shoulder, he urged, ‘Let’s work well—and quickly—to make the most of our plan.’
The word continued to pass round.
Chapter Fifteen
BREAKAWAY
The brilliance of the blood-red sunset pleased Horne as much as the fresh wind. Perhaps the early evening’s beauty—coupled with the Huma’ ssubmissive behaviour throughout the past twelve hours—had lulled the Sulus into a false sense of security. He hoped so.
The praus in both side escorts were close enough for Horne to hear laughter drifting across the water, and to smell the pungent aroma of smouldering charcoal. Were the crews preparing an early evening meal? Did that mean they were not planning to put into port soon, but would press on until they reached whatever Sulu island was home to them?
Aboard the Huma, Horne saw his men idling near their stations, waiting for his command. Kiro’s gunners lounged in small groups on deck, their eyes glancing nervously back to Horne for the signal to run out the guns.
Horne maintained his calm pose. Preparations had gone on so unobtrusively that he was certain even Cheng-So Gilbert had no suspicions of an imminent escape attempt. At the moment, he was below in his cabin, presumably recording the Sulu captivity in his journal.
Lingering by the rail, Horne smiled as he noticed that two more praus had fallen away from the rear escort. The Huma obviously enjoyed their captors’ complete and utter trust.
Cautioning himself not to become over-confident, he nevertheless felt more light-hearted than he had sinceleaving Fort St George. More pleasing than having decided on the escape was the fact that his Marines, and all hands aboard ship, had unanimously agreed with the plan. Every last man was willing to take a desperate step to avoid the threat of being enslaved. Besides, what was the point of living if one never took chances?
Babcock climbed the ladder. ‘All’s ready,’ he reported, voice low, eyes anxious.
Horne, clasping his hands behind his back, maintained his casual bearing as he made a last-minute appraisal.
The hands aloft were waiting. The gun crews looked from Horne to Kiro back to Horne. Jingee’s white turban bobbed near the forecastle.
Resting his weight on one leg, Horne looked over his shoulder for one last check on the escort.
Six praus lagged in the wake; the side guards were less than a half-cable away, north and south.
Horne looked fore. The lead phalanx had relaxed in formation, the first line lagging into the second.
Satisfied, he tilted his head back, filled his lungs with fresh air and said, ‘Babcock, this is it.’
Babcock chuckled, ‘See you on the other side, Horne.’
Horne faced the main deck, glanced momentarily to the left escort, and bellowed, ‘Wear ship !’
* * *
The men leaped into action. Hands raced for the braces. Yards swung in the wind; blocks screamed, and the deck reared from the fury. The helm went over with a lurch, leaving the wind rushing at the stern.
‘Man the lee braces,’ called Horne over the scream of rigging, eyes darting back to the jib boom swinging in the sudden arc.
‘Prepare to fire—’ he cautioned. ‘— at will !’
Kiro shouted the crews to their guns as Jingee dashedalong the gun decks, fire buckets in both hands, followed by his barefoot brigade bearing water and sand.
‘Don’t go for a broadside,’ insisted Horne. ‘Fire at will. Fire at will. FIRE AT WILL!’
In the ship’s abrupt change of tack to the north, the larboard guns blasted at the enemy’s rear escorts; Kiro concentrated the starboard guns on the leading praus, four cannon alternating fire as the crew sponged and reloaded ball on top of round shot.
To the east, the praus struggled to follow the change of tack, but the Marine’s cannon fire, and the native vessels’ inability to meet the wind, spread the Sulus into instant disarray.
Through clouds of smoke, Horne caught sight of a figure staggering from the companionway. Cheng-So Gilbert. The interpreter stared
The word continued to pass round.
Chapter Fifteen
BREAKAWAY
The brilliance of the blood-red sunset pleased Horne as much as the fresh wind. Perhaps the early evening’s beauty—coupled with the Huma’ ssubmissive behaviour throughout the past twelve hours—had lulled the Sulus into a false sense of security. He hoped so.
The praus in both side escorts were close enough for Horne to hear laughter drifting across the water, and to smell the pungent aroma of smouldering charcoal. Were the crews preparing an early evening meal? Did that mean they were not planning to put into port soon, but would press on until they reached whatever Sulu island was home to them?
Aboard the Huma, Horne saw his men idling near their stations, waiting for his command. Kiro’s gunners lounged in small groups on deck, their eyes glancing nervously back to Horne for the signal to run out the guns.
Horne maintained his calm pose. Preparations had gone on so unobtrusively that he was certain even Cheng-So Gilbert had no suspicions of an imminent escape attempt. At the moment, he was below in his cabin, presumably recording the Sulu captivity in his journal.
Lingering by the rail, Horne smiled as he noticed that two more praus had fallen away from the rear escort. The Huma obviously enjoyed their captors’ complete and utter trust.
Cautioning himself not to become over-confident, he nevertheless felt more light-hearted than he had sinceleaving Fort St George. More pleasing than having decided on the escape was the fact that his Marines, and all hands aboard ship, had unanimously agreed with the plan. Every last man was willing to take a desperate step to avoid the threat of being enslaved. Besides, what was the point of living if one never took chances?
Babcock climbed the ladder. ‘All’s ready,’ he reported, voice low, eyes anxious.
Horne, clasping his hands behind his back, maintained his casual bearing as he made a last-minute appraisal.
The hands aloft were waiting. The gun crews looked from Horne to Kiro back to Horne. Jingee’s white turban bobbed near the forecastle.
Resting his weight on one leg, Horne looked over his shoulder for one last check on the escort.
Six praus lagged in the wake; the side guards were less than a half-cable away, north and south.
Horne looked fore. The lead phalanx had relaxed in formation, the first line lagging into the second.
Satisfied, he tilted his head back, filled his lungs with fresh air and said, ‘Babcock, this is it.’
Babcock chuckled, ‘See you on the other side, Horne.’
Horne faced the main deck, glanced momentarily to the left escort, and bellowed, ‘Wear ship !’
* * *
The men leaped into action. Hands raced for the braces. Yards swung in the wind; blocks screamed, and the deck reared from the fury. The helm went over with a lurch, leaving the wind rushing at the stern.
‘Man the lee braces,’ called Horne over the scream of rigging, eyes darting back to the jib boom swinging in the sudden arc.
‘Prepare to fire—’ he cautioned. ‘— at will !’
Kiro shouted the crews to their guns as Jingee dashedalong the gun decks, fire buckets in both hands, followed by his barefoot brigade bearing water and sand.
‘Don’t go for a broadside,’ insisted Horne. ‘Fire at will. Fire at will. FIRE AT WILL!’
In the ship’s abrupt change of tack to the north, the larboard guns blasted at the enemy’s rear escorts; Kiro concentrated the starboard guns on the leading praus, four cannon alternating fire as the crew sponged and reloaded ball on top of round shot.
To the east, the praus struggled to follow the change of tack, but the Marine’s cannon fire, and the native vessels’ inability to meet the wind, spread the Sulus into instant disarray.
Through clouds of smoke, Horne caught sight of a figure staggering from the companionway. Cheng-So Gilbert. The interpreter stared
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