“And that’s very handsome of your lordship.  Ye see, I have some experience of this kind of action, and whilst I’ll take any risk that I must, I’ll take none that I needn’t.  But....”  He broke off to listen.  “Aye, I was right.  The fire’s slackening.  It’ll mean the end of Mallard’s resistance in the fort.  Ho there, Jeremy!”

He leaned on the carved rail and issued orders crisply.  The bo’sun’s pipe shrilled out, and in a moment the ship that had seemed to slumber there, awoke to life.  Came the padding of feet along the decks, the creaking of blocks and the hoisting of sail.  The helm was put over hard, and in a moment they were moving, the Elizabeth following, ever in obedience to the signals from the Arabella, whilst Ogle the gunner, whom he had summoned, was receiving Blood’s final instructions before plunging down to his station on the main deck.

Within a quarter of an hour they had rounded the head, and stood in to the harbour mouth, within saker shot of Rivarol’s three ships, to which they now abruptly disclosed themselves.

Where the fort had stood they now beheld a smoking rubbish heap, and the victorious Frenchman with the lily standard trailing from his mastheads was sweeping forward to snatch the rich prize whose defences he had shattered.

Blood scanned the French ships, and chuckled.  The Victorieuse and the Medusa appeared to have taken no more than a few scars; but the third ship, the Baleine, listing heavily to larboard so as to keep the great gash in her starboard well above water, was out of account.

“You see!” he cried to van der Kuylen, and without waiting for the Dutchman’s approving grunt, he shouted an order:  “Helm, hard-a-port!”

The sight of that great red ship with her gilt beak-head and open ports swinging broadside on must have given check to Rivarol’s soaring exultation.  Yet before he could move to give an order, before he could well resolve what order to give, a volcano of fire and metal burst upon him from the buccaneers, and his decks were swept by the murderous scythe of the broadside.  The Arabella held to her course, giving place to the Elizabeth, which, following closely, executed the same manoeuver.  And then whilst still the Frenchmen were confused, panic-stricken by an attack that took them so utterly by surprise, the Arabella had gone about, and was returning in her tracks, presenting now her larboard guns, and loosing her second broadside in the wake of the first.  Came yet another broadside from the Elizabeth and then the Arabella’s trumpeter sent a call across the water, which Hagthorpe perfectly understood.

“On, now, Jeremy!” cried Blood.  “Straight into them before they recover their wits.  Stand by, there!  Prepare to board!  Hayton ... the grapnels!  And pass the word to the gunner in the prow to fire as fast as he can load.”

He discarded his feathered hat, and covered himself with a steel head-piece, which a negro lad brought him.  He meant to lead this boarding-party in person.  Briskly he explained himself to his two guests.  “Boarding is our only chance here.  We are too heavily outgunned.”