A Falcon Flies Read Online Free PDF Page B

extent, dazzling white in the sunshine, and then high above, seemingly at the very base of the aching blue heaven itself, new unfamiliar-shaped sails popped open like overripe cotton pods and the long, graceful hull reacted instantly to the pressures thrust upon her.
    â€˜By God, she sails like a witch,’ Zouga shouted, laughing with excitement, as she knifed into the crests of the Atlantic rollers and he hustled his sister back from the bows before the first green sheets of water came aboard and swept
Huron
’s decks.
    More and still more canvas burst open, and the thick trees of her masts began to arch like drawn longbows under the unbearable pressures of thousands of square feet of spread sails. Now
Huron
seemed to fly, taking off from the crest of each roller and smashing into the face of the next with a crash that shocked her timbers and jarred the teeth of her crew in their skulls.
    â€˜A cast of the log, Mr Mate,’ Mungo St John called, and when Tippoo bellowed back, ‘A touch better than sixteen knots, Cap’n!’ the Captain laughed aloud, and strode to the stern rail.
    The gunboat was falling astern as though she was standing still, although every inch of her grey canvas was spread. Already she was at extreme cannon range.
    Again powder-smoke bloomed briefly on her black bows, and this time it seemed that it was more than merely a warning, for Mungo St John saw the fall of shot. It struck the crest of a roller two cable lengths astern and skipped across the green torn waters, before plunging beneath the surface almost alongside
Huron
’s tall side.
    â€˜Captain, you are endangering the lives of your crew and passengers.’ The voice arrested him and St John turned to the tall young woman who stood beside him, and he raised one thick black eyebrow in polite enquiry.
    â€˜That is a British man-of-war, sir, and we are acting like criminals. They are firing live shot now. You have only to heave to, or at the very least show your colours.’
    â€˜I think my sister is right, Captain St John.’ Zouga stood beside her. ‘I do not understand your behaviour either.’
    Huron
staggered violently to a larger crest, driven wild by the mountainous press of sail, Robyn lost her balance and fell against the Captain’s chest, but instantly pulled away, colouring fiercely at the contact.
    â€˜This is the coast of Africa, Major Ballantyne. Nothing is what it appears to be. Here only a fool would accept a strange armed vessel at its face value. Now if you and the good doctor will excuse me, I must attend to my duties.’
    He strode forward to gaze down at the maindeck, judging the mood of his crew and the wild abandon of his ship. He unhooked the keyring from his belt and tossed it to Tippoo. ‘The arms chest, Mr Mate, a pair of pistols to you and the second mate. Shoot any hand who attempts to interfere with the setting of the sails.’ He had recognized the fear which gripped the crew. Most of them had never seen a ship driven like this, there might easily be an attempt to shorten sail rather than have her run herself under.
    At that moment
Huron
put her shoulder into the Atlantic and took it aboard in a solid roaring green wall. One of the topmast men was not quick enough on to the rat-lines. The water plucked him up and flung him down the length of the deck, until he crashed into the side, and lay huddled against the bulwark like a clump of uprooted kelp on a storm-driven beach.
    Two of his fellows tried to reach him, but the next wave drove them back as it came pouring aboard waist-deep and then cascading in a roaring white torrent over the side, and when it was gone the fallen topmast man was gone with it and the deck was empty.
    â€˜Mr Tippoo, look you to those skysails, they are not drawing as they should.’
    Mungo St John turned back to the stern rail, ignoring Robyn Ballantyne’s horrified and accusing glare.
    Already the British gunboat was hull