Part 3

Part 3

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"For God's sake, Mr. Collins, this is madness, you must see that!" Pellew's shoulders jerked up suddenly, as one of Collins' lackeys yanked his arms behind him and tied a rope around his wrists, looping it down towards Foster, around his wrists as well then and lashing the both of them back against the rail.

Collins kept his pistol raised on the pair of them, smiling proudly now, certain he had the upper hand. "I don't see that you are in any position to be advising me further, Captain," he sneered. The lackey stepped back, and Collins nodded. "There, that'll keep you in sight of the fleet - we'll see them try to fire on us now when their two finest captains are side by side on the quarterdeck, eh?….You," he motioned to one of his men, "get a couple of lanterns rigged here - I want them all to see their Captains, make sure they know what's what!"

"Lanterns, that is suicide, sir!!" cried Mr. Bowles, his arms still raised. "We are being fired upon sir! If they get knocked down we'll go up in a flash!" The man paused, his eyebrows raised, and looked at Collins with a shrug.

"Do as I say, you idiot!" Collins screamed at him, kicking him cruelly in the shins, brandishing his pistol. "And tie him up!" Collins yelled, motioning to Bowles. "By the wheel…..And him, too," he said, waving his pistol towards Mr. Bracegirdle, frozen in place at the other end of the quarterdeck. "But make it look natural, got that?"

Pellew was panting, all cylinders on full power and trying to assess this fiend who stood before him, and his mish mash band of would be mutineers. They did not seem at all harmonious, Pellew noted, indeed they did not appear to even like this man Collins, let alone admire him. Had they been coerced as well? He cast a firm glance to Bracegirdle, who nodded once discreetly, his mouth set in a firm straight line. At the same time Pellew tried to anticipate the next actions of the approaching fleet. They would most likely guess it was a mutiny, and thus try to disable the Indy rather than sink her outright. In the dark and caught off guard, their cannon fire had Collins merely amused. Trouble was, given the state of his still battered frigate, once they got closer and their shots told, what then? And Foster, for God's sake what was up with him? Ever the feisty tempter of fate, he now swayed slightly, fuming, his head hung down. Enraged. Ashamed.

"Please, Mr. Collins, you must see reason here. This cannot succeed! We came into Portsmouth for repairs!! They were not completed, thanks to you and this dastardly business, some of them were not even begun! We won't last! We are outnumbered and limping our way to certain destruction!"

"He's right, Collins." Thank God, thought Pellew. It was Foster. His voice was shattered and furious at the same instant, that of a man whose world is about to crashland in front of his very eyes and he is unsure whether to defy it or to allow it. Pellew nudged him in a gesture of comradery, tried to look at him, but the ropes held him at such an angle so that he could not. He turned his back fully against the rail, brought his wrists up against the splintered edge. With all the subtlety he had, and it was a fair amount, he began to slide the ropes against the rough edge.

Anthony Collins sweated profusely, despite the chill in the crisp night air. He jerked his head in a gesture of defiance, he would not let them see him wipe his brow, that was for sure. "We are not going far, rest assured, my Captains. We have a rendezvous arranged, you may be sure of that. And from there, why then you shall all finally have the opportunity of some French hospitality." Collins chuckled and quickly glanced to see that Bracegirdle was now secured. He smiled nervously, and wished his eye would stop twitching. "You in particular, Captain Foster. I am sure you will find it most welcoming!" He glanced back over his shoulder.

Suddenly Foster reared up out of nowhere and raged out at him, "BY GOD, I'll see you hang, you traitorous DOG!!!" he screamed in fury. "Kick the plank myself, I'll -" trying desperately to lunge out at him.

Collins wheeled around in crazed fury with his pistol, already cocked, his eyes gleaming in with terrifying madness, "YOU!! Enough of you!! ENOUGH!!! You thieving b@stard!! Call yourself an officer!!! You gave me no choice, no choice, do you SEE THAT?????" He fired.

"No!" cried Pellew, and tore his wrists loose from the lashing barely in time to turn and push Foster to his knees, as a searing flash of heat tore through his shoulder. Pellew gasped, and fell limply upon his fellow captain.

"You murderous--" Foster choked in his rage--"fetch the doctor. The doctor!" he shrieked, trying to prevent Pellew from falling to the deck. His arms tied, he leant backwards and bent his knees as much as his bonds would allow, but Pellew slid off and collapsed, unconscious, or at least, stunned.

Collins, his face breaking out in a new sweat, tossed his pistol away. Foster clenched his teeth and shot glares at the nearby mutineers.

"Get the doctor!" Mr. Bowles shouted, struggling against his bonds. Collins whipped a furious glare at him, and motioned to a nearby mutineer with a savage sweep of his arm. The mutineer nodded, and clubbed Bowles on the head, sending him unconcious. Bracegirdle, pinioned an arm's breadth away, inhaled and clamped his mouth shut.

"Can't you see that this man needs the doctor? You, there--yes, you, you great gaping booby, go get the doctor! Quickly!"

The man thus addressed by Foster wavered on his feet, his gaze flickering from Collins and Foster.

"Stand your ground, man," Collins snapped. He withdrew his other pistol from his belt and waved it at the mutineers. "All of you, stand your ground, and it will go well."

A shot struck a split second later, raining splinters and shrapnel onto the quarterdeck. Collins bent down, shielding his face with his arms. The mutineers scattered. Foster screamed "Collins, have a heart, get the doctor!" Blinking, Collins jut his jaw out and screamed after his fleeing mutineers, obviously trying to reclaim his composure.

Glancing down at his feet, where Captain Pellew lay, Foster noticed his eyelids flicker. Another shot hit home, shattering the rail about two meters away from Foster. Collins crouched reflexively. Pellew moved his hand, ever so slightly, his eyelids twitching again.

"They're blowing us to smithereens!" Foster shrieked again, "Smithereens," his voice careened up an octave. "Tiny chunks of flesh and sinew," he stole a glance at Captain Pellew, who was once again laying still. "We're naught but purée now, Collins!"

Collins winced at the sound of more splintering, too panicked to notice that it was further away. Foster grinned.

"See you in Hxll, you whxreson!"

Collins bolted off the quarterdeck, missing the last few rungs of the ladder and stumbling in his flight.

"Your ship, Pellew!" Foster shouted as Pellew opened his eyes.

With halting movements, Pellew drew himself up, his right hand fumbling about for the knife he wore in his belt. His white waistcoat bore a great streak of red on the upper left side.

"The wheel, dxmmit! Save your ship first!"

Pellew shook his head and smiled.

"Foster, they're only crippling her." Withdrawing his knife, Pellew began to saw at the ropes binding Foster's wrists. "Mr. Bracegirdle," he called out, his voice slightly wavering.

"Sir, they aren't shooting into the hull."

"And you're still in one piece. Good, very good."

Foster's wrists came free, and he wheeled around quickly just as Pellew gasped with pain and reached for his shoulder, leaning against the rail. "We must get you below, c'mon man!" he urged.

"No," said Pellew, "it'll wait…..Where….is Mr. Collins?" He glanced toward the maindeck.

"Down there, Sir," cried Mr. Bracegirdle, trying earnestly to dislodge his wrists. "Mr Cleveland must have been awaiting him, and his mates, he's got them all cornered over there, Sir, by the marines!"

"Thank God," murmured Pellew, trying to stay upright, as Foster hurried over to free Bracegirdle and then Bowles, dashing a bucket of water over the poor man to try and rouse him. Another shot rang out, a near miss to the main mast; then it splashed somewhere below them. Foster scurried to the wheel to try and bring the Indy around. The quarterdeck was covered with splintered wood and fallen masts, sails. Once released Bracegirdle sprang into action like a released coil, and hurried to his Captain's side. "Sir, you're blee-"

"Signal that ship to cease fire - can you tell which one it is?" Pellew queried. "The moonlight is fair enough, but all this smoke.. I can't make her out -"

"Nor I, Sir," answered Bracegirdle. "Will they be able to see the signal Sir? In this haze -"

"Then surrender - we'll need their help to get back into harbour anyways. ..Now, before they fire on us again!" He turned to lean up against the railing for support.

"Aye, aye, Sir!" barked Bracegirdle.

"Does she answer the helm, Captain Foster?" Pellew cried.

"Barely! You there," he called to the remnants of the Indy's crew near the riggings. "Get up there and get to work! We must try to bring her back around!" Bracegirdle kept his glass turned onto the frigate for any sign that they were readying to come and assist Indefatigable. Slowly, as Mr. Bowles was slowly trying to sit up and get his head to clear, Pellew began to slump further down against the rail.

"Another ship!" cried Foster. "Approaching alongside her!"

"Yes, I see her, Sir" said Bracegirdle.

"Can you tell… who she is," asked Pellew in a wavering voice. The red stain was larger, covering nearly the whole left front of his weskit, to say nothing of the dark and damp patch now visible on the back of his coat. His shoulder throbbed, and the deck seemed to be swimming before his eyes.

"That's the Arethusa!" yelled Foster. "I'd know that beauty anywhere, even in this haze!"

"Our signal…..can she see our signal?" Pellew asked weakly.

"Sir!" cried Bracegirdle. "Sir, she's flying the Admiral's flag! And they're calling out the boats, Sir!"

"That's well, then," Pellew was panting for breath. "Hold us steady, Foster…" He slid down onto the deck, his eyes closed.

"Sir!" cried Bracegirdle, rushing to his side. "Sir!"

"Mr. Bracegirdle," murmured Pellew, barely clinging to consciousness. "Mr. Hornblower, where is he? …And….Mr. Kennedy?" He reached for Bracegirdle's arm. "I… lost sight of them….do you know….where they are?"

"I have not seen them, Sir, since Mr. Kennedy fell…Sir," said Bracegirldle, gravely.

"He was hurt?" rasped Pellew. "Find them….please, … find them for me." And he collapsed against his first officer, unconscious.

"We have to get a doctor for Archie," Horatio said as he placed pressure on one of the wounds oozing blood. His mind raced in fear. Each time he found a wound and dressed it another would start to bleed. Styles, Mathews, and Oldroyd stood helplessly about the hold.

"I'll go sir," Mathews spoke up. Just as he opened the door a dark figure rushed in, holding a pistol. Violently he shoved Mathews out of the way. Quickly he headed for his target, the officers. Silence engulfed the room as the gray cloaked man leveled his pistol on Hornblower.

"You will come with me or die," he hissed.

"Who are you?"

He only laughed at the question. "I was the leader who almost had this ship snatched from his hands. But now," he smiled ruefully down at Hornblower," Now I have you."

Horatio still had his hand on Archie's chest, when suddenly he stopped breathing. Horatio forgot about the new threat and focused on his injured friend. "Archie, Breath!"
Shaking him gently at first panic turned to fear as he still refused to breathe. "Archie! Archie!" he screamed, as he frantically tried to revive him.

Collins grabbed Horatio's arm and dragged him toward the door. "No!" Horatio protested and tried to push him off. But the pistol that slammed into his ribs forced his silence. The 3 sailors watched helplessly as Collins took his hostage and headed above decks.

Horatio stared in disbelief at the total chaos on deck. Cannon balls continued to rain down finding their mark by the debris that littered the entire ship. "My God, what have you done?" he whispered.

Collins only laughed nervously and pushed him toward the helm. The sight that greeted Hornblower's eyes chilled him to the bone. Pellew lay motionless against the rail, surrounded by Foster, Bracegirdle, and Bowles. Blood clearly stained his coat.

"Not the captain too," Horatio said in disbelief. It was as if he was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up. All his senses seemed to leave him, as he saw nothing but Pellew and Archie dead in front of him. He stopped, uncaring what happened to him now. Collins jabbed him with the gun, trying to force him forward. But he refused to go any further. Slowly he turned on his captor. "You did this. You killed them!" he said in a low angry tone.

Collins now had the pistol against Horatio's chest. "Move!" Horatio shook his head. "No."

By now Foster, Bowles, and Bracegirdle watched the two men, unable to help.

Collins pulled the hammer back, ready to fire if Horatio did not obey him. "Move, d@mn you! Do as I tell you!"

"No. You are no longer in charge here. I am."

"What," Collins said confused, still holding the gun to his hostages chest.

Horatio didn't care anymore. Nothing mattered now that his best friend had been killed along with the man he regarded as a father. He stood eye to eye with the mutineer, ready to die. "Why don't you kill someone while looking them in the face. It isn't as easy as you think it is."

Sweat poured down Collins face as his hand began to shake.

"Collins, we have you," roared Foster, peering over the rail, "Arathusa's men are preparing to board. Surrender!"

Collins glanced to the Arathusa as she edged in ever closer, her decks swarming with sailors and marines bearing torches, cutlasses and rifles. On the quarterdeck, clearly visible, strode none other but Admiral Hood, bellowing a quick succession of orders. Nearby the Admiral, a woman stood motionless, but Collins was too preoccupied to notice this curiosity.

He returned his gaze to Hornblower, whom he still had in his aim.

"Prepare a boat, or he dies!"

A nearby mutineer, his face smeared with blood, stepped forward. "Us, sir?"

Collins whipped his head about without lowering his pistol arm. He and Hornblower were surrounded by a crowd of men, mutineers mingled with loyals and marines, and he could not catch his breath long enough to sift out one or any other.

"Anyone, quickly. A boat, food and water--" he stepped closer to Hornblower, and pressed his pistol against the lieutenant's cheek. "Hurry up, dxmn you!"

Several of the mutineers and the Indefatigables stepped forward, holding their hands out in confusion.

"Which boat?"

"Any opposite to the Arathusa--" Collins snapped.

"Stand your ground--" Hornblower yelled.

"Sir, they're boarding!"

Collins glanced at the rail, at the sailors swarming over it onto the deck, their blades drawn, their guns primed. At that same moment, at that same sight, the Indefatigable men picked up any weapon at hand and renewed their attack on the startled mutineers, some of whom surrendered immediately. Surprised to see the circle of onlookers dissolve into a melee, and his men fall fast, Collins lowered his pistol and darted into the crowd.

Hornblower, without a second's hesitation, dashed after him, "Get him, get Collins, he's escaping," but the fray was too thick. He lost sight of Collins almost immediately.

Foster, with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, leapt down from the quarterdeck ladder, yelling for Collins' hide and blood and every last shred of his entrails.

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Susanna stood at the rail, on the quarterdeck of the Arathusa, the din of the attack dulled to faintness in her ears. The flickering torchlight was unsteady, mercurial, but with her keen sight, augmented by a more powerful and mysterious sense, she could see that her husband was injured, that he was losing too much blood. He lay on the quarterdeck of his ship, unmoving, while two men hovered over him, trying to staunch the flow from his shoulder wound.

"Well, my Lady, a few more minutes will see a favourable end!" the Admiral smiled. Susanna heard him, though faintly, and she tried to smile and reply, but he was already gone, shouting out more orders.

Staring at the immobile man limp on the quarterdeck, she saw one of his two attendants lift his hands momentarily. A motion of despair or defeat? She squinted more intently, and realized how little she could see, not even his face or uniform, even. He could be another officer, she could tell that he was an officer, though not his rank...but she knew.

Gathering up her skirts, she strode to the Admiral. Pitching her voice louder than his bellowing, she caught his attention.

"My Lord, I must go!"

"Go?" He spun around to face her, startled. "Where?"

"To the Indefatigable!"

"My lady, are you mad? Board the Indy with all that rout? Certainly not--" She dashed away, and he cut himself off.

Susanna made her way quickly through the men crowded on the deck. None of them seemed to even take notice of her as she looked around for help. She knew what she needed, but did seem to find it. Finally, in the darkness she found her prize.

Leaning over the railing she waved her arm.

"Excuse me! I say, excuse me!". The men in the boat below looked up as if they had just been caught stealing from the galley. Then, one man, taller than the rest and looking as though he had just woken up, stood.

"Ma'am?", he asked as if he had never seen a woman before. Susanna smiled inside, I'm sure he never expected to see one here and now.

"I need your help!", she called as loudly as she dared. The men whispered to each other for a time before the man standing sushed them.

"Ma'am?", he asked again as the boat inched closer to the side of the Arethusa. Good, very good, Susanna proclamied silently.

"I'm Lady Pellew, I need to get to the Indefatigable.", she told them, nearly half over the railing by this time. The man, who's face she could not see in the dark lit up like a star. He bowed as did the men next to him.

"It would be my pleasure M'Lady.", he told her as one of the other sailors reached out to hold onto the ropes at the side of the ship.

Susanna could not believe her luck. In no time the man, who she finally saw was dressed as an able seaman climbed up the side of the ship, secured a rope ladder and helped her down into the boat. She did not care that she was going onto a ship that was filled with murderous mutineers. All that matter was she was going to Edward.

She sat down in the boat and straightened her skirts while the seaman stood over her. She could hear the oars in front of her dipping quietly into the water.

It was only then that she noticed the seamen in front of her was soaked to the skin. She looked up into his face. He was smiling a rather strange grin. He then bowed deeply to her.

"Lady Pellew, allow me to introduce myself... I'm Collins."

The hold felt like a tomb as Oldroyd sat next to Kennedy's body. Even the air felt heavy and stale. Nervously he rubbed his hands together, trying to take his mind off where he was and what was next to him. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. He knew Hornblower was hurting from his lose. He and Kennedy had been good friends. And now he had lost his friend. Suddenly an ice-cold hand grabbed his arm. Oldroyd let out a blood-curdling scream.

Instantly Mathews and Styles ran to his side but he wouldn't shut up. "Oldroyd! Oldroyd!" Mathews yelled not getting any response as the young man continued his screams. Finally Styles bopped him on the back of the head, bringing him out of his hysteria, almost.

"It grabbed me! A ghost! Mr. Kennedy's a ghost!!"

Archie moaned slightly and let go of Oldroyd. Mathews knelt next to him. "Sir? Can you hear me sir?"

"Yes Mathews," Archie sighed. "Where's Horatio?"

"He went back on deck to help take the ship back, sir."

"Why aren't you helping him," Archie said as he struggled to sit up. Styles now was at his side, helping support his head. "But sir, we thought you were dead," Styles blurted, relieved as everyone else he wasn't.

"Nonsense. You men go after Mr. Hornblower and help get those bloody traitors off our ship!"

"Aye, aye sir!" they said in unison.

Archie watched them leave but stopped Oldroyd as he reached the door. "Wait." Slowly Archie slumped back to the floor. "I need your help Oldroyd."

Mathews and Styles caught sight of Horatio by the rail. Quickly they were at his side. Seeing his men Horatio ordered," Over the side boys. D@mned if I'm going to let that murderous son of the devil get away!"

Just as they shoved off from the Indy, one more figured jumped into the boat, Captain Foster. "Mind if I join you?"

"Mr. Collins, you're soaked!" Susanna said, suddenly noting the wild look in his eyes, that of a man slightly possessed, and a total nervousness about him. "Are you not the from the Arethusa?"

"Why no, M'um, " he said with a wicked smile. "I'm the man who tried to shoot Captain Foster and d@mned if I didn't get your husband instead, poor sod!"

Susanna's hand flew to her mouth, as her other hand suddenly closed around the drawstrings of her reticule, held tightly in her lap. She was about to try and wedge her hand inside to draw out her pistol, but a voice rang out over the chaos.

"There he is! There!!" It was Mr. Hornblower, calling from one of the side boats. Susanna saw him motion to one of the marines beside him for a musket.

But Collins leaped up in the boat, setting it to wild lurching and quickly came behind Susanna. He pulled her head back cruelly and held a knife against her throat.

"Don't do it Mr. Hornblower!!! Not any of you!!" he yelled, to what suddenly seemed like an entire battalion of troops lined up alongside the rails of both Indefatigable and Arethusa, not to mention the several boats all gathered in the swell - and all of them with muskets primed and loaded. "One shot and the Lady gets it, got that?" He grinned.

Susanna blinked in horror, as the knife pressed against her throat. Dear God, she thought, I've really done it now, Lord Hood will never forgive me, never. She looked at the men in the boat - some them were soaked like Collins so she presumed them to be part of his group. A poor Marine sat at the far end, dry, but cornered by more of Collins' lackeys - one of them holding what must have been his musket. Which meant it was dry and most likely loaded. The rest were seamen from the Arethusa, presumably, a few of them with swords, all now tossed in a pile in the bilgewater at the bottom of the boat. But if Collins was wet, then he had no weapon that was of use, it would seem, other than his knife. His d@mned knife.

"Stand down, all of you!! Now!!" cried Collins into the cold night air. Susanna could feel his heart hammering wildy behind her, the cold and clammy sweat of his hand that held the knife. "Drop the muskets - drop them! Now!!'

Admiral Hood stared in shock at the scene before him. "Hold your fire! I say, all of you, do as he says!" he cried, echoing the same commands then being shouted aboard the Indy. A wave of falling firearms fell onto the decks of both frigates,and in the boats bobbing beside them. Hood thought quickly, taking a fleeting stock of the state of affairs on the Indy's deck. He could see from the moonlight and the lanterns that Pellew was now gone, presumably, please God, taken below to the surgeon. He peered down at the boats.

Good God, there was Foster, crouched down low at the one end, trying to avoid Collins' eye, and poised like a sharpshooter. Was Foster a good shot? It was good range, but the boats were bouncing up and down like peas in a pan, and it was dark, dear God. Could he create a diversion, and give the man clean aim? His mind was racing, but a voice within him began speaking.

"Mr. Collins, I am Admiral Lord Hood, Second Sea Lord," he cried out. "Tell me what your demands are, young man. You have a captive audience before you, I assure you, I will listen."

"Admiral Hood, such an honor! And all for me! Why," Collins said, getting cocky now, "you shouldn't have." He looked to one of his men, the one with the musket, nodded and said, "Take him out."

The man turned, gun raised and pointed - Hood's red gleaming sash glowed like a beacon in the night. "Admiral, get down!!" screamed Susanna, as the knife pressed deeper against her skin. She blinked as the shot was fired, saw the Admiral thrown down towards the deck, as the ball struck the mast post behind him. Well, thank God for that, at least, thought Susanna.

"Nice try, m'Lady," sneered Collins angrily. "Out to cause me trouble are you?" he pricked her slightly with the point of the blade. She gasped. "Wouldn't do that again if I were you," he said.

"You're a fool," said Susanna evenly. "He's the Admiral for God's sake, our families are friends. He'll give you what you want, just tell him!" She paused. "His wife is like my Moth-"

"Right then," announced Collins. "Let's try this again, shall we?" He focused his eyes on Hood, standing once more by the rail, his wig slightly off center. "Here's how it'll go. My men and I get back aboard the Indy. No tricks, no tricks!! You stand down, ALL of you, nothing, not a move. When we're ready to sail, the Lady goes back in the boat, all by her lonesome -"

"No, please," cried Susanna, "Take me with you, let me see my husband!"

"Shut up!" cried Collins, jerking her even closer against his chest. "You're my safe passage out of here! She goes back in the boat, d'you hear? You leave her be, not one move, until we're out of range. Then, you can come fetch her, and not before. Jump the gun and I turn the cannons on her. Got that?? Any questions???"

Hood looked along the railing of the Indy, looking for some way to provoke a diversion. He looked down and saw Foster, still crouched down in the lolling boat, the musket alongside him like an extended arm. Keep talking, thought Hood.

"Collins, you'll never make it to France - this is madness!" Dear God, he thought, how to give Foster the chance, how? The boats were in constant motion in the swell, and even with the moonlight, Lady Pellew was practically sitting in the man's lap!

Susanna was likewise wracking her brain. She had seen Foster as well, and hoped to God he knew what he was doing there, poised and waiting like an assassin. Think of something, she told herself. Think! This man is one step short of losing it, he is shaking like a leaf against my back and he's making this up as he goes! She glanced at the poor Marine, across the boat from her, saw the musket now lying on the bench. It had not been reloaded, had it? No, they had forgotten to do so. So, it was just this blasted knife then. Could she get away from him --enough to give Foster his chance?

An idea came to her. It was juvenile, it was ludicrous - but as a young girl it had worked like a charm on her 13 year old brother.

She groaned. "ohhhhh....this boat....lurching so much...." she gasped, "I....I beg your pardon....I'm so dizzy" Collins looked down at her curiously, but held her fast. "oh," she moaned, "oh....oh dear...I'm afraid, I'm....going to be ill..." and with every ounce of fortitude in her, she contracted the muscles of her throat, forced a gag, and then proceeded to retch all over Mr. Collins' arm, with full vocal accompaniment.

Collins blanched in horror, and then, in a split second of pure instinctive reaction, he stood up and pushed Susanna away from him, and she scrambled quickly to the far side of the boat. "For God's sake!" he cried, shaking his dripping arm wildly.

In another split second, he realized his folly. But a split second was all Foster needed.

In the dark, the musket exploded. Susanna cried out at the suddeness of it. Collins jerked back and dropped against the front of the boat.

Unfortunately, he was up again in the blink of an eye. Blood poured from a gash in his cheek, spilling down his chin, his eyes were those of a beast. He launched himself toward Susanna. It all happened so fast that none had a chance to react. Susanna screamed and pushed her hand desperately into her reticule. Collins landed on top of her heavily, blood splattering her face and dress like a jar of spilled ink. His hand closed around her wrist.

"Stop it!", she cried as he took hold of her pistol. He threw his head back and started howling with manic laughter.

The horrific sound echoed across the water, chilling the bones of every man who heard it.

"Dear god.", Horatio whispered, then looked quickly up at the Arethusa. The Admiral had wisely taken cover, but was still overseeing the fiasco unfolding before him. The wild laughter stopped suddenly which was even more chilling.

"We shall try this again!", Collins roared and ordered his men to pull for the Indy. He was more than willing to change the rules with every heartbeat if need be. He could do it. He held Susanna fast, pressing the pistol into her face. She was too terrified to even move.

It pleased him that Hornblower and Foster were off of the Indy. It made everything just that much easier. That left only one...

They reached the Indy in no time and Collins dragged Susanna onto the ship. She did her best to fight him, but the moment he leapt onto her she had seen the devil in his eyes. She knew he would not stop, no matter what.

He dragged her toward the bow of the ship. He bellowed out to one of his men and in the blink of an eye the man had taken hold of Susanna and lashed her to the railing, facing out into the water. When Collins had let her go, she started to fight again. To no avail. Collins stood back and watched her display for a while, a pleased smile on his face. He was enjoying this immensely. Susanna stopped flailing and in her second unladylike act, spat at him. Again, he started laughing. Without a word, he walked away from her.

Susanna looked out at the Arethusa, then down at the boat that held Foster and Hornblower. Every man was frozen in a tableux. Help me. Please.

On hearing a commotion, she craned her neck around behind her. Collins' men were taking weapons away from the remaining crew of the Indy. One of the men from the jolly boat stood behind her, her pistol in her back. Then, from below she could see two men carrying what looked like a sack. She knew it wasn't.

"Dear god, Edward!", she screamed. The men carried the unconscious Pellew toward her. At her left, Collins smiled.

"Say goodbye Lady Pellew.", he told her. Edward...

"Edward.", she whispered as she looked into his face, trying to ignore the now scarlet shirt he wore. His eyelids flutted, then slowly opened. He was then lifted over the railing and dropped into the sea. Susanna heard the splash and it tore her apart.

"No!", she screamed and tried to tear herself free. Collins spun on his heel.

"Search the ship, I want every man found and either clapped in irons, or sent over the side! Now!"

Oldroyd hurried back into the hold, latching the door quickly behind him, his prize of three muskets held proudly in front of him. He was breathless, his eyes wide.

"Well, what could you find out?" a voice asked nervously.

"E's still got us, Sir, can't see 'ow many men 'e's got, not in the dark leastways - but they're none of 'em much smarter 'an 'e is. To be sure, no one makes a move less he says to!"

"Yes, yes, of course," replied Kennedy, wincing as he struggled to sit up, keeping his arm tight about his middle. "How many officers still aboard?"

"Tough to say, Sir. Mr. Bracegirdle and Mr. Bowles are on the quarterdeck, unarmed, sad to say, Sir, and lashed down by now," answered Oldroyd. "Poor Mr. Cleveland, 'e's dead, Sir, sorry Sir," Oldroyd continued his narrative as he helped Kennedy to a full sitting position. "Tossed the capting right overboard, Sir! 'E did, the b@stard! Saw 'im get pulled into a boat, couldn't see which, but 'e's 'urt bad, I could see that - bleedin' bad. And then I ran back in 'ere. And that be all, Sir, 'cept for her Ladyship."

"What? What Lady?" Kennedy's eyes flared.

"Capting's Lady, sir!" cried Oldroyd. "E's taken 'er 'ostage! Got 'er tied up by the bowsprit! And I 'eard 'im say they was coming to 'aul us all out next!"

"But, for all he thinks, I'm just a corpse - perhaps," murmured Kennedy. "And we have these…." he said, reaching for a musket. "C'mon Oldroyd, we may have an advantage here!" And he rose, not steady, but determined, his other arm close to his side.

"But, Sir, you're-"

"Nice and tightly wrapped up, thanks to you, Oldroyd. I can manage, I know I can, I have to" he said, managing to convince himself, if not Oldroyd. "We cannot let him win this - we must DO something!"

While Kennedy and Oldroyd made their way cautiously through the lower decks Collins stood on the Quarterdeck making sure his orders were carried out to the letter. On his return to the Indefatigable his men had been renewed. What they had first seen as the desertion of the ring leader they now decided was a master stroke of his plan. Collins did not care what they thought, as long as they were behind him again. He felt like God. It did not bother him one bit that in the dark water before him sat Hood's flagship, or that more than a hundred of the King's men had guns trained on him. He knew the ways of the Navy, especially those like Hood, Hornblower and Pellew. None would do a thing to him or his men, so long as Lady Susanna Pellew had a pair of muskets and a cannon aimed at her back. There was no fear in Collins as he stood higher than was considered prudent. He was as safe as if he had been hiding in the hold. Safer even.

A smile crossed his hard features as he watched the men below him bringing up seamen, midshipmen, marines and corpses. The dead were pitched uncermoniously over the sides, the living were strongly urged to do the same thing of their own volition. Collins could not help but laugh as the men cursed him before going over. It was beyond comical.

Collins hoped that by he time his men had cleared out the Indy he would have a firm plan in place for his escape. All he knew so far was that wherever, or however he did it, the beautiful Susanna Pellew would be joining him. After all, by now she was probably a widow.

The thought made Collins smile again. Snapping his fingers at the man to his left he made his way toward her Ladyship.


"I missed... I cannot *believe* it.", Foster muttered to himself as he sat next to Pellew. Horatio did his best to ignore him. He had been mumbling ever since he had fired the musket. Horatio had done his best to bite his lip. The self-pity of the man about to drive him nuts and his incessant chatter was not helping Horatio's concentration one bit.

I could swim, he thought as he watched men and bodies going over the side of the Indy. Pursing his lips, he looked down at Pellew. His relief at finding Pellew alive was beyond measure. Now, getting the ship back, and Lady Pellew safe was paramount in the young lieutenant's mind. Without another word he pulled off his jacket and ducked down behind Styles.

"Sir?", Styles asked. Horatio held a finger up to his lips. Styles turned back to face the Indefatigable.

"Not a move... as soon as I'm under, pull for the Arethusa. Slowly, you hear?", he whispered. Faintly, the men nodded. Using Styles as a shield from the eyes of the men on the Indy, Horatio slipped silently into the water and beneath the surface, determined that the first face Captain Pellew would see when he awoke was that of his beloved wife.

Archie and Oldroyd slowly made their way to the maindeck. Archie knew these mutineers were not organized and didn't even know each other. This he would use to his advantage. On the way up he had found two white rags which they tied around their left arms. This was how the mutineers distinguished themselves from the crew of the Indy.

With great caution they emerged on deck. Oldroyd helped Archie to the railing. Still holding his side, he quickly scanned the ship. Bowles and Bracegirdle were tied down tight on the quarterdeck. Behind them was Lady Pellew lashed to the rail with Collins no more than two feet away. "Blast that coward. Leave it to a madman to do such a thing to a lady," Archie whispered.

"Sir," Oldroyd said, looking in the opposite direction," look out! 'ere comes some more baddies!"

Archie turned and saw the three men approaching. He expected hard, evil looking men. But they appeared scared and confused. "Are you ok?" the tall one asked noticing Archie's bloodied shirt.

"Just a cut from one of those d@mn officers!" he said thinking on his feet.

"Better go see the doc," the short stubby one said. "We'll help you."
Archie and Oldroyd had no choice and went with the men. Entering the sick berth Hepplewhite gave them no attention.

"Hey old fart! Help my officer here before I beat your brains out!" the dark haired one threatened.

In terror Hepplewhite jumped into action. As he reached Archie he recognized him. "What's the matter old man?" the tall one asked catching the doc's reaction.

"N-Nothing," Hepplewhite stuttered and looked down, avoiding any eye contact.

"Hmmm, well get to it then!" the tall one growled, looking over Oldroyd and Archie in suspicion. "Say, what boat were you two on anyway?"

Oldroyd swallowed and turned to Archie. But Archie showed no fear as he took a deep breath before answering. He knew whatever he said he better sound like an officer.

Horatio silently cursed the cold water. This was all Foster's fault and no matter what happened now, he would be blamed for it. Even if by some miracle everything came out all right, Foster would still get credit. Swells of seawater washed over him. All the boats in the area made swimming nearly impossible in the dark. But the Indy loomed bright before him and Horatio knew he would make it. As he reached the side he fought to control his chattering teeth. The cold was intense and his whole body shook from it. With a frozen hand he clenched a rope that hung over the foc'sle. He pulled on the rope with all his might but nothing happened. The cold had drained his body of the energy he needed to pull himself up. He tried again but only rose a foot out of the icy water before plopping back down. His arms refused to support his weight. "This isn't good," he thought. His body began to shake more violently when he heard someone clear their throat. It came from above him. Slowly he raised his gaze to the Indy expecting to see a pistol leveled at him. What a shock and surprise it was when he realized who stood there. The cook, with his goofy grin plastered upon his face, smiled down at him.

"For God's sake, Man, get me up there, will you?" cried Hornblower. The water was positively frigid, and he was shaking with the cold. Cook pulled him up, grabbing hold of his waist and hauling him up over the side. "Here, Sir" he muttered, handing him a blanket and removing the soiled white kerchief he kept tied around his neck. "Y'might want to put this on after you dry yerself off a bit - so as you'll like blend in, eh?"

Hornblower grinned at Cook's gesture. Nice of him, that. "Thanks," he smiled. "Tho I can't imagine as Collins' has forgotten my mug - but thanks." He looked around him. "How many of us are still here, do you think?"

"Tough to tell. I did see Mr. Kennedy and Oldroyd on deck awhile ago - and then they went below to sick berth. Hepplewhite's still there, too, last I 'eard."

"Archie, thank God!" said Hornblower. "I'm on way, then. You coming?"

Cook smiled again "You betcha! Let's get these dirty b@stards off our ship, eh?"

************

Matthews held tight to Pellew as they paddled their way through the murky waters. The moonlight had dimmed and the darkness thickened, but the ghastly white features of his captain stood out clearly. While the bleeding had finally begun to clot in the brief time he'd been taken below, his precipitous drop into the drink had opened up the wounds once more and he could see the fresh blood, like wet, black paint in the night. "God, he's bleedin again!" Matthews cried, "an 'e's cold as ice, we must 'urry!"

Styles and Foster rowed with renewed vigor, Foster directing them round the rear of Arethusa, towards the side ladder that was well out of sight of Collins and his men. Suddenly Pellew's body began to convulse with uncontrollable spasms, trembling wildly. "Good God, we're losin 'im!" cried Matthews, trying with all his strength to rub some warmth back into the Captain's body and stop the shaking. "We're losin' 'im!!"

"Styles, bring us over, now," called Foster, as he dropped his oar and dashed to Pellew's side. "For God's sake, Captain Pellew, don't you DARE die on me, y' hear?" he cried. "I'll not be havin' that on my conscience, I'll not!" He grasped Pellew's limp arm and rubbed it fiercely. "Ye hang on, now, hang on, we're getting you to the surgery, right now!"

As Styles grasped the ropes of the side ladder, and called the men above to come down and help them, Pellew's body stilled. His breathing was shallow and rapid, but he settled. "You there!" called Foster, "help us get him aboard, and to your surgeon, at once!"

********

Admiral Hood and Captain Jameson, Captain of the Arethusa, stood numbly on deck, wracking their brains over what to try next. Jameson wrung his hands. "This powerlessness! I cannot stand it! To stand here and do nothing! Nothing!"

"And what would you have me do, Sir?" barked Hood. "Strike, and see the Lady blown to bits? You know I can't-"

"I know, Sir. I know," nodded Jameson. "I'm sorry, Sir…I just can't figure what it is he wants, for Christ's sake."

"Nor can I," murmured Hood, sadly. "At first, I could follow it - the ship, the officers, even an extra captain as well. Get them to the French and there's a sizable reward waiting for him, no doubt. But, now?" Hood shook his head. "Now? Just the lady? Why?"

"A ransom, as well, perhaps? I mean, everyone knows that Captain Pellew is-"

"Not short of coin, aye, you've got that right" nodded Hood. Wasn't hard to figure that along with all the acclaim for that impressive list of prize ships came a sizable fortune. As if that weren't enough, Lady Pellew came from a very wealthy family as well.

"And with what is happening to aristocrats these days, over in Paris, Sir," added Jameson.

"No doubt, Jameson, you're right there as well. Captain Pellew would pay any price to save his wife from the guillotine, I'll grant you that. Assuming he's still alive…." Hood's voice trailed away.

"But how?" cried Jameson. "How to get there? He's got half his masts shot away! Soon it will be dawn. If he limps away now, he must know we'll be after him at first light, and with the speed to best him I'll wager. And then what?"

"I don't know, Captain. And I'm not all that sure that Collins does either." And then Hood saw the little boat pulling towards them, coming around. Finally, he thought, something I CAN do! He hurried to the other side.

"To the surgeon with him, on the double!" Hood cried, as the men brought Pellew carefully up the ladder.

As if I need to be told THAT, thought Styles, but he nodded out of respect just the same.

"Peters!" called Hood, motioning to his coxwain, who hurried to his side. "Peters, listen carefully. Go with them to the surgeon. Once he's seen to Captain Pellew, and IF it's safe to move him, I want him taken ashore, at once, do you hear me? To my home, right away, Lady Hood will know what to do. Fetch the doctor, not that fool from Haslar, the good one, Lady Hood will know, is that clear?"

He nodded and scurried below. The least I can do for him, thought Hood, if it's not too late already. A proper room - warmth, a bed, proper care, the very least. Christ, I got him into this mess, did I not. He turned back towards the solitary figure by the bowsprit of Indefatigable. Silhouetted against the remnants of the moonlight, he saw her shoulders slumped, her head down. Forgive me, Madam, he thought silently. And be brave, dear God, be brave

"Don't you men have something better to do!" Archie bellowed, making everyone in the room jump. The three mutineers scrambled for the door murmuring "Yes sir," and "Aye sir."

As soon as the room was cleared Archie winked at Oldroyd. "That'll teach'em!"

The look on Oldroyd's face was total shock. He had never heard such a demanding tone from Kennedy before. "Oy sir, em just glad you dun us like that!"

Archie laughed at the remark but winced in pain when Hepplewhite touched his side. "Looks pretty bad Mr. Kennedy."

"Just fix me up. I have a ship to take back, wounded or not."
Hepplewhite only frowned at this and went about his task.

Horatio and the cook slowly made their way to the main mast. Horatio could easily see Lady Pellew tied to the rail. "He'll pay for that," he whispered in anger.

"Sir," the cook pointed furthers back," looks like the rest of the crew."

D@mn, he swore under his breath. This was going to be harder than he thought.
Suddenly he recognized a figure emerging onto the quarterdeck. "That's Archie! What in God's name is he doing!"

Archie marched boldly up to Collins, who had his back to him. "Sir! I must protest this treatment of this lady!"

Collins whirled around, pistol in hand, coiled like a cobra. "Who the hell are you!" he spat.
But Archie brushed past him, moving the pistol out of his way. He untied the cloth gagging her, as Collins stared in disbelief.

"Now listen hear snotty!" he began. But Archie turned and confronted him. "NO! You listen to me!" He took a step forward, anger flashing in his eyes. "You have no right to treat this woman like this! Every man on this ship agrees with me, don't you men!"

Collins looked about him in puzzlement as his own men growled yea's and shook their heads. Collins was out voted. Slowly he smiled and lowered his pistol. "I like a brave man," he chuckled and allowed Archie to untie Lady Pellew.

He helped her to the bench next to the helm. "Thank you," she whispered breathlessly. "What's your name boy?" Collins asked as he patted Archie on the back.

"Here goes nothing!" he thought silently.

Inhaling deeply, Kennedy tried to smirk. "Capitaine Francois le Crapaud," he told Collins, his accent mercilessly mangling the 'r's.

Collins and Lady Pellew and a few nearby mutineers stared at him, stupified. Kennedy held on to his smile steadily, and hoped that his intuition was correct, and glanced about the blood-splattered splintered wreckage of the upper decks. His guts were in a boil, and his head throbbed cruelly, and he felt that swirling lightness that often preludes a faint or collapse. For a second, as Collin stood silent, he'd wished that he'd answered with "John Smith" or something equally as innocuous. But Collin's flashing grin, "I like a brave man," had propelled him to cheek.

Kennedy stood his ground as Collins stepped to him, mere hand breadths' away. And he breathed in relief as Collins laughed and clapped him on the back.

"Very well, Francois, take the wheel!" Collins chortled, and strode away, his arms pumping erratically with each stride.

Kennedy went to the wheel as bidden.

"Did he give you a course?" called out Lady Pellew.

"No, ma'am."

He saw her shoulders shake in silent laughter.

------------------

Horatio sighed with relief as Kennedy took the wheel. He had felt the tension of the exchange--every man on the ship had paused at the sight of Collins and the young man squaring off--and though he had no idea what had happened, he could tell that it had come off well for Kennedy. And Lady Pellew was untied and presently sitting on the bench next to the helm.

But what was to be done? Hornblower wracked his brain. An escape with Lady Pellew and the Indys would be hard enough--but he was determined to take the Indy with them. He and Cook presently were ducked behind a pile of sails, barrels, and debris, but they were on a deck teeming with mutineers.

And then he glanced at Cook again and smiled.

"Collins forgot a few things, didn't he?"

Cook frowned, taken aback by the question. "Dunno, mebbe his brains."

"Well, yes, but Hepplewhite's doing the surgery, right?"

"Dxmned right."

"See," Hornblower smiled, "he doesn't have a surgeon of his own. And, I'll bet, he doesn't have a cook, either--"

Cook met his broadening grin.

"Dxmned right!"

"Those men must be pretty hungry, now."

"Oh, some of 'em's already stove in the casks, that's fer sure. If Collins don't post a guard on the stores, they'll all pickle themselves soon enow."

"Yes..." Hornblower tapped Cook on the arm, "But I'm sure they'll want something a bit more substantial. Certainly, Collins must have worked up a fair appetite. We must oblige."

"And what's on the menu, Sir?"

"A special stew." Horatio intoned gravely. "Your usual ragout for traitors." Cook remained silent for a few instances, pondering, his smile growing gradually wider.

"Aye, aye, Sir!" Cook clipped. "We'll be requirin' some stuff from the surgery, but I'm yer man!"

Susanna pulled her cloak closer about her shoulders and shivered. Lord, it was cold now, and despite aching shoulders she rubbed her arms vigorously to keep warm. But now, at last, there was hope as well to help keep her warm, and she prayed that soon this nightmare would end. She had stifled her laughter at Mr. Kennedy's performance and vowed to repeat every word of it to Edward. He had written to her of young Mr. Kennedy several times before - at first unsure of this seemingly fragile midshipman's future, his misfortune at falling under the shadow of Mr. Hornblower, and then amazingly, his remarkable and unwavering resolve, while still so very pale and thin, in his intent to return to El Ferrol with his comrade. And then, Musillac, and Edward had written her again of how Kennedy had saved the young Lieutenant's life and Susanna had noted well the crescendo of Edward's growing esteem for the lad. Now he had touched HER with his bravery, and his cheeky inventiveness. Oh please, she prayed, please, Mr. Kennedy, get us out of this. Get me to my husband's bedside where I belong. For I do not belong here, she realized. I do not make a good damsel in distress - the very thought of being beholden to anybody is an anathema to me. I only wanted to see to my husband's safety - and I would do it all again, in a heartbeat. But these are high stakes, the highest, and I cannot play in a game where there are no rules.

She cast another hopeful glance towards Mr. Kennedy, and in the murky darkness, offered him a smile. He caught it, nodded carefully, and then, looked back at her once more, and winked.