"Espere um momento. We'll come to you." He was shouting now in Portuguese.
A musket ball sang off the side of the longboat as several infantrymen began advancing down the shore in their direction. The Scotsman hunkered beside the gunwales but did not miss a stroke of his oar as they neared the bobbing heads in the water.
"Here, senhora." Winston reached down and grasped the arms of the body Serina was holding. It was Atiba. While Katherine caught hold of her shoulders and pulled her over the gunwale, MacEwen helped Winston hoist the Yoruba, unconscious, onto the planking. He was still bleeding, his breath faint.
"He is almost dead, senhor. And they have killed Derin." Serina was half choked from the surf. "At first I was afraid to try bringing him. But then I thought of what would happen if they took him, and I knew I had . . ." She began mumbling incoherently as she bent over the slumped form of Atiba, her mouth against his, as though to urge breath back into him.
"Katy, the minute we're on board take them straight down to the cabin and see if you can get a little brandy into him. Maybe it'll do some good."
"I'll try, but I fear it's too late already. Let's just get underway." She turned to look at the deck of the Defiance, where a line of seamen had appeared with muskets.
The firing from the shore slowed now, as the infantry
melted back into the rain to avoid the barrage from the ship. By the time their longboat was hoisted up over the side and lashed midships, Morris had retreated to safety with his men.
While Mewes ordered the remaining anchor cable slipped and the mainsail dropped, Katherine ushered Serina through the companionway to the Great Cabin, followed by seamen carrying Atiba. Then the mast groaned against the wind, a seaman on the quarterdeck unlashed the helm, and in moments they had begun to pull away.
"That was easy." Mewes spat in the general direction of the scuppers, then hoisted up his belt as he watched the rainswept shore begin to recede.