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sirrah!” Teal made it a point never to know the names of his crew. Such things were beneath him. He stared at Charlie. “A demned froggy, eh? Buccaneer, y’say? Still in range, is he?”
    Charlie kept his eyes front and centre. “Aye, sir!”
    Redjack Teal rose from his chair. “Well, I’ll teach the scoundrel to cross my bows. Cook, send in me dresser. You two, report to the master gunner and tell him to turn out his crew on the double and await me orders.”
    Â 
Rocco Madrid had been wakened and called up on deck at first light. His three top crewmen, Pepe, Portugee and Boelee, were grouped sheepishly on the afterdeck, avoiding their captain’s disgusted looks.
    Madrid drew his sword and prodded the long spar, which still smelled of oil and burnt canvas. He pointed the sword at Portugee. “When was this thing found, and where exactly was it?”
    The bosun tried to sound efficient. “Capitano, it was found less than a quarter hour ago. We pulled it from the water, Boelee and I. Pepe knows exactly where it was.”
    Pepe cleared his throat nervously. “Sí, Capitano, the spar was drifting in our wake, I was lucky to spot it.”
    Turning on his heel, the Spaniard strode to the rail. He sheathed his sword and stared pensively at the water. The trio watched him apprehensively, trying to gauge his mood. Much to their relief, he was smiling when he turned to face them. “A decoy, eh, very clever. That spar tells me two things. One, the Marie is not headed for Jamaica and Port Royal. Two, they were sending us the wrong way. So, what does this tell you, amigos?”
    The three stared dumbly at him as his smile grew wider.
    â€œDonkeys, you have not the brains among you to make a capitano. Thuron would not be fool enough to turn and sail back to Cartagena. No, I think he’s taken off at an angle, east, out to the sea. So, he will head for one of two places, Hispaniola or Puerto Rico. Here’s what I plan on doing. We will sail east also, right through the strait between the two islands and out into the Atlantic. It doesn’t matter which island he’s chosen—when Thuron puts out to sea again, we’ll be waiting for him. Boelee, bring me my sea charts. Portugee, take the wheel and head Diablo due east. The French fox will not escape me this time!”
    Pepe stood by Portugee at the wheel, speaking in a low voice as the captain walked away. “How do we know Thuron won’t sail for the Leeward or the Windward Isles, or maybe for La Guira, Trinidad, even Curaçao, or right out to Barbados?”
    Portugee turned the wheel steadily, blinking as the sun caught his eyes. “We don’t know, Pepe. Didn’t you hear him? We’re donkeys with no brains, he’s the capitano. So whatever he decides must be right. Unless you’d like to go tell him you know better!”
    Pepe shook his head vigorously. “I have no desire to be a dead man, amigo. The capitano knows best, this donkey will obey his orders without question.”

4

    BEN HAD NEVER BEEN ABOARD A SHIP at sea that had been fired on. The first thing he heard was a distant boom. Both he and Ned looked up to the sky, the dog sending him a puzzled thought. “That sounds like thunder, but there’s hardly a cloud anywhere in the sky.”
    Anaconda’s deep voice rang out. “All hands down, we bein’ fired on, Cap’n!”
    Thuron was opening his telescope as he hurried to the stern rail when there was a tremendous splash in the water about fifty yards astern. The Frenchman sighted his glass, shouting orders as he did so. “British privateer sailing out of Santa Marta’s east coast! Carrying enough cannon for a man-o’-war, curse him! Pierre, tighten the braces and run out staysails port and starboard! He hasn’t got our range yet. We’ll need every stitch of canvas if the Marie ’s to outrun him!”
    A second cannon