Clinging desperately to a rubbing strip, just above the waterline, was Knut. They’d thrown the body on top of him.
“Howdy, Fin!” he called, as if nothing of any import were taking place. Sam fetched a rope from the deck and threw it down. They hauled him up and checked him over for injury as he sat and shivered like a drenched rat.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt?” asked Fin as she inspected him bodily like a mother.
“I’m all right, Fin. I couldn’t find nobody. The ship—I think it hit something. Then I fell in the water and couldn’t find nobody there either. Then I couldn’t find the ship no more even. I was scared you guys was some of them English fellas. So I was trying to be quiet for I wouldn’t get killed like that man that just jumped on top of me.”
Fin and Sam looked at each other and shook their heads in amazement.
When the deck was clear, Jack ordered every man below to find himself a British uniform. If they were to slip by the blockade, they were going to have to look the part.
“Let’s find you some dry clothes, Knut,” said Fin as she pulled him across the deck by the arm.
There were plenty of clothes to choose from; a full crew and compliment of British marines had manned the Monarch. She found him some breeches and a plain shirt and coat and then left him to change. A few minutes later, she returned to check on him and found he’d fallen asleep on the floor where she left him. At least he put the clothes on first. She left him sleeping and scurried back to the main deck.
While they sailed the short distance to the Savannah River, the crew adorned themselves in red coats and tricornes. Jack slipped a coat over his bulky frame, but, as none on the ship were even close to his size, there was no hope of him looking natural in it. The sleeves ran only to his elbows, and it was so tight that his arms refused to hang straight. Instead, they arched out from his body, making him look like a giant red penguin.
“Damned skinny limeys,” Jack muttered. “Not a word, Tan.”
Tan burst into laughter, and Jack’s face turned as red as the coat. He reached out to swat Tan, and the seams of the coat split clean apart. Jack ripped off the tattered pieces of the coat and threw them onto the deck, then kicked them across the rail.
Fin found clothes of a much better fit. She felt strange wearing a dead man’s clothes—and an Englishman’s at that. Like the Union Jack flapping in the wind overhead, it was too big a lie. It made her feel unclean. Tan snapped his heels together and saluted when she walked onto the deck. Jack rolled up his eyes.
From the helm, Topper yelled, “Captain on deck!” Fin glared at him and everyone around broke into laughter.
Topper eased the ship around the southern shoulder of South Carolina and approached the mouth of the Savannah River. A British frigate in execution of the blockade was waiting to greet them.
“All right, boys, keep your wits—and no horsing around,” said Jack.
“Jack, you best get in the cabin,” said Tan. Jack’s size and lack of proper dress made him suspicious. Jack grumbled under his breath, and then ducked through a hatchway to watch the passage through the porthole.
“Steady, Topper. Act like we’re supposed to be here,” said Tan over his shoulder.
The British frigate in the mouth of the river ran up signal flags.
“What’s that mean?” asked Fin.
“They mean us to give way and let their
captain aboard—to check papers and ask questions most likely,” replied Tan.
“What do we do?”
Jack called Tan to the hatchway. They talked quietly for a moment, and then Tan gave orders for two men to help him look for the ship’s signal flags. They found the flags stowed in a locker, and Tan found what he was looking for. He ran up two flags and then came back to the rail to wait.
“What are we telling them?” asked Fin.
“Told them to stay clear, said we’re having trouble maneuvering.”
“Will that work?”
“We’ll find out.”
The other ship was only a couple hundred yards off the port rail. Tan raised a hand in friendly gesture. On the deck of the other ship, Fin could clearly see their captain peering at them with his spyglass.
“Easy boys, look natural,” said Jack from the doorway.
Another signal flag ran up the mast of the blockade ship.
“They’re asking if we require assistance,” explained Tan. He turned and ordered Sam to signal back that they did not. Sam ran the flag, and they waited. Aboard the other ship, the captain consulted with another officer. The captain handed the spyglass over, and the other man peered at them. The two men consulted again while Fin and the crew waited. Sweat rolled down Tan’s face. The deck was silent; every breath was kept long, and drawn through gritted teeth. Then the blockading ship gave way. Her captain waved, and Tan returned the gesture. They were through. Tan wiped the sweat from his face and grinned.
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