Isle of Fire (18 page)

Ross watched as the three ships exchanged fire. But Cutlass Jack had the best angle, and Bellamy couldn't get out of his pursuer's firing range . . . not without coming alongside . . .

“Stede, that's exactly what Jack's doing!” Ross's eyes glinted dangerously. “Don't let him slip by us! Stay on his starboard.” Then Ross went to the quarterdeck rail and yelled, “Jacques! Red Eye!” He waited a few moments and heard no answer.

Ross leaped down from the quarterdeck and ran to the hatches yelling for his two master gunmen. Still there was no answer. At last, Red Eye's soot-streaked face popped up from a hatch near the foremast. “I heard you, Captain,” he said, his voice agitated. “But it took some doing to get here. Jacques was down below . . . near the stern . . . when the second barrage hit. The first gun deck is sealed off.”

St. Pierre had been in the worst possible place. “I'll get a team of men down there,” Ross said hurriedly. He turned and barked out orders to anyone within shouting distance. Then he turned back to Red Eye. “What have you got portside?”

“Nine . . . maybe ten of the eighteen-pounders,” he said. “More starboard. Captain, what's been happening? I thought we were done for.”

“We have help,” Ross said simply. “In a few moments, Bellamy will be driven along our portside. When I give you the signal, fire every ship killer you have!”

Red Eye wiped soot from his face, grinned, and turned to leave, but Captain Ross put a hand on his shoulder.

“And Red Eye . . . ,” said the captain, his face as solemn as the grave.

“Captain?”

“Bellamy must not escape,” Ross said. “If it comes to it . . . put him on the bottom.”

“That I will, sir,” Red Eye said, and he was gone.

Bellamy was indeed a brilliant seaman, and he'd mercilessly trained his crew until they could work the sails and master wind and wave in their sleep. But skill's treacherous companion was pride, and Bellamy had been so caught in the chase and so convinced of the kill that he never dreamed other ships could be stalking
him
through the mist. Cutlass Jack and Captain Lâchance had hit Bellamy hard and fast. There was some minor damage to the frigate's rudder, and with Jack cutting off every angle, Bellamy found it impossible to turn or escape. And by the time Bellamy realized where his attackers were pushing him, it was too late.

At a distance of about three hundred yards, Bellamy's frigate passed along the
Bruce
's portside. Timing was crucial, so Cutlass Jack harnessed every bit of his xebec's shark-fin sails and raced up on Bellamy's portside. Cutlass Jack on one side, Declan Ross on the other, and Lâchance right behind, Bellamy found himself in no man's land with no choice left but to fight it out. The frigate opened fire from both port and starboard cannons, raking Jack's xebec and Ross's man-of-war from the inside. But Bellamy's attack could not last.

Cutlass Jack's xebec sat very low in the water, and Jack trained his cannons on the lowest sections of Bellamy's hull. Jack fired at will, and great wounds opened up on the frigate. Lâchance managed to cross behind and fired two deadly shots into Bellamy's stern. Soon, the enemy's ship began to take on water.

Captain Ross gave the command. Red Eye and his gunnery team lit the fuses on massive hulking cannons that, in the shadows, looked like giant grizzly bears growling out of the cannon ports. But while their growl was thunderous and fierce, it was nothing compared to their bite. These bears spat out eighteen-pound cannonballs. Some fell short or flew between Bellamy's masts, but those that hit the frigate did unimaginable damage. Bellamy's forecastle exploded from one strike, collapsing the deck beneath it and raining jagged wood and other debris on the crewmen below. Another heavy shot caved in a section of the hull on the frigate's middle gun deck, struck a cannon that was in the midst of reloading, and started a dreadful fire that kept a dozen men busy and unable to fire back.

The finishing blow came when an eighteen-pounder blasted the frigate's quarterdeck and helm, wounding Bellamy and killing his first mate. The crew saw their captain fall, and they began to panic. Several men took places on a launch and others lowered the cutters.

“We've got him!” Ross bellowed. “His crew—they're fleeing like rats in a flood!” Ross ordered a boarding party, and Stede brought the
Bruce
in close enough to lower a gangplank. Cutlass Jack had the same idea, and his men began to board Bellamy's ship from the other side.

Ross told his men, “Give them the choice: be arrested and face justice or die where they stand.”

“Declan,” Stede called from the quarterdeck. “Don't ya b' overstaying yer welcome over there. There b' no doubt more'n few fires burning down below.”

“Point well taken,” Ross replied, and he led Jules, Red Eye, Hack, and two dozen more crewmen across the gangplank.

The few pirates still left on Bellamy's main deck refused to be taken prisoner. They fought furiously but were quickly overwhelmed. Having disarmed his first foe and thrown him to the deck, Red Eye—against his better judgment—offered another man a second chance. This fellow looked all of twenty years of age. He had no beard, an apologetic moustache, and small eyes that looked timid and afraid. But he also had a dagger that he promptly put into Red Eye's foot. Red Eye howled and knocked the man unconscious with the heavy guard of his sword.
What's the matter with me?
Red Eye wondered as he yanked the dagger out of his foot.
It's like I'm becoming nice
or something.

The fighting all but over, Ross roamed the deck uncontested until he ran into Cutlass Jack Bonnet. “I reconsidered,” Jack said.

Ross embraced him in a great bear hug. “How?” he asked. “How did you find us?”

Cutlass Jack pulled away and laughed. “Ye told me yerself you were goin' t' Saba . . . t' see the monks. We just missed you. The monks kindly told us where you'd gone, so we followed.”

“You followed us all the way from Saba?”

“More or less,” Jack replied. “We lost ye' for a good bit. It was providence that we ever found ye' again. We caught up t' this French galleon t' ask if they'd seen ye. After they up and surrendered to us a half-dozen times, they finally told us ye be headin' for Martinique. When they told us you were goin' after Bellamy, I figured you could use a little help. Their Captain Lâchance insisted on coming along as well.”

“You saved us all,” Ross said. “Bellamy had us dead to rights.”

“That he did,” said Jack, glancing over Ross's shoulder. “The
Bruce
isn't lookin' as fine as he might.”

“We lost a mast,” Ross said. “Maybe a lot more.” His thoughts turned to St. Pierre and the others on the lower gun deck. He hoped that they'd survived.

“Captain!” came Jules's deep voice. “Captain, you need to come up here, right away.”

Ross and Cutlass Jack climbed what was left of the ladder to the quarterdeck and found that the ship's wheel and the entire helm had been blasted to scrap. Jules knelt beside a body. There was no captain's hat, and his coat had been shredded. His sand-brown hair was matted with dark blood.

But Ross knew him. “Bellamy,” he whispered.

And suddenly, their old enemy opened his eyes.

Bellamy drew in a deep, gurgling breath and did something no one expected: he began to laugh. It was a horrible, wet, hacking laugh that sounded to those gathered there like a man drowning. “Look at you,” Bellamy said. “Old Declan Ross . . . and Jack Bonnet. Smug . . . arrogant—you think you've won.” Bellamy's lids flickered, and his eyes started to roll backward.

“What do you mean?” Ross demanded. “Bellamy, what are you saying?”

Bellamy started to smile, but his body arched suddenly. He coughed once, so loud and so long that it seemed it would never stop. He lay still and glared up at Ross. “You really don't know, do you?” He hacked out a derisive laugh. “I wish you could see the looks on your faces . . . ah, you're in for such a time.”

Jack drew his sword. “Enough of these riddles,” he said, holding the point of the blade to Bellamy's chin. “Get you to perdition and say hello to the devil.”

“Perdition?” Bellamy smiled, and his teeth were smeared with blood. “The devil's not in perdition anymore. He's in England, my friends. The devil's in England.”

Bellamy's eyes rolled all the way back in his head, but Jack dropped to his knee and shook him. “Speak plainly!” Jack yelled. “Speak!”

Bellamy's last breath escaped his lungs as a kind of scraping whisper. “Thorne . . .”

Back on the
Bruce
, Declan Ross learned many things—some good, some bad. Jacques St. Pierre and several gunners on the first cannon deck had survived Bellamy's lethal attack. Nubby treated their wounds and broken limbs as best he could. But at least they were alive. The families of Le Diamant on Martinique had not fared nearly as well. Once he was sure St. Pierre and the others were taken care of, Stede had piloted the
Bruce
's launch to shore. He and a handful of crewmen had found a massacre there. Everything had been destroyed . . . and then burned. In the carnage, they had found one survivor, but he had been so traumatized that he either would not or could not speak. An old fisherman sailing a small sloop arrived on the island and agreed to take the survivor to the next port.

Ross met one last time with Captain Lâchance of the
Vichy
. Lâchance invited Ross and his crew to sail to France to “sample the finest boudain noir in the known world.” Ross declined but was so grateful for Lâchance's timely help that he offered to buy the Frenchman a year's supply of boudain noir.

Later that evening, Cutlass Jack anchored his xebec next to the
Bruce
, and Ross convened a meeting with Jack and the senior crewmen of both ships.

“We sail for England on the morrow,” said Ross, standing in the middle of his captain's quarters to avoid the wreckage Bellamy's cannonballs had caused when one blasted out the gallery window and flattened his desk.