Free The Devil to Pay by David Donachie Page B

creaking so alarmingly that any notion of more sail and increased strain was out of the question; if they were to survive it would have to be under what they had.
    The next positive sign was the presence of gulls, at first resting on the water, next in flight, birds that rarely flew out of sight of their land nests unless in the wake of a fishing boat. By the time the shore was in plain sight so were the decks of their enemy, the one closing in on the larboard beam, the other seeking to headreach them to the south, which slightly baffled Pearce; given their fire and manpower surely they should just be seeking to get close enough to engage then board. Was it a mark of respect; had they suffered so badly in the previous encounter that they declined to risk a repeat?
    He was watching the sky as well, but with no hope that night might come to his rescue; the sun was high and it was, through a telescope, illuminating the grey ragged and mast high rocks of a shore that looked dammed unwelcoming, while behind it lay what looked like densely scrub-covered land rising to thick woods circling the higher hills.
    Having double-checked the course, he made sure they were heading straight for Sapri yet with no guarantee thatthey would find there what they needed. Given that was taking them closer to that rocky shoreline, the man in the chains was casting for soundings not speed; the latter mattered not at all, given the problem there was plain to see. These waters had been well charted but that did not mean they were without hazard; a rocky landscape indicated a like seabed and it would be too cruel an irony to have come so far only to founder on some unforeseen underwater obstacle so he sent a man to the prow to keep an eye out for any water breaking over submerged rocks.
    Again time became of no relevance and talk too; every possible outcome and move had been so thoroughly discussed there was no more to say, until the point came when everyone with sense, and that included John Pearce, realised the game was up. The southerly brigantine was now on course to get ahead of them and cut them off.
    The derrick was still rigged that would get the cannons over the side but if undertaken, with
Larcher
’s deck in plain sight, what message would that send to their enemies? Come on at will, you have nothing more to fear, added to which what would be the gain; it was unlikely to grant them the speed they needed to escape. Pearce knew he had delayed that particular gambit too long and that had him examining his own motives.
    Was it a determination to be able to fight, even in an unwinnable battle? If it had been suggested to him that he cared for the ship as much as he did Emily Barclay, Pearce would have laughed. Yet there was some truth in the assertion, for he was not immune to a trait that affected every sailor. Prior to Palermo, he had been proud of HMS
Larcher
and the men he commanded and it was only nowthat he was beginning to realise how much that had been so.
    He hated the notion of being taken by the enemy and not just for the sake of the preservation of life. If losing a ship was not a stain that particularly troubled him – it tended to have a negative effect on a naval career – losing this armed cutter did. Nor was he enjoying being passive in the face of the oncoming threat, which went against his entire nature.
    ‘A whip to the yard,’ he called, ‘and something on which I can sit.’
    It was not a command swiftly obeyed, which had nothing to do with ill-feeling, more to do with confusion and that was evident on every face he could see; expressions indicating a thought like what the hell did the daft bugger want now? It was eventually obeyed and a sling was rigged on a line, lashed to a slat of planking that provided a seat, which was raised gingerly on his command so that he got halfway to the point at which sat the lookout.
    If the man was better placed than Pearce to see, there was a judgement to be made that could only fall to