Dick seemed suddenly to come to life; leaping out into the centre deck, he shouted:
“To the shore, lads, and fight the liverish dogs on land!” Then, agile as a monkey, he slid down the hawser and pulled in a boat—the crew followed, some wading through the shallow water and others in the boats.
Once on shore they ranged themselves in a double line along the beach, waiting, with drawn knives, for the boats. It had grown almost dark by now, and one by one the stars had come out in the fast-deepening sky, but there was a big moon and the line of rugged, rum-stamped faces on the shore showed clearly in the yellow light. Their brutal expressions and the flicker of steel about their belts might have frightened many a man older and more tried than Master Playle, but the little boats came on undaunted, and just as the first keel touched the shingle a musket shot rang out and the man next to Blueneck dropped silently.
Dick swore in Spanish and, raising his pistol—the one he had taken from Mat Turnby—fired at the man nearest him, a fat elderly servant of Master Francis Myddleton’s. The man was almost out of range, but the shot wounded him, for he screamed and dropped into the water. For half a second there was no sound, and then with a yell the crew of the Charles charged over the soft, slithering mud at the solid line of grim, taut figures who awaited them.
“Pick out your men!” Dick rapped out the order, and as he spoke the handle of his knife slipped into the hollow of his soft white palm as if it had suddenly grown there, and the slender hand and delicate weapon quivered as one living thing.
There were fully ten more excise men than smugglers and they came on with such a rush that the crew of the Anny was forced to give way a little, but they rallied immediately, and although the Preventative folk had the advantage of numbers Dick’s people had the priceless knowledge of the ground they were fighting on. The wiry grass which covered the unlevel saltings that lay the other side of the narrow beach was very slippery, and in the pale light the ridges and dykes were almost invisible.
Dick soon realized that if the fight was to be fought to a finish the sooner they got to level ground the better, as his own people found the light deceptive. So he worked his way round to Blueneck, slashing right and left as he went.
Blueneck was apparently enjoying himself for, although the moonlight showed a gash across his temples about six inches long, from which the blood poured freely, it also showed a smile on his ragged mouth and a dripping cutlass in his sinewy hand.
Dick spoke to him quickly, just a few muttered words, and almost immediately the smugglers began to give way. Back, back, they went until they were flying across the saltings over the meadows and straight for the Ship, with the Preventative men in full pursuit.
Once the mocking voice of Playle called out to the Anny’s crew to surrender, and the flying smugglers paused and half-turned with many oaths, but Dick’s voice dragged them on again with, “On, dogs, on, for your damned lives,” and the chase continued.