Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(233)
Pudsey blinked. “How did you know—?”
“Mr. Pudsey,” Anne Cathrine snapped, “you may or may not have noticed that the largest landowners are also the largest slave owners, and that none of them are fond of Admiral Tromp or the policies he has championed for their slaves’ eventual transition to freepersons. Clearly, they did not respond when the alarm bell on The Quill was rung earlier this morning, nor to the musketry we heard there. Nor have they come here to help defend the town, or secure their own safety. Possibly because many of them have no reason to fear the attackers.”
The implication of treason hung unspoken in the air for a second. “And so,” Sophie finished calmly, “if we cannot expect help from many of the landowners, how will we defend the town? I know Captain Arciszewski has signaled for Admiral Banckert to send some of his troops ashore, but the attackers will be in our streets before those boats are through the surf.” She slipped two decidedly nonmilitary fowling pieces over her arm and walked toward the door in which he was standing. “So, with your permission or without it, Mr. Pudsey, the king’s daughters and I will take our places among what few defenders we have.”
“I’ll get Captain Arciszewski to send fifty men from the fort,” Pudsey sputtered hastily. “And I’ll come along wid’ ye to—”
Anne Cathrine shook her head. “And then who shall defend this fort if half its soldiers leave, simply to protect us? The captain, and you, and all the others must man these walls until Admiral Banckert’s relief arrives. Because if we do not succeed turning back the invaders at the outskirts of town, this fort will be our last foothold in Oranjestad, and her guns must not be turned on the fleet.”
“But . . . but who shall take charge of the defense of the outskirts when—?”
Leonora shrugged. “Unless I am much mistaken, I believe I have heard Mr. McCarthy all the way from the other end of the town, just before the fire bell began ringing there.”
“You did? What was he saying?”
Leonora blushed. “As a lady, I may not repeat it. But we are responding to his summons. All of us.”
Hugh O’Donnell glanced at the young man—just a boy, really—who was piloting the Orthros at least as much as the man at her whipstaff, a Dutchman simply named Aart. “Are you sure of the depth here, Mr. van der Zaan?”
The lanky, tow-headed adolescent smiled a wide, bright smile. “Oh, Lord O’Donnell, you can call me Willem. Or just Willi. That’s what Admiral Tromp calls me.”
“Very well, then, Willi,” Hugh responded with a similar smile. “Now tell me, how close can we come to the shore in that bay?” Hugh pointed to an inlet just south of the wide sweep of the anchorage in front of Oranjestad proper.
Willi tapped the helmsman on the shoulder, indicated he should sheer to port half a point. “I’d say about ten yards from shore, Lord O’Donnell. But your men will be in five feet of water, there.”
Aart shook his head. “Though you’ve dumped all the ballast on the way here, you’ll still run her aground if you go that far into Gallows Bay.”
“I don’t think so,” Willi mumbled with a faint frown. “Right now, the tides give us a little more leeway. And if we did get caught, it would be by such a small bit that we can kedge ourselves off the sand. There’s a patch of rocky bottom just a few yards away, if we keep ourselves due west of that driftwood cask on the beach.”
Hugh nodded at Aart. “We’re going to follow Willi’s advice.” He looked back into the faces of both the veteran and newly recruited Wild Geese, as well as the Dutch soldiers crowded upon the deck. “All armor off. Bag your weapons and your powder, and hold them over your head. It’s not far to shore, but some of you will be up to your eyebrows for a moment or two.”
“Lord O’Donnell,” appealed Aart, “once again, please consider landing on the main strand just to the west of the town. It’s smooth sands there, easy for your men, and easier for me to sail in and out.”
“I know,” Hugh answered, “but you heard what our lookout spied before we reefed sail and starting hiding our approach. The attackers are approaching the east edge of Oranjestad. If we port to the west, we’ll be doing no better than the boats we’ve seen Admiral Banckert lowering into the water. We’ll get there too late. And we’ll be coming from the direction that they expect. And there’s one thing I’ve learned in my years of soldiering, Aart—never, ever do what your enemy expects. Which means that as soon as you drop us in the briny, you come about and head back south around The Quill and worry them from the windward side of the island. But don’t shell their boats. Give ’em room and the ability to run. We don’t want them bottled here on this island with us.” He turned to the men behind him. “Now, boys, ready along the starboard gunwale. We go in smooth and silent, make for land, regroup and then fast march. And remember, you don’t shout or shoot until I tell you to.”