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Patrick sat as the blacksmith looked about for more tools and chose the hammer—the one used to beat the drum that signaled the speed of the oar strokes—and a thick stick.
    “The leg irons first,” Patrick said. “We need to climb the ladder. Break as many leg irons as possible. We can use the wrist irons as weapons.”
    “There will be noise,” the blacksmith warned.
    “We will have to risk it,” Patrick replied. The blacksmith examined the leg fetters for any weak link, then settled on the bolt and started pounding with the hammer. Every stoke jarred Patrick’s leg, but he scarcely felt it. The exhaustion of his body was eclipsed by newfound hope, even though he knew the odds were terrible. A few manacled, emaciated men against a crew of healthy sailors.
    As Diego said, ’twas better to die a man than whipped to death as a dog.

Chapter 4
    HE night seemed endless as the blacksmith pounded at the chains, using a rag to try to muffle the sounds. Patrick felt a drop of sweat as the man worked diligently to break the shackles.
    The blacksmith did not mention his name, and Patrick did not need to know. It was enough that the man was uncanny at finding weak spots in the chains. It took him a short time to loose the bolts on Patrick’s leg manacles.
    Patrick chose the Scot—MacDonald—as the next one to be freed. He was fairly new to the ship and stronger than most. Then the blacksmith worked on the Spaniard’s legs, then his own.
    The other oarsmen were still and silent, but he knew from their bodies that they were watching every movement. He had feared one might cry out. Unfortunately, he was forced to silence one who did.
    At that moment the other oarsmen were more afraid of Patrick and his small band than of the Spanish above. They watched as the leg irons were removed one by one.
    Then Patrick and the Spaniard went from row to row whispering, sometimes in different languages or by sign language, that they must work together.
    “Those who can fight will have their leg irons released first,” Patrick or Diego explained. “Diego will answer when the relief guards come to the grate, and they should open it. We will kill them one by one as they come down. We will take what weapons they have and go on deck.
    “Pray as you have never prayed before to whatever God you serve.” he added. “Pray for fog. We have had it the past two nights. Pray for it tonight.”
    Heads nodded. Some left their benches to stand in line before the blacksmith. Others stayed seated, their eyes fearful. To Patrick’s surprise, Denny was among the twenty who stood.
    The number was greater than he’d hoped, and yet there were at least sixty sailors above, maybe even more. The element of surprise would be in the oarsmen’s favor, although most of the prisoners would be hampered by wrist manacles and some by leg irons. He darted a glance to assess the blacksmith’s progress.
    Fog. Fog would make the impossible possible. The air had been moist in the past few hours. If fog enclosed the ship, mayhap they could go about their business without notice until it was too late.
    He tried to judge the time. How long did they have before the fresh guards appeared at the grate? He moved over to where the blacksmith still worked steadily.
    They had to have enough oarsmen able to mount the steps. Once several were on the deck, they could pull others up as sailors were taken above. MacDonald and the Spaniard were working through the benches of oarsmen, instilling the courage to fight.
    Patrick wondered how many sailors were on duty before dawn. Not many, he hoped. The wind was strong and steady now. Hopefully the effort required in raising the sails would have exhausted the crew.
    He went back to the blacksmith. “Time to stop. I think the change of guard will come shortly.”
    Patrick quenched one of the two oil lamps that gave dim light to the interior. Then they waited. The air felt moist as it drifted through the grate. The beginning of rain? Or