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“I dunno what the ’ell ’appened,” Cochran said, shaking his head. “That shot should ’ave ’it ’em.”
“Mine, too,” Jamison agreed, realigning the muzzle of his gun. He drew in a deep, nervous breath. “We’ve got to get ’em next time.”
But they didn’t. Not the next time or the next. The two ships moved in a zigzag pattern down the narrow river, their paths at times seeming to intersect, then move apart, giving each vessel ample opportunity to attack. Despite Drake’s success at moving closer just prior to firing, the crew’s volleys landed time and again far short of their mark, while the Americans had already destroyed La Belle’s jib and fore-royal sails.
Alex swallowed and eyed the shattered sails. Thank God they were small, inconsequential ones. But how much longer could Drake’s clever handling at the helm hold up against the warship’s tremendous power?
Thomas Greer gasped, raw fear in his eyes. “That was me last cartridge.” He stepped hesitantly away from his gun. “I’ll ‘ave to get more from the ‘old.”
“We ’aven’t time,” Jamison shot back.
“Well, what the ’ell are we goin’ t’ do without ammunition?”
“I’ll get the cartridges.”
The men spun about at Alex’s firmly delivered words. She could see the indecision on their faces, but then it was too late. Cannon fire exploded again, a chain shot piercing the main topgallant, causing the ship to roll precariously. The men steadied themselves, turning back to their guns.
“Aim for their rigging and try to slow them down!” Drake commanded. He gripped the wheel tightly in frustration. Something was wrong. He knew it. “Fire, now!” he ordered.
The roar of cannon fire filled the sky, but when the air cleared, he saw that the other ship had remained unscathed.
The balls had once again fallen short of their mark. The men were frantic. Alex waited no longer, but ran over to the hold.
“Mannings!” she called down. “I need those cartridges, now!”
She saw his stunned face below her, as well as the pile of powder-filled cartridges beside him. He hesitated.
“Now, Mannings!” Was that authoritative voice really hers?
Apparently, it was, for Mannings immediately began to pass the packets up to her.
She ran back and forth, piling them up beside the desperate men. On the quarterdeck Smitty turned, then paled as he saw what Alex was doing.
Drake heard Smitty’s low, inadvertent gasp and turned his head, following Smitty’s gaze. He froze with an outrage born of stark terror.
“Dear God …” he breathed. “What the hell is she doing?”
“Captain, they’re about to fire again!” Smitty interrupted, seeing the larger ship pulling along their larboard side.
As he spoke, the balls were released, flying purposely toward La Belle Illusion. Water erupted all around them, and with a surge of panic Drake saw one ball fly just beyond where Alex stood, striking the fore-topsail and shattering it.
Alex screamed, clutching a wooden beam for support, realizing how close she had come to dying.
“That sail ’as to be changed or we’ve ’ad it,” Jamison groaned.
“I’ll change the sails,” Thomas called out.
He was never given the chance. Another explosion of cannon fire rang out, and seconds later the sickening sound of splintering wood pierced the air as La Belle Illusion’s mainmast disintegrated all around them. Drake shielded his eyes from the slivers of wood cascading into the water.
Smitty gave Drake a grim look. “We’re in trouble, Captain. We’re not going anywhere without that mast.”
The Americans seemed to know that, too, for seconds later another round of fire, aimed much lower, was released. The crash was deafening, and La Belle pitched violently, propelling all those on deck against the rail.
“Cap’n! We’ve been ’it!” Mannings’s frightened voice came from below. “We’re takin’ on water!”
Drake had known immediately that the hull had been hit, but Mannings’s words still caused a sharp pain in his gut.
“Can it be plugged?” he shouted.
