 A broadside into it, please, Captain Bush. Point to some targets! Limbs top ready! The C.S. Forester's indomitable man of the sea, Horatio Hornblower. Slipping quietly down the river disguised as fishermen was one thing. But to enter this busy port in our homemade uniforms as Dutch customs officials and to plan the stealing of a craft in which we could make our escape to sea was quite another. As we robed casually along under the eyes of the dock workers and loungers, my pulse was high and the palms of my hands sweating. I forced myself to remain impassive and to sit with careless ease in the stern streets. What's that noise there? Train gangs, Mr. Bush. Unloading grain. Military criminals, deserters and so on. Now that the French no longer use galleys, they put the criminals to work in the docks. Biggingly, pardon me, sir, but ain't that the blue ants in underneath that tricolor? On that cutter yonder. Is she right by heaven, Brian? It's tattered and faded, but it's the blue ants and rye right enough. Isn't that like the French, flaunting their petty triumphs for months? Ah, she's a lovely little ship. Their speed and seaworthiness in those lines, Mr. Bush. Each, sir, we kill them, daughter. What? I'd know her anywhere. Ten gun cutter caught by a French frigate last year. She's ready for sea, too. Well, take a closer look at her, Brian. Lay us alongside that key over there. Excuse me, sir, but surely you weren't thinking... I mean, those cutters carry a crew of 60 men. Three of us could never work her. I knew that what Bush said was true. I knew more. The estuary of the Loire, which lay between us and the sea, was tricky in the extreme. For fear of raids, all boys and navigation marks had been removed. Without a pilot, we could never find our way through 35 miles of shoals without going aground. Besides, there were batteries at Amberth and San Nazaire. Much as I should have liked to steal the witch of Endor and sail her to England, the thing was impossible. I walked up the steps of the key and forced myself to swagger. Bush's wooden leg came tapping up behind me. A passing group of soldiers saluted my smart uniform and the star of the Legion of Honor, which had been lent to me by the Count de Grace. I stopped and looked at the cutter from the lambward side. Only an anchor watch. Two hands and a master's mate. The rest of the lovers are on shore. Look, sir, here's another medical chip coming in. He's just etching into the key. What's the use of all the coastal blockade if neutral ships can sail in and out with impunity? Wheat is officially non-contribent, but it's more important than arms in many ways. Hello. He's salmon coming ashore from the new arrivers here. Civilian, shall I look at him? It's the pilot. If he... The pilot. The heavens push out. I believe I've got an idea. Listen, follow me and don't say a word. And I'm going to speak to the pilot. One moment, Monsieur, if you please. I'm a colonel of customs. I have some questions to ask you. Will you kindly accompany me to my ship for a moment? Yes, we choose your ship, Colonel. Over here. This cutter, yonder. This way, if you please. You are a new comrade with this port, a fancy colonel. I was transferred here yesterday from Amsterdam. Here we are. After you, up the gang clank, sir. Yes, sir. The mate of the witch of Endor showed no particular surprise at our arrival. He evidently knew the pilot by sight and my uniform and my assumed confidence deceived him. I told him that I wished to examine one of his charts. He showed us down the companion to the after cabin without a word. The securing of the two men of the crew took but a moment. The sight of my pistols was enough in itself. Then, leaving Bush and Brown to watch the prisoners, I hurried back to the key. Sergeant, bring your party down to my ship. There's work for them there. Yes, Colonel. Keep those chains still and listen, men. Listen. If you'll do what I order, I can set you free. Now, quiet, quiet. There'll be an end of beatings and slavery. I'm an English officer. I'm going to sail this ship to England. In England you'll be rewarded and the new life will begin for you. Now, I'm going to run fast on your trains. Sit still, sit still. Make no noise until you're told what to do. You're free. Any man moves at his peddle unless he's ordered to do so. The impulse which had begun my desperate plan until the chainslaves were freed barely 15 minutes had elapsed. Yet in that time, my prospect of escape had increased to a hundredfold. But the greatest peddle still there ahead. I had no mind to be taken and shot as a spy. I sent Brown to our little boat which still lay at the quayside and he brought back the parcel containing my own clothes. My own uniformed coat was sadly crumpled and the gold lace was bent and broken, but there was a strange comfort in donning it once again. I was myself again, and should we be retaken, the wearing of a British naval officer's tunic would protect us from the fate of spies. It was time for action again. I took a bit laying then from the rail and walked slowly to where the sullen pilot sat on a hatch. I weighed the pin meditatively in my hand. Monsieur, I desire you to pilot this ship out to sea. But no, I cannot. No, no. I'm my duty, my profession, aren't I? No, I know. We're going to start now. You can give instructions or not as you choose, but this I assure you, Monsieur. The moment this ship touches Brown, I'll beat your head into a paste with this belaying pin. Nice, nice. Ducky waiting, Monsieur Brown. Lash him to the rail, then. Then we can start. Aye, sir. Mr. Bush, may I take the tiller, if you please? Aye, aye, sir. Now then, Brown, listen, we've got a raw crew. We shall have to put the ropes in their hands, cast off the warps. Aye, aye, sir. The push of the tide was swinging the cutter away from the key, as the warps were cast off, and Brown ran briskly among our wretched crew, leading them to the haleads and showing them upon which ropes to haul. As my order and baneful and jib rose, the sails flapped, bellied, and slapped again. Then they filled, and cut her chain from her dead to a live thing. She healed a fraction, and I heard the musical chuckle of the water at her boughs as her forefoot bubbled through the water. In three strides, I was at the pilot's side, belaying pin in hand. Careful, Monsieur. Keep her quiet. Keep going for the quiet. Fort your health, Mr. Bush. We're taking the starboard, channel. Aye, sir. Thank you for that. You must have a hand up till then, Monsieur. It is necessary to take Sandy. Oh, I can spare no hand. But you'll have to do your work without Sandy. And remember, my promise still holds good. I shall have no mercy. Oh, it's these cords, Monsieur. They are tight. Good. Sir, keep you awake. Loosen your cords when we are safely at sea off Muammoutier and not before. Oh, it is necessary to cross to the other side of the estuary here. The channel narrows on this side. You may have to go about. Stand by to go about. Don't drive me, you awkward lovers. No, not this! Oh, lovely, lovely. To the right! There you are. Where did it go, Gary? I think we can do it close-haul, sir. She sails like a bird. The tide's helping, too. Sir, go, Mr. Bush. Ah, yes, she's making a cross. Ah, well done. Let her come up a little. Hmm, beautiful. All right, Brian, we shan't need to go about. How's the pilot, sir? Is he behaving? Yes, up till now. I think the threat of the belaying pin was more effective than a pistol. Now, whether I could have broke myself at the club, I helped this man. I don't know. A lot would have depended on it, sir. Yes, all our lives depend on it. I started this venture with Mr. Bush and I'll stop at nothing to achieve success. It's a long way to go before we're safe. If you'll excuse me, say so, sir. This is about the most amazing thing even you'll ever done, to recapture an English kid and save her out under the very nose of the frogs. Well, I'd never have believed it possible. Well, it isn't done yet, Mr. Bush. Time to keep that firmly in mind. We'll congratulate ourselves when we're safe. God, see, it'll stop us now, sir. Why, if this wind-hole is just for... What's that? Seems to be below. Brown? Aye, sir, aye, I'll go below and see what's up. Oh, they're just standing there. Surely there couldn't have been some cruel aboard that we didn't find? Look out, sir, if the friends are below, they'll slip their lashings and they're trying to attack the tension by waving and yelling through the portals. Can I take some men to deal with them, sir? Well, not be necessary, Brown, unless my ears are mistaken they're coming to us. There's something to say to us and they're about the way they were tied up. Man, arm yourselves with whatever you can find and make no more noise than is necessary. Unless these prisoners are overpowered, we are lost. You will go back to slavery or death. Mr. Bush, remain with the killer. Brown? Take my prisoners. That's what he was my sword. But my participation was not necessary. Weak and wretched as our chain gang crew were, they dims the hope of freedom and were prepared to fight to the death to retain it. With belaying pins and barefits I fell upon the four attackers and the struggle was free. This time I personally supervised the tying up of the men and had them laid out on deck where they could be watched. Then all hands were sent back to stations and our run down the estuary to the sea and freedom continued as the night closed down. How's it, sir? I was afraid of that. A wind's dive at the dawn. Can't make out where we are in this mist. I expect the sun will clear it when it comes up presently. That's and why Moutier to port and the mainlanders will stern there. I caught a glimpse of the Semaphore station ten minutes ago. If only the wind had held for half an hour more, we should have been safe. That pilot looks in pretty bad shape, sir. So do you, Mr. Bush. It's twenty-four hours since any of us had any sleep come to that. However, I'll keep my promise and cut him loose. You're free, sir. Oh, my arms, my legs! Well, sit down on the deck and rub them. You'll feel better, presently. It's no good, sir. I can't hold the course. There's no breeze at all. Blast! The tide will drift us in under the big guns. Run! Make up those slaves on deck there. Set them to work with the sweeps. Aye, sir. Come here. Go on, right beside me. Come on, you're going to help me to train this gun. My honor, I cannot fire at my fellow countrymen. Mr. Bush, have the kindness to toss me that belaying gun. No, no, no, sir. What am I to do? I'll lay hold of that train tackle. Come on, now. Come on, run her back. Here you go, sir. Nearly got him. Right up among the oars. It's already now, sir. Very good, Mr. Bush. Lay a course so that I can keep that leading boat under fire. Aye, aye, sir. The pursuing boats creeping over the sea showed no sign of being dismayed by my former apartment. They were big ones, carrying at least 50 men each. If only one had ranged alongside, it would be the end of us. The leading boat maintained a course which could cut ours perhaps a mile ahead. I fired again and again, working at the gun till my shirt stuck to me with sweat. The pile of grains irritated my skin. But I could see no result. You must have hit that time, sir. I didn't see any splash on the shot. No. Growing as hard as ever. Oh, good heavens. Is it possible that a sixth pounder can have no effect? I thought so, sir. Look. She's swinging round. She's stinging into the others. She's stinking, sir. Variation in each ball, each charge of powder made it impossible to fire two shots alike. I kept grimly on, so I felt that my back and heart would break. The monotonous creak of the sweeps and the chanting of Brian continued like a submerged accompaniment. Now the second boat turned and began a rush under double-banked oars straight for our ship. I stared through the gun-site straight at its buyers, jerked the lanyard and fired. Even as I watched the buyers of the boat open like a fan. A shot had struck her right on the stem at water level. The buyers lifted as the strikes spread wide. Then fell again, and the water poured in and dung all deep. I think they've had enough, sir. The last boat is turning away to pick up the survivors. Second part of firing that damn pop gun. Ah, rather use a bow and arrow. Come on, pull her. We're not out of danger yet. The mainland is lost now, and why Moutier is far behind? You think we're safe now, sir? No, we're far from safe. And dizzy with lack of sleep, I moved and spoke as though in a dream. Somewhere to the northwest, I knew lay the British fleet, which maintained an unceasing watch over breast. I had laid the cutter on a course which would take us out to the fleet eventually. Or if we missed the fleet and found a win, I could sail her right round to England. An escaping English captain retaking a captured ship of war practically single-handed and fighting his way out of a French port to bring her home. There's never been anything like it, sir. Never will be again. But I was not listening. The mention of England had renewed all my old doubts and fears. If I returned, I must stand my trial for the loss of the Sutherland. If I were found guilty of not having done my utmost in the presence of the enemy, there was only one penalty, death. And then... A breeze! A breeze by Sunderstey! Only a whistle with a breeze!