On deck, everyone was at work, yet an uneasy expectancy hung in the air, accompanied by muted murmurs among the crew. Sailors tightened rigging and checked knots while others dragged barrels toward the hoisting nets. In the shadows, a few pirates rolled dice, washing the tension down with sips of watered rum.
Meanwhile, Sammy and Kayin worked the ropes beside old Frank, who showed them a few tricks for tying proper knots. Suddenly, Sammy lifted her gaze toward the estuary.
"Are those gunshots… the sounds we're hearing?" she asked.
Frank cupped a hand to his ear, and Kayin leaned forward, listening.
"Yes… they're echoes of gunfire," Frank confirmed.
Sammy dashed to the rail. A few seconds passed…
In the distance, shots rang out, startling flocks of birds into flight. Moments later came the thunderous boom of a cannon.
Everyone rushed to the rail to see. Sammy felt a knot twist in her stomach—something terrible was happening.
The captain emerged from his cabin, followed by the secretary. He climbed to the quarterdeck and tried to locate the source of the attack, then descended to the foot of the mainmast and shouted to the lookout.
"Do you see anything?"
"I can make out the boat, sir… the men are rowing hard. I can also see splashes from cannon fire and rising columns of smoke."
"We have been betrayed," Skippy said.
He ordered everyone to their stations, to raise sails and heave anchor.
"Captain, we can't abandon our men!" Sammy cried.
"Mr. Worthy… save your comments for your bedtime prayers," the captain replied, turning toward Pete. "Mr. Nightingale, organize the crew immediately… prepare the gunners."
"What's the plan?" Pete asked, with his usual calm.
"We'll cover the men's retreat. Mr. Worthy, summon Mr. Wells. I need him on deck immediately. I want to know if entering the estuary is feasible."
A minute later the pilot arrived, breathless, stumbling forward with a flushed face that made it clear he had been drinking. The captain frowned at him.
"Well?"
The pilot cleared his throat.
"The tide's out," he said thickly.
A heavy silence fell across the deck. All eyes were fixed forward. Sammy bit her lip as Kayin placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"We won't enter the estuary," Skippy decreed. "We'll position ourselves in front of the citadel."
The captain returned to the quarterdeck and began giving directions to the helmsman to adjust course.
Pete ordered Sammy to organize the sail crews.
"We won't take orders from some sea rat," a few pirates protested.
"Fine… then I'll give them myself," Pete snapped. "And Mr. Worthy will count your lashes if you don't obey."
The pirates scrambled up the rigging at once. Following Sammy's commands, they loosed the sails while others began turning the capstan to raise anchor.
From atop the cliff came the crack of a gunshot, and a cannonball tore past the rigging.
"Battery!" the lookout shouted.
"Come on! Move! Cast off those lines!" Sammy yelled.
The sails dropped and billowed in the wind. Slowly, the ship began to move. Another cannonball screamed past the mainmast; Sammy felt the rush of air as it passed.
"I want those sails fully loose!" she ordered.
"Captain," Mr. Paine said, pale with fear. "We should get out of here… we already lost the cargo. Are we really sacrificing the ship for men who can be replaced?"
The captain raised his spyglass and surveyed the scene for a few moments.
"Signal the men. Change heading ninety degrees… toward the sandspit," he ordered to a pirate who ran to hoist a red-and-black flag. Then he turned to Paine.
"Forgive me, but I do not abandon any crewman who holds a contract with me. And if you have nothing else to contribute, return to your cabin and mind your numbers."
The ship began turning as cannonballs splashed down around her.
In the estuary, the men rowed beneath a storm of musket fire and cannon shots. In the distance they saw the Garnor raise sail and start moving.
"What the hell are those sons of bitches doing?" growled one of the wounded, blood soaking his shoulder.
"They're leaving… they're abandoning us," another muttered.
Mr. Trumper lifted his spyglass and studied the signal flags.
"No… they're heading for a safe position. The battery's got them under fire."
"They're going to leave us here!" a pirate wailed.
"One more word of whining and I'll shut your mouth for good," Trumper snarled. "Turn ninety degrees toward shore."
Just then a cannonball splashed down beside the boat.
"Move! Move!" the boatswain urged.
The Garnor assumed a broadside position. Skippy ordered fire against the cliff. One salvo after another thundered as the ship pointed her bow southward. With sails fully set, she began pulling away from the estuary.
A minute later, the battery resumed its fire.
"Prepare the falconet," Skippy commanded. "It's the only gun that can reach the blind angles."
On land, Cody watched, frozen. His hope of returning to the ship faded with every passing second.
The Garnor cleared the battery's range just as the carpenter ran up, alarmed.
"They struck us just below the waterline."
"How bad is it?"
"We can contain it… but we won't be able to sail for open sea."
Skippy ordered the bilge pumps manned and told the lookout to announce when the pyramid appeared on the horizon—their visual reference point.
Once aligned with it, he ordered one final salvo. The shots thundered across the citadel, throwing columns of dust into the air.
From the shoreline, the second group ran.
"The Garnor is on the other side of the sandspit!" someone shouted, pointing through the curtains of smoke.
"Move! Row for your lives!" Trumper roared.
They reached the inner beach, panting. The boat grounded on soft sand and they leapt out.
"Hurry! Remember your training, you filthy dogs!" Trumper barked.
Eight men shoved the hull with their shoulders, feet sinking into sticky sand, while four others hauled on the rope. The boat creaked, lurched… and finally began to slide.
"Again! Push!" Knox ordered.
Another barrage shook the citadel, sowing chaos. Spanish shouts echoed all the way to the beach.
Reaching firmer ground, they hoisted the boat onto their backs, sweat pouring, adrenaline driving them forward.
"Almost there!" Trumper shouted when he glimpsed the open sea ahead.
In the citadel, Lieutenant Inzunza ducked from random fire and spotted their escape.
"They're fleeing!" he ordered to fire, but another salvo sent them scrambling for cover again.
The men plunged into palm groves and dense brush, steering the boat between tree trunks and snapping branches aside.
Aboard the Garnor, chaos reigned. The lookout cried out.
"Men on shore!"
From the rigging, Sammy watched them emerge carrying the boat… but Cody was nowhere among them. Her blood ran cold.
At last they hurled the boat into the water, scrambled in, and rowed furiously toward the ship.
Ropes dropped. Hands seized them as the men were hauled aboard amid shouts and gasping breaths. One by one they climbed the ladder.
When the last pirate vaulted onto the deck, the boat was secured alongside the hull.
"I thought we were dead for sure," one man whispered, still panting.
Knox spat into the sea.
"Not today. As long as this damned ship still floats, nobody dies."
The cannons roared once more.
The boat was secured at the stern and the Garnor resumed her course.
"The only available cove lies one hundred eighty degrees off our heading," the pilot reported.
Scattered shots continued striking the water around them.
"We'll pass straight through the battery's line of sight," Skippy said. "No choice. Maintain continuous broadsides—don't let them reload while we pass."
The ship turned, spread every inch of canvas, and charged forward under the guns. One broadside followed another. Enemy gunners scattered into the ruins for cover.
By the time they managed to reload, the Garnor had already passed beyond their firing range.
Skippy remained at the stern, then descended to the deck. The crew surrounded the returning party, all shouting at once.
"Mr. Knox?"
"Dead," a pirate answered as the surgeon stitched his wound.
"Mike Hatcher?"
"No idea… he wasn't on the beach… maybe they tore him apart up there."
"Mr. Harris?" Sammy asked.
A wounded man groaned as the surgeon drove the needle through his skin.
"Dead? Alive? Hell if I know," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"If the Spanish caught him, better they'd killed him outright," another pirate said, gulping from a bottle of rum.
Sammy stood with her hands tightly clasped, staring back at the retreating cliff.
Then Trumper's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
"Back to your posts! Anyone keeps whining about those we left behind, I'll string him up to go visit them personally! Move!"
Everyone rushed to resume their duties.
"Mr. Trumper… I need your report immediately," Skippy ordered as he headed for the cabin, the boatswain close on his heels.
When they were gone, the murmurs returned.
Sammy approached one of the returning pirates.
"Mr. Hughes… forgive me for insisting, but… didn't you see Cody? Wounded or dead?"
The pirate narrowed his eyes.
"We told you already—no."
Sammy stepped back as Kayin joined her side.
"I know he's alive… we have to go after him."
"What are you planning to do?" Kayin asked softly. "Desert?"
Sammy pressed her lips together. At that moment, Trumper's voice boomed again:
"Worthy! Bring the pilot to the cabin and report in."
Sammy glanced at Kayin, confused. He nodded toward the cabin, urging her to hurry.