Page:Golden Fleece v1n2 (1938-11).djvu/102

 of his coat front, held it close to the touch-hole of the carronade. The pistol cracked: the cannon roared.

Master Blythe peered through the dark smoke. A tall geyser of water spouted between the racing longboats. The moonlight glinted on the column. The rowers faltered. Sharp voices urged them on.

"Get crews to the guns, Ben," Master Blythe barked. "I'll give 'em a hail!"

Old Ben snorted. "There ain't men enough, Cap'n! Not even fer the port broadside!"

"Kick loose what guns you can then," Master Blythe swung nimbly to the ratlines. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "Boats, ahoy!" His voice carried over the water. "Sheer off and rest your oars or I'll blow you out of the water!"

HE longboats drifted, clearer now in the moonlight. Master Blythe glanced down. Eight Newport seamen were trying to clear five guns, they worked frantically. "Ben, can you get those guns free if we need 'em?"

"Aye, sir, but I've nothin' to touch 'em off with, Cap'n!"

"You'll find a match on the quarter deck," Master Blythe said and cupped his hands again and shouted. "I'll give you a full broadside if you come closer!"

A voice, shrill with anger, blazed from the drifting longboats. "In the King's name, hold fire! Stand by to deliver my ship! You'll swing for piracy and treason!"

Master Blythe frowned. Piracy? That was extremely harsh!

There was a flurry on the deck, a half score of men burst out of the forward companionway. For a moment, Master Blythe thought he was attacked front and rear. Then he saw a shining red-head. Peter Hemp! His own mate and fresh support for the weary Newport seamen. The big mate was grinning. He led his men forward to serve the guns!

"Good evening, Mister Hemp," Master Blythe said. He pointed to the longboats. "That fellow says we're pirates!"

"Pirates, hell!" Peter Hemp exploded. "We'll fight for Liberty and Rhode Island!"

A good answer, Master Blythe decided. And, since the Colonies were at war with England, Rhode Island might as well acquire a Navy! Master Blythe pursed his lips. He looked out over the water. He wanted the ship but he did not want a hundred prisoners. That landing party couldn't go back to hostile Newport!

Master Blythe smiled to himself. The Massachusetts people had chased the Redcoats back to Boston! It was an idea—a good idea!

He lifted his voice. "The British are bottled up in Boston! I suggest you try rowing!"

There was a sputtering shout of rage from the longboats. Master Blythe turned to his red-headed mate. "Drop a shot between 'em, Mister Hemp! This's not the moment for them to quibble about rowing to Boston!"

Master Blythe leaned back against the ratlines and watched the longboats' oarsmen angrily chop the water, pulling out to Narragansett Bay. He sighed, and then frowned down at Old Ben.

"That proves my point, sir! See 'em pull! You must have cannon—" Master Blythe paused, whistled a soundless tune; he nodded to himself. "And now, we have cannon and there's no sense wasting 'em! We'll sail—and use 'em on a British ship-of-war!"