That brought bitter cursing from the men, but after a moment the one who had spoken said, “All right, but once you’re up on deck, you’re on your own. You either do what the cap’n says, or he’ll have you tossed overboard.” The man laughed. “I’d be glad to take care of that little chore for him, too.” He descended the ladder, his back turned to Preacher and Tyler.
When he reached the bottom, he stepped down into the bilgewater and turned toward them. Preacher vaguely recognized him from seeing him on board the ship, but he didn’t know what the man’s name was.
Nor did he care. The varmint was an obstacle to be overcome. To that end, Preacher surged to his feet, swinging the shackles he held in his right hand.
The heavy chain and circular cuff at the end of it crashed across the man’s face, pulping and slashing flesh. Blood spurted as he reeled back. Preacher swung again and heard bone crunch in the man’s skull. He fell, landing face-first in the shallow water.
By the time the man splashed down, Preacher was swarming up the ladder. The second man didn’t appear to be armed, and evidently he didn’t want to stay and fight with the mountain man, either. He turned and ran toward the ladder leading from the hold up into the orlop, yelling as he fled.
Preacher couldn’t stop the man from giving the alarm, but as deep in the bowels of the ship as they were and as noisy as it could be on deck, maybe the shouts hadn’t been heard. As he scrambled into the hold, Preacher flung the shackles after the man. The chain whirled through the air, the cuffs on each end acting as counterweights, and the chain wrapped around the man’s legs and dumped him on the planks before he could reach the ladder.
Preacher was on him in an instant, swinging the manacles still attached to his left wrist. The loose cuff slammed into the back of the man’s head and left a bloody gash. While the man was stunned, Preacher grabbed the chain, looped it around the man’s neck from behind, and heaved upward, twisting as he did so. No longer able to yell because of the chain crushing his throat, all the man could manage was some feeble thrashing before he went limp.
Preacher let go. The way the man fell told the mountain man he was dead.
Hearing movement behind him, Preacher looked around and saw Tyler emerging from the bilge. The young man was pale and unsteady, but he climbed out fairly agilely.
Not only that, he held a knife in his right hand. “I found this on Clark. Figured we could use it.”
“Good thinkin’,” Preacher agreed. He listened intently but didn’t hear anything except the usual shipboard sounds of splashing and creaking. “This fella hollered a couple of times, but I ain’t sure anybody heard him.”
“We can hope not. What do we do now?”
“Your friend Chimney said him and some of the other crew members would be waitin’ for us to make our move, didn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Tyler said.
“When we do, I reckon they’re plannin’ to jump the ones who are loyal to Sampson. Will there be enough of them to turn the tide in our favor?”
Tyler shook his head. “I really don’t know. There are about a dozen of us who hate what Sampson has made us become, and I’m pretty sure they’ll all fight. Likewise, there are a dozen men, maybe a few more, who are completely loyal to him. All the others . . . it’s a good question which way they’ll jump. Probably to the side that looks like it’s going to win.”
That made sense, Preacher thought. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t really know the answer until they tried to seize control of the ship. By then it would be too late to do anything except play out the hand and see what happened.
Quickly, Preacher checked for weapons on the body of the man he had just killed but didn’t find any. Tyler offered him the knife, but he told the young man to keep it.
“I got these chains,” he said. “I reckon I can do a goodly amount of damage with them.”
They turned toward the ladder.
Tyler suggested, “Let me go up first and take a look around. Those men were supposed to fetch me, so maybe if anybody sees me, they won’t realize right away that something’s wrong. But everybody on board knows that you’re not supposed to be free.”
“That’s smart thinkin’, but are you sure you’re all right, son? You look pretty peaked.”
Tyler swallowed and nodded. “I think I’m running a fever, and I feel about as weak as a little kitten, but I’ll be fine, as long as we can put an end to Sampson’s tyranny on board this ship. He’s run wild in the Gulf and the Caribbean for long enough.”
“All right,” Preacher said. “I’ll be close behind you.”
Tyler tucked the knife into the waistband of his canvas trousers and started up the ladder. Preacher got a good look at the young man’s back and frowned at the damage Abner Rowland had done with that cat-o’-nine-tails. Blood had crusted thickly over the slashes, but red, puffy flesh surrounded them. Tyler’s injuries needed actual medical attention, but they wouldn’t get any as long as Jabez Sampson was captain of this vessel. Preacher knew that Sampson would let the youngster sicken and die and not give it a second thought.
Preacher kept a close eye on Tyler as he climbed the ladder into the orlop. No one shouted a warning that something was wrong. Tyler stepped off the ladder, looked around, and then motioned for Preacher to follow him. The mountain man supposed that everybody was up on deck.
Preacher went up the ladder quickly. The chains clattered against it as he climbed. Even though his back was still sore and twinged whenever he moved the wrong way, he had recovered quite a bit from the lashing and was confident that he could handle himself all right in whatever battle broke out.
He stepped onto the orlop deck and looked around its gloomy confines. A few yards away, the hatch to the main deck stood open at the top of a flight of stairs. Bright light poured down through it.
A pair of bare feet appeared suddenly on the steps and started down them. Preacher looked around for a place to conceal himself and saw a stack of crates. He dropped behind it while Tyler stood in the open, waiting to see who was coming down from above.
A couple of seconds later, the young man exclaimed softly, “Chimney!” He looked over at Preacher and beckoned.
Preacher straightened from his crouch and came out from behind the crates. The bushy-bearded, mostly bald seaman known as Chimney stared at him.
“I knew the cap’n sent a couple o’ bruisers down to fetch you, Tyler,” Chimney said, “and I got curious what’d happened. I reckon those boys ain’t comin’ back?”
“They’re not,” Tyler confirmed grimly. “The men who are willing to mutiny . . . they’re ready?”
“Aye. I passed the word that somethin’ might happen today. The fellers are scared, I ain’t gonna lie about that, but they’ve had enough o’ Sampson. And it’s been even worse since that varmint Rowland signed on. Him and Sampson is two peas in a pod when it comes to bein’ mean and no-account, lemme tell you.”
Chimney was babbling a little. Preacher held up a hand to halt the stream of words and said quietly, “Go back up on deck and let the fellas on our side know what’s about to happen. Where are Sampson and Rowland?”
“Sampson’s back at the helm, as usual. Last time I seen him, Rowland was wanderin’ around up at the bow.”
Preacher frowned. He would have preferred that his two main enemies were together. But as usual, he would have to deal with the situation the way it actually was, not the way he wished it could be.
Chimney looked at Tyler and asked anxiously, “Are you all right, boy? You look like you’re just about ready to fall over.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tyler said, “just as soon as Jabez Sampson isn’t in command on this ship anymore.”
Preacher said to Chimney, “Go back up and let the fellas on our side know it won’t be much longer. When I come up out of here, I’m headin’ for Rowland first. He’s got to be put down. Somebody else will need to take care of Sampson.”
“Aye, I’ll see to it meself,” Chimney said, nodding.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tyler asked.
“Ol’ Chimney can get close to him without him ever suspectin’ a thing.” Chimney pulled up his loose, billowy shirt to reveal the butt of a small flintlock pistol stuck in the waistband of his trousers. “And once I am, he’ll do what I tell him or get his head blowed off.”
Preacher hoped the old-timer was as sure of that as he sounded and that things worked out that way. But no matter what happened, nothing would be served by delaying the showdown any longer.
“I’m going on deck, too,” Tyler declared. “Seeing me will distract Sampson, but he shouldn’t be alarmed. He sent those men to get me out of the bilge, after all.”
Preacher nodded. “Good luck to both of you. I’ll give you a couple of minutes, and then we’ll make our move.”
CHAPTER 34
As Preacher counted down the seconds in his head, he listened to see if Tyler’s appearance on deck caused any commotion. As far as he could tell, it didn’t. As the young man had said, Sampson would be expecting to see him. When Preacher judged that enough time had passed, he started stealthily up the steps, pausing in a crouch near the top for a moment to listen intently again.
He heard Jabez Sampson’s gravelly, rumbling tones and after a moment began to be able to make out some of the words. “. . . no mercy,” the captain was saying, “. . . over the side.”
Sampson was talking to Tyler, Preacher realized, laying down the law to the young sailor and telling him what he could expect if he crossed Sampson again.
That was about to happen a lot sooner than the captain figured it would.
Realizing the plan had just changed, Preacher drew in a deep breath and then charged the rest of the way up the steps and onto the deck. Sampson had just become his responsibility.
Someone yelled behind him. A quick glance showed Chimney a short distance away. He realized Preacher was headed to the poop deck to take on Sampson and pointed to himself then to the bow indicating he would fight there.
Preacher understood. A couple of quick leaps took him to the narrow steps leading up to the raised deck where Sampson stood with Tyler and the steersman. The captain’s eyes widened in shock, and he clawed at the butt of a pistol stuck behind his belt.
Tyler struck first, yanking the knife out of his pocket and slashing at Sampson’s hand with it. Bright red blood flew. Sampson yelled in pain and batted Tyler away from him with his other hand. He got the gun out.
By that time, Preacher was there, swinging the shackles. The chain smashed against Sampson’s arm, and the pistol dropped to the deck as his fingers opened involuntarily. Preacher struck with the manacles attached to his left wrist, but Sampson reacted with surprising speed for one of his bulk. He ducked under the swinging chain and launched himself forward in a bull rush that slammed into Preacher and drove the mountain man backward. Both men flew off the raised deck and landed near the steps leading down to the cabin.
At least they hadn’t landed on those steps. Such a turn of events might have resulted in him breaking his back, Preacher knew. As it was, he felt blood running from the wounds left behind by the flogging. The fall had broken them open.
Losing a little blood was the least of Preacher’s worries. He had his hands full battling Sampson as the two of them rolled across the deck. At close quarters, with no room to swing them, the chains weren’t very good weapons. Preacher dropped the shackles and tried to get his hand on Sampson’s thick throat.
Sampson ducked his head, hammered a short punch into Preacher’s ribs, and tried to ram his knee into the mountain man’s groin. Preacher twisted aside and jabbed a fist into Sampson’s face.
Vaguely aware of the sounds of battle elsewhere on the ship, he heard yells, thudding, and the occasional gunshot, but he couldn’t risk taking his attention off Sampson. It was a fight to the death, at least as far as the captain was concerned. Preacher was willing to spare Sampson’s life, but only if the man was no longer a threat.
Sampson writhed away from Preacher and kicked out, landing the heel of his boot against the mountain man’s shoulder. The impact drove Preacher to the edge of the steps. Sampson leaped at him and landed on top of him. That bent Preacher’s head and shoulders down over the first step. The edge cut painfully into his flesh and made the wounds on the upper part of his back bleed even more. Sampson got his hands on Preacher’s throat and clamped down. His thumbs dug brutally for Preacher’s windpipe.
Preacher slung the manacle chain across the back of Sampson’s neck, caught hold of the loose manacle, and wrapped the chain around Sampson’s throat. Preacher tightened his grip and squeezed the chain around Sampson’s neck, hanging on grimly as he kept increasing the pressure.
It was just a question of which man would pass out—or die—from being choked first.
Sampson’s face quickly turned red, then began to take on a purple hue. His eyes opened wider and wider. Preacher was suffering, too, though. A reddish tinge spread over the whole world as if it had been dipped in blood . . .
The strength suddenly deserted Sampson’s grip, and his hands fell away from Preacher’s aching throat. He slumped forward, his dead weight pinning Preacher to the deck.
Preacher let go of the manacle, put his right hand against Sampson’s left shoulder, and rolled the captain off of him. As Sampson flopped onto his back, Preacher saw his chest rising and falling. Sampson wasn’t dead, just out cold. He had a raw, angry red mark around his throat where the chain had dug in.
Preacher pushed himself up and dragged in several deep breaths. The sea air felt wonderful flooding into his desperate lungs.
The blast of a shot made him look along the deck toward the bow.
Knots of fighting men were scattered the length of the Calypso. The sides appeared to be about even. Preacher looked for Abner Rowland but didn’t see him. He thought he spotted the old sailor called Chimney lying on the deck near the bow, however. Chimney wasn’t moving, which caused alarm to leap up inside Preacher. Clearly, his part in the bow fight hadn’t turned out well.
That made Preacher think of Tyler. He swung around to look for the redhead, who he had last seen being knocked aside by Sampson.
Tyler was sprawled on the upper deck, as motionless as Chimney at the other end of the sloop. Preacher went up the steps in a couple of bounds and dropped to a knee beside his young friend, who was lying on his side. When Preacher rolled him onto his back, Tyler began turning his head from side to side, moaning and muttering incoherently. Preacher rested the back of his hand on Tyler’s forehead. The boy was burning up with fever, all right, probably from those wounds on his back. Carefully, Preacher turned him over so he was lying on his belly.
That was all he had time for. The mutiny he had orchestrated was still going on.
He got to his feet and picked up the pistol Sampson had dropped. Hurrying down the stairs and then toward the battles, Preacher checked the weapon and saw that it was ready to fire. Again he searched for Abner Rowland, thinking that the tattooed man would make a good target, but Preacher didn’t see Rowland anywhere, which was puzzling.
Preacher didn’t have much time to ponder on that mystery, though. A moment later several men charged up through the hatch from the orlop, yelling and swinging cutlasses. Rowland was in the forefront of the attack. Preacher figured out instantly that after dealing with Chimney, Rowland had led some of his allies down below to retrieve the cutlasses that were stored there between attacks on other ships. The Calypso’s quartermaster only broke out the weapons when a fight was imminent.
Preacher would have preferred blowing a hole through Rowland, but when one of the men lunged at him, swinging a cutlass high so he could bring it swooping down and cleave Preacher’s skull, the mountain man did the only thing he could do. He brought up the pistol and pulled the trigger. The lock snapped and the pistol boomed, and a good-sized chunk of the cutlass-wielder’s skull flew into the air as the lead ball smashed into his brain.
Preacher darted
out of the way as the dead man’s momentum carried him on a couple of steps farther, then he caught the cutlass out of the air as the man’s suddenly nerveless fingers dropped it. Somewhere during the battle with Sampson, Preacher had lost the shackles, but now he had an even better weapon.
During the sword fight a few years earlier, Preacher had acquitted himself fairly well. He had survived, after all. But the heavy cutlass was more to his liking, more like fighting with a big hunting knife. He waded in, hacking and slashing with the blade while at the same time swinging the manacles attached to his left wrist and cutting down some of his enemies with that. Blood soon spattered the right sleeve of the linsey-woolsey shirt up to the elbow as he chopped down the men who’d been loyal to Sampson and Rowland. Bodies littered the deck, and it was slick with gore.
Preacher jumped between one of the pirates and a mutineer who was about to be cut down. He rammed cold steel into the man’s belly, ripped it free, and shoved the collapsing corpse away.
The man whose life he had just saved shouted, “Look out!”
Preacher twisted around and saw a cutlass coming toward his head with blinding speed.
The mountain man’s lightning reflexes were all that saved him as he darted aside. The blade caught his left sleeve and ripped it away instead of splitting his skull. A bitter curse followed the missed stroke. Preacher twisted his wrist, batted the other man’s cutlass to the side, and stepped back quickly to give himself some room.
Then a grin split his rugged face as he said to the man he was facing, “I thought that was you.”
“I’m gonna spill your guts all over this deck,” Abner Rowland growled.
“Come on, then,” Preacher said, and sparks flashed as the two men’s cutlasses came together with a mighty clash of steel.
CHAPTER 35
Rowland was strong, but Preacher already knew that. The tattooed man’s cutlass hammered against Preacher’s blade with enough force and ferocity to make the mountain man give ground for a moment.
Preacher's Frenzy Page 21