The Angel's Command by Brian Jacques Read Free Book Online Page A

gloom-faced man, tugged his forelock. “She’s ’igher out the water than us, sir. By ’er lines I’d say the Frenchie was built fer speed. But I’ll do me best, Cap’n.”
    The privateer captain stared down his nose at the steersman. “Don’t do y’best, sirrah. Do a lot better’n that, eh?
    Three golden guineas for the man who sets first foot on the pirates’ deck. Three stripes from a rope’s end for all hands if we lose the villain. Demme, but if that isn’t a fair offer, eh?”
    The crew knew Redjack to be a man of his word. A hard-faced mate began bellowing orders. “Pile on extra spritsails an’ bowsails, take cutlasses an’ loose those fenders. Jump to it, ye layabouts!”
    Redjack smiled benevolently at the mate and held his arms wide to give him the benefit of his outfit: Oyster-silk breeches, white stockings and silver-buckled high shoes, his cuffs and throat frothing with cream silk lace beneath a freshly pressed and laundered red hunting jacket. “Odds-fish, that’s the style, dress t’suit the occasion, I always say!”
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Not daring to venture back up the mast again, Gascon crouched on the afterdeck viewing the Devon Belle through Thuron’s telescope. “The Britisher’s pilin’ on canvas, y’can see he’s pickin’ up more speed right away, Cap’n!”
    Thuron nodded. “Just keep us running with the wind on an even keel, Ludon. We’ll lose him before we’re halfway to Hispaniola and Puerto Rico.”
    The steersman, Ludon, called back to his captain. “Can’t keep ’er runnin’ due east, wind’s freshenin’ to the south. We’ll have to tack, Cap’n!”
    Thuron gestured to Ned and Ben. “Watch me, I’ll show you how to tack and skim.” Thuron took the wheel from Ludon and spun it expertly, explaining his tactics to Ben. “If we can’t sail dead east, the next best thing is to tack. First into the wind, then away from it, so the ship heels over a touch and skims sideways. That way our Marie keeps up her speed. Sailing due east in a south wind would slow us down. Gascon, what’s the privateer doing now?”
    From behind the captain’s back the lookout answered. “The Britisher’s doin’ the same as us, Cap’n, tackin’ an’ skimmin’ like a pondfly.”
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Beneath his foppish posturing, Captain Redjack Teal was no fool. At that moment, he was watching the French ship keenly. He, too, had ordered the Devon Belle into a tacking manoeuvre while alerting his gunnery master to attend the portside cannonry. Teal reckoned he had gained a small distance on the other vessel. He waited until the moment was right, ready to take a gamble. The opportunity presented itself suddenly when he saw that the two vessels, whilst tacking, were broadside on to each other. Standing alongside his master gunner, the privateer captain rapped out swift orders: “Right, sharpish now, give her a full broadside, quick as y’like man. Now!”
    Ten cannon rocked back on their carriages as they went off with one frightening explosion!
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All hands aboard the Marie threw themselves flat as they heard the roar of approaching cannonballs. Ben gasped as Ned hurled himself on his master’s back, protecting him. Next moment there was horrendous crashing, smoke, flames and the sound of screaming men.
    Thuron was on his feet instantly, shouting, “Run south, run south with the wind. Leave off tacking!” He hauled the dog off Ben. “Are you alright, boy?”
    With the noise still ringing in his ears, Ben jumped up. “I’m fine, Cap’n, see to your ship!”
    Ben and Ned were hard on the Frenchman’s heels as he hastened about, checking the damage. Luckily no masts had been chopped down by the cannonade, the rudder was intact and the Marie had not been holed. But the entire