Jack wrapped his battered coat about him as another cold blast of wind howled through the cave. Tom sat back-to-back with him to try and conserve heat, but it wasn't working.

"What d-d-d-you suggest we do, s-s-s-sir?" Tom asked, his teeth chattering. Jack shifted slightly to give his First Officer more cover without him noticing and taking offense and replied, "We wait out the storm. It's just a tropical blow, not a hurricane." Even as he said this, the rain seemed to subside and the wind lessened.

Jack stiffened suddenly. He said very quietly, "Mr. Pullings, do you still have any weapons?"

Mystified, Tom replied, "Yes, a pair of pistols and my sword, but the powder's wet. Why?"

"Five people-natives, I think-out there with spears," Jack whispered. Pullings eased his feet beneath him so he was crouching and casually rested his hand on his sword hilt. "Orders?" he hissed, his brain already thinking strategically.

"Get outside. Climb the cliff above the cave," his captain murmured. Jack rose and inched towards the mouth of the cave, back pressed against the wall. With Pullings following him, he slipped outside and climbed easily up the slippery rock face, using his climbing abilities brought on by years of climbing the rigging of the Surprise.

About twenty feet off the ground, both men craned their heads around when they heard a strange hooting sound. The natives, painted, half-naked people with primitive spears, were following them up the cliff.

"Draw swords!" Jack called, unconsciously letting the plural slip. He and Tom both halted for a moment, placed their blades carefully between their teeth, and climbed faster. Tom made a muffled noise of disgust when he drooled on his sword by accident, but he ground his teeth down on the weapon and ignored it.

The natives were coming fast. They were expert climbers, and they grinned hungrily at the two men above them. Jack wondered with horror if their hungry expressions meant they were cannibals and tried to put the thought out of his mind.

The leading native, a stocky, strong-looking man, grabbed Pullings' ankle. He pulled his sword from his teeth, whipped around, and slashed the man across the hand. The man howled with pain and fury and instinctively jerked his hand away-and lost his balance. He plunged, screaming, and this seemed to infuriate the natives even more. They leapt like monkeys up the wall, but the top of the cliff was within Jack's reach. He pulled himself up and turned to help Tom.

His First Officer was surrounded by natives. They were clawing and hitting him, trying to throw him off the cliff, but Tom clung grimly to the rock with one hand and slashed blindly with his sword with the other. Jack threw himself to the ground and reached out a hand, yelling, "Come on, Mr. Pullings! Jump!" Tom elbowed a native out of the way and grabbed his captain's hand. He let go of the cliff and kicked hard, sending two more natives flying into space. The last one began climbing down at top speed.

Jack grabbed Tom's other hand and heaved him over the edge of the cliff. Pullings lay, gasping, on the cool stone. Jack stood shakily and glanced down over the edge. The last native was running off. He screamed in broken French over his shoulder, "We meet again, English! We will! We have your friends! You no escape either!"

Tom sat up and sheathed his sword, still breathing hard. "What did he say, sir? Did you hear?"

Jack nodded, scratched his head, and sat beside Tom. "Yes. He said that he has our friends and we won't escape him either. Well, he said we have your friends, meaning he probably lives in some sort of tribe."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Our friends? Do you think someone else in the crew was washed overboard? Well, the odds aren't so good; he probably meant some other white man who was shipwrecked here."

Jack looked grim. "I'm not so sure. I think it's likely that he did mean one of the crew, because the only other whites around here would be French."

Tom shrugged. "So? They probably have captured a Frenchmen. Our crew are the only Englishmen in the area; it's more likely they captured someone else."

Shaking his head, Jack replied, "But didn't you hear? He was speaking French. He probably learned it from the other residents of the island, meaning that they're French. If I'm right, then this is probably the French Naval port. Whoever fired on us, assuming they are French, would be here to resupply. Without our ship and our crew, we're easy targets since he's gone off to warn the French."

Tom groaned. "Bloody heathen! I could've gotten him if he was just a bit closer!"

Jack looked at him sympathetically. "It's not your fault, Tom. We should get moving, so let's-"

Tom gritted his teeth angrily. "Damn, it is my fault, Jack! But let's get out of here-we can talk later."