Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur - Страница 171

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"Murder!" cried Llewellyn. He sprang into the square and knelt beside the dying youth. He took him in his arms, and looked up again at Schreuder. "Bloody murder!" he cried again.

"I must take that as a request." Cumbrae smiled and came up behind the kneeling man. "And I am happy to oblige you, cousin!" he said, and brought the wheel-lock pistol out from behind his back. He thrust the muzzle into the back of Llewellyn's head and pulled the trigger. There was a bright flare of sparks and then the pistol roared and leaped in the Buzzard's fist. At such close range the load of lead pellets drove clean through Llewellyn's skull and blew half of his face away in red tatters. He flopped forwards with Vincent's body still in his arms.

The Buzzard looked around quickly, and saw that from the dark grove the red rocket was already soaring upwards, leaving a parabola of silver smoke arched against the fragile blue of the early-morning sky, the signal to Sam Bowles and his boarding party to storm the decks of the Golden Bough.

Meanwhile, above the beach, the gunners hidden among the trees were dragging away the branches that covered their culver ins The Buzzard had sited the battery himself and laid them to cover all the far side of the square where the seamen from the Golden Bough stood in a row four deep. The culver ins enfiladed the group, and each was loaded with a full charge of grape shot.

Even though they were unaware of the hidden battery, the seamen "from the Golden Bough were swiftly recovering from the shock of seeing their officers slaughtered before their horrified gaze. A hum of fury and wild cries of outrage went up from their midst, but there was no officer to give the order, and though they drew their cutlasses, yet instinctively they hesitated and hung back.

The Buzzard seized Colonel Schreuder's free arm and grated in his ear. "Come on! Hurry! Clear the range." He dragged him from the roped ring. ""By God, sir, you have murdered Llewellyn!" Schreuder protested. He was stunned by the act. "He was unarmed! Defenceless!"

"We will debate the niceties of it later," Cumbrae promised, and stuck out one booted foot, hooking Schreuder's ankle at the same time shoving him forward. The two men sprawled headlong into the shallow trench in the sand that Cumbrae had dug specially for this purpose, just as the seamen from the Golden Bough burst through the ropes of the ring behind them.

"What are you doing?" Schreuder bellowed. "Release me at once."

"I am saving your life, you blethering idiot," Cumbrae shouted in his ear, and held his head down below the lip of the trench as the first salvo of grape shot thundered from out of the grove and swept the beach.

The Buzzard had calculated the range with care so that the pattern of shot spread to its most deadly arc. It caught the phalanx of sailors squarely, raked the sand of the beach into a blinding white storm, and went on to tear across the surface of the quiet lagoon waters like a gate. Most of the Golden Bough's men were struck down instantly, but a few stayed on their feet, bewildered and stunned, staggering like drunkards from their wounds and from the turmoil of grape shot and the blast of disrupted air.

Cumbrae seized his claymore from the bottom of the pit, where he had buried it under a light coating of sand, and leaped to his feet. He rushed on these few survivors, the great sword gripped in both hands. He struck the head clean from the torso of the first man in his path, just as his own sailors came charging out of the gunsmoke, yelling like demons and brandishing their cutlasses.

They fell upon the decimated shore party and hacked them down, even when Cumbrae bellowed, "Enough! Give quarter to those who yield!"

They took no heed of his order, and swung the cutlasses until the brown blood drops wet them to the elbows and speckled their grinning faces. Cumbrae had to lay about him with his fists and the flat of his sword.

"Avast! We need men to sail the Golden Bough. Spare me a dozen, you bloody ruffians." They gave him less than he demanded. When the carnage was over there were only nine, trussed ankle and wrist and lying belly down in the sand like porkers in the marketplace.

"This way!" the Buzzard bellowed again, and led his crew sprinting down the beach to where the longboats from the Golden Bough were drawn up. They piled into them and seized the oars. With Cumbrae roaring in the bows like a wounded animal they pulled for the Golden Bough, hooked onto her sides and went swarming up onto her deck with cutlass bared and pistols cocked.

There, help was not needed. Sam Bowles's men had taken the Golden Bough by surprise and storm. The deck was slippery with blood and corpses were strewn across it and huddled in the scuppers. Under the forecastle a small band of Llewellyn's men were hanging on desperately, surrounded by Sam's gang of boarders, but when they saw the Buzzard and his gang storm up onto the deck they threw down their cutlasses. Those few who could swim raced to the ship's side and dived into the lagoon while the others fell to their knees and pleaded for quarter.

"Spare them, Mister Bowles," Cumbrae shouted. "I need sailors!" He did not wait to see the order obeyed but snatched a musket from the hands of the man beside him and ran to the rail. The escaping sailors were splashing their way towards the mangrove trees. He took careful aim at the head of one, whose pink scalp showed through his wet grey hair. It was a lucky shot, and the man threw up both hands and sank, leaving a pink stain on the surface. The men around Cumbrae hooted with glee and joined in the sport, calling their targets and laying wagers on their marksmanship. "Who'll give me fives in shillings on that rogue with the blond pigtail?" They shot the swimming men like wounded ducks.

Sam Bowles came grinning and bobbing to meet Cumbrae. "The ship is yours, your grace."

"Well done, Mister Bowles." Cumbrae gave him such a hearty blow of commendation as to knock him almost off his feet. "There will be some hiding below decks. Winkle them out! Try to take them alive. Put a boat in the water and drag those out also!" He pointed at the few survivors still splashing and swimming towards the mangroves. "I am going down to Llewellyn's cabin to find the ship's papers. Call me when you have all the prisoners trussed up in the waist of the ship."

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