Chapter 8
Margaret sat on a half-barrel against the side of the stern cabin with an open book in her lap. The west coast of Wales was passing by at five knots, according to James’ calculations. They were making good time. She couldn’t help but admire the distant green mountains, and the smoke-wreathed towns and cities on the coastline. Hettie perched on a box beside her, mending a stocking with deft stitches around a wooden egg.
For lack of other occupation, the mercenaries had formed up and were doing drills together, with canvas wound around their swords to keep from cutting one another. Perhaps two in three had seen some real action, and the rest were youngsters from the country who were escaping from a hard life behind a plow.
“Yer all eedjits!” Ian Callaghan shouted at the group. A good-looking fellow with long, fair hair from just west of Dublin, he had taken on the role of commander. No doubt he would be a fine officer with some training. “Discipline! You’ll all be kilt first time ye get jumped by a Dane! Hold up yer guard, ye fools! Now, try again.”
The muffled clatter of sword on sword formed a rhythm in Margaret’s ears. She turned another page in her book, and read halfway down, until she heard her First Mate Owen Latimer’s voice.
“Sir!”
Curiously, she peered around the side of the cabin. Latimer rushed to Master Adam Forest, and pointed out over the starboard side of the ship. The captain hurried to the rail. Margaret stood up to see what he was looking at.
In the distance, another ship was approaching. It was smaller than the Meadowlark, but carried more sail. They’d seen all sorts of craft plying the Irish Sea; it was a busy waterway, serving all the ports from Penzance up to Fort William in Scotland. This one was moving much faster than they were, perhaps seven or eight knots, and looked as if it intended to intersect with them.
Forest looked alarmed. “Look at those sails. Almost sure to be pirates!”
Margaret peered at the approaching ship. She had not noticed before, but the newcomer’s sails seemed as if they had been patched together time and again. The Meadowlark sported a patch or two, but these looked ragged. Pirates! Hettie had heard the word, too, and clutched her mending to her chest.
“Shall I have the men take up arms, sir?” Latimer asked. “We’ll be outnumbered.”
Though it was still far away, Margaret could now pick out the shapes on the deck, and her heart sank. The small ship was crowded to the gunwales with men!
Forest looked as though he was about to speak. By then, the Irishmen had stopped their sparring to see what was going on. The captain looked them up and down, and a broad smile broke out on his face.
“We’ll not be, but they won’t know that. You lot!” he called to the mercenaries. “In approximately half of the hour, we will be encountering hostile forces. Arm yourselves, but don’t show yourselves right away. We have the opportunity for the element of surprise!”
They stared at him, not moving an inch. Margaret tried to will them to spring into action. Why were they not moving?
A small knot of the soldiers formed around Ian Callaghan, talking and waving their arms. In a moment, he patted the air to quiet them, then stepped forward to meet the captain.
“Mr. Forest, it’s a fine situation in which you find yourselves, but we are soldiers for pay. What will you give us to defend you?”
Hettie looked shocked. She had clearly expected them to stand forth like gentlemen, but Margaret knew they were businessmen first and foremost. She put her hand on Hettie’s arm to keep her from making an outburst. The captain never lost his smile. He was a businessman, too. He understood that the mercenaries were negotiating because they could. They were passengers, not crew under Forest’s command. They had a right to ask for wages befitting their worth. If it was not such a serious situation, she would have enjoyed watching the bargaining.
“Pay, is it?” the captain asked, rolling back on the heels of his sea boots. He consulted the air, then met Callaghan’s eyes. “Well, how about an extra measure of gin in exchange for your service? Or whiskey. We’ve got that, too. Your choice.”
“One?” Ian asked, weighing the offer. “Each?”
“Of course, bloody each,” Forest said. “What good’s a sip do a man, eh?”
The knot formed again, then Ian emerged from it.
“Two measures each, and you have yourself a bargain.”
“Two. Done and done.” The captain put out his hand, and Ian shook it. He smiled.
“Now, what’s the plan?”
The captain outlined his idea. Margaret listened with open admiration. This was not an unknown experience for the crew, she realized. She trembled for her brother’s sake, knowing that he had faced pirates before, but not with the same advantage as on that day.
The Irishmen unwrapped the canvas from their swords and went below for their pistols. All but a few were to stay below until summoned. The captain called for the rest of his crew, James and the five able seamen.
Latimer emerged from the officers’ quarters with a heavy box and distributed pistols to the crew, along with powder and balls. James brought forth cutlasses and made sure each man had one.
He noticed his sister and her maidservant watching, and his eyes widened in alarm. He waved sharply at them.
“Get below!” he ordered them. “Don’t get in the way.”
Margaret and Hettie gathered up their goods and moved into the doorway of the captain’s cabin. Two of the crew ran to the swivel guns, one mounted on the rail on either side of the ship, and loaded them. The Meadowlark didn’t have any cannon. At the captain’s order, they took their caps and coats from the cabin below and held them up on their swords. Those flapped in the wind like scarecrows which, Margaret mused, they were no doubt supposed to be. But would they fool the pirates? The sloop was fast approaching, scooping the wind in its surprisingly large sails.
“We should close the door, mistress,” Hettie said, trying to pull her inside to safety.
“No, I want to see what happens,” Margaret insisted. “We’ll close it when we must. One door won’t save us if anything goes amiss.”
“Leave the sails up,” Forest shouted. “You lot,” he called to the Irishmen still on deck, “lie down until I give the word! Crew to the starboard rail, now! Make yourselves look like an army!”
The crew obeyed, carrying their mock companions with them. The captain stood in the middle of the poop deck, holding his coat and hat aloft.
As the sloop came closer, the crowd of pirates began to shout and wave their own cutlasses, attempting to intimidate the merchant crew. Margaret was surprised by how calm the sailors were. They exchanged grim smiles.
There was movement on the other ship. She couldn’t tell what they were about until she saw the black O of a gun’s barrel turned toward them. She ducked inside just in time, and heard the ROAR! as it discharged. She heard cries of pain from the crew, and hoped no one was killed. Clattering arose as the shot peppered the hull and side of the cabin with metal. Margaret and Hettie clutched each other. She dared to peer out the crack in the door.
The captain’s coat had a hole in its back, and his elegant hat had been knocked off onto the deck. The first mate’s coat now lacked a sleeve. Two of the crew near the deck had red running down the arms of their white linen shirts, but they were not down. They shouted defiance at the pirates. The sails flapped loudly overhead. Some of the debris had punched holes in them, slowing down the merchant ship.
But the attackers had launched another onslaught as well. When the gun fired, the ships had come into contact, one hull slamming into the other. Margaret and Hettie were thrown off their feet by the impact.
Huge metal hooks came flying over the rail of the ship. Just as swiftly, they bit into the wood, and went taut. They had grappled onto the Meadowlark! Margaret handed herself up, hanging onto the knob of the door.
“Fire!” Forest shouted.
The swivel guns reported, with a noise between a pop and a roar. Clouds of black smoke rose and retreated astern with the wind, but not before the acrid smell made Margaret’s eyes water. On the pirate ship, a handful of men went down. The others paid them no mind. Half a dozen leaped up onto their own rail, preparing to board. The pirate deck guns fired one more rally.
“Close the door, mistress!” Hettie shrieked.
The pirates leaped over the rail and onto the deck of the merchant ship. They wore ragged, dirty clothes, their hair clubbed back like James’ but greasy. Nearly all of them were barefoot. Margaret thought most of them looked English or Irish, but a few had the darker complexion of Spaniards, even a couple of Africans. They chopped at the crewmen near the rail. More of their number swarmed up, preparing to board.
“Now!” Captain Forest shouted, freeing his cutlass.
Like spring traps, the crewmen and the mercenaries who had been lying on the deck leaped to their feet and fired their muskets at the invaders. Four of the pirates fell immediately, and their fellows leaped on their bodies onto the deck.
They regretted their action, for the rest of the Irish soldiers swarmed up out from belowdecks, firing their muskets as they came. They and the crew unlimbered their swords, and charged the pirates. They were met by raised cutlasses and knives, and it turned into a bloody clash.
Margaret felt grim pleasure at the astonished look on the faces of the invaders. They had expected only the crew to be on board, that was to be sure. One look at the superior force facing them, and as many pirates as were still on their feet leaped back over the rail. They began hacking at the ropes holding the grappling hooks in place.
“Fire!” Captain Forest called out again. The swivel guns spoke, peppering the pirate ship with small but deadly shot. More of the invaders fell. Margaret heard screams of pain.
The mercenaries rushed toward the other ship. A couple of them leaped up on the rail, swords raised.
“Come back!” Forest shouted. “We don’t need the ship!”
Ian Callaghan raised his arm, then swept it down. The mercenaries pulled back, swords still raised.
“Let the cowards cut and run!” he shouted. “To me, men of Dublin!”
The pirate vessel, now holed in its sails and the side of the hull facing the Meadowlark, turned its rudder and fled on the wind to the southwest, putting as much distance between the two ships as quickly as it could. Ian and his men jeered after them. The pirate’s deck was no longer as crowded as it had been. Margaret estimated that they had lost a third or a half of their number.
On board the Meadowlark, Captain Forest ordered his crew to throw the dead pirates overboard. No survivors remained.
“Hell’s bells, but you’ll have to mend those, James,” Forest said, peering up at the ragged tears in the sails. He picked up his coat and hat from the deck. “And my coat! Look at that ruin of a fine garment.”
“I’ll mend it for you,” Margaret said. The captain glanced at her.
“I ordered you below deck, my lady. But I’ll take the kindness as your penance.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said, meekly. She was nearly breathless from the excitement of the moment. In retrospect, she was grateful that things had not gone amiss.
“Who needs physicking?” Forest shouted out. A few of the mercenaries and two of the crew made their way forward. Ian Callaghan stepped up, clutching the sleeve of his coat.
“I was wounded in your service, captain!” he said, his voice a pathetic wail.
Forest moved his hand and looked at the slash in the two layers of fabric and the flesh underneath. “Pah. Nothing that a bandage and a tot of gin wouldn’t cure.”
Hettie came forward with a roll of clean linen already in her hand. Ian looked down at her with a smile.
“At least someone takes my pain seriously.”
Hettie blushed. She and Margaret helped to bind up the wounds of the few who had been injured by the pirates’ cutlasses, and sew up torn shirts for the others. None of the wounds were serious. She and her maid were full of praise for the men’s heroism. Though the captain still chided them for not locking themselves away safely, even he was pleased to receive the flattery for saving the ship so cleverly. Margaret thought she even saw Ian Callaghan steal a kiss from Hettie after she mended his shirt and coat.
The crew had to pry pieces of metal from the walls of the cabins and the side of the hull. Margaret almost laughed at the strange assortment of iron scrap that had been used as cannon fodder. The two gunners cleaned their weapons and stowed away the extra ammunition in the chest in her cabin. In little time, the Meadowlark was trim and fit again.
“Ah, that’s the way of it!” Forest said, shrugging into his mended coat. Margaret had pieced the embroidery back together again with deft stitches. “I’m proud of the lot of you! Gentlemen!” he addressed the Irish soldiers. “Thank you for your service in saving my ship! Extra gin for all!”
The crew cheered.