"Mister Treach bring your muskets to bear!"
"Aye, sir and the guns are reshotted!"
"Keep your fire until I give the order to loose it, Mr. Treach! And strike the black flag—you shall hoist American colors in its place. We mistook the Frenchman for a Spaniard, d'ye hear?"
Cutlass knew as he gave the order that the strategy was far too thin, but it would give heart to the crew until the English swarmed over the side. Had he kept his witless anger and secured the merchantman and her guns rattier than sunk her.... But it was too late to correct the error now—and if this were a premeditated trap, then the English were tardy, and had permitted their decoy to pay too high a price.
There was the crack of musketry as the crew of the Talon fought to turn the boats' advance, but it was answered with vicious accuracy from the decks of the men-of-war themselves. Then one of the King's ships tacked about, bringing her cannon to bear while her sister ships bore down on the brig.
The Talon's broadside was simultaneous with that of the gun-boat, but it was a matter of 40 guns to twelve. And even as the main top gallantmast was sheared and came tumbling crazily through the brig's already sagging top-rigging, the British war vessels had come alongside to both starboard and port.
"All hands repel boarders!" Cutlass thundered, and armed his left hand with one of the pistols from the brace suspended bandolier-like from his neck.
They were too many. Because of the nearness of her sisters, the cannonading ship had ceased firing and had brought about to join the boarding fight; and there could be no running. He, Cutlass, had never given the order to—
He shook his head. This had happened before. Somehow it had happened before and yet of course that was impossible. It was his rage at the English and their price upon him that was addling his thoughts.