Memories of the last part were the most confused. Still seething with anger, he had slowly pulled himself over the side, then rolled onto the bloodstained planking. Beside him lay an English wool cap, its maker's name still lettered on the side. One oar rattled against its lock. The other was gone.
He remembered glancing up to see seamen in the ship's rigging begin to swivel the yards, a sign she was coming about. Then the mainsail snapped down and bellied against a sudden gust.
Damn them. Wait for me.
Only a hundred yards separated them now, as the longboat continued to drift seaward. It seemed a hundred yards, though for years afterward he wondered if perhaps it might have been even less. What he did remember clearly was wrenching the oar from the lock and turning to begin paddling toward the ship.
That was when the plume of spray erupted in front of him. As he tumbled backward he heard the unmistakable report of the ship's sternchaser cannon.
He could never recollect if he had actually called out to them. He did remember crouching against the gunwale, listening to the volleys of musket fire from seamen along the ship's taffrail.
Several rounds of heavy lead shot had torn through the side of the longboat, sending splinters against his face. When he looked out again, the frigate was hoisting her lateen sail, ready to run for open sea.
The line of musketmen was still poised along the rail, waiting. Beside them was the family: the man was hovering above the stout woman, now laid along the deck, and with him was the girl.
Only then did he notice the heat against his cheek, the warm blood from the bullet cut. He glanced back at the fire, even more regretful he hadn't killed Jacques le Basque. Someday, he told himself, he would settle the score. His anger was matched only by his disgust with the English.
Only one person on the ship seemed to question what had happened. The girl looked down at the woman for a long, sad moment, then glanced back, her tresses splayed in the morning wind. His last memory, before he lapsed into unconsciousness, was her upraised hand, as though in farewell.