Three Ships

Chapter Seven

One of the schooner's large spars shot a hundred feet straight up in the air, and Laura watched agog as the large lump of timber began falling down again.

"Thunderation!" said Big Arms, and he and No Nose took off in the direction of the blast though it was clear they could do little of use about it.

Then Laura's father tugged her towards shelter as debris began raining down on the Rock.

Acorn galloped as fast as Laura had ever seen him, quickly followed by Milly and the chickens which all huddled in the courtyard vocalising their distress, the sound echoing around the stone enclosure.

Admiral and Whisky peered out from behind a curtain, their tawny eyes wide and round.

Blackwell and his men stood at the southerly point where their clipper was now nothing more than flotsam.

"Quick as you can, love, back inside," Laura's father urged. "If Blackwell was angry before, he's going to be furious now."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to meet our friends from Ashton."

Laura shook off her father's hand and ran back to where No Nose and Big Arms had dropped their weapons as they fled. She picked up both blades and returned with them.

"We're going to meet our friends from Ashton," she corrected him. "No one is going to drive me out of my home."

She thought her father may be angry at her disobedience. Instead he grinned and urged her to run ahead of him.

"That's my girl," he muttered with pride.

By the time they had reached the path that rose from the submerged causeway, Reverend Harman, Fletcher and Dickie had been joined by a group of twenty other men - fishermen and farmhands, smithies and merchants – all of them angry.

"Where are the scurvy-dog scoundrels!" demanded one.

"We'll drive them back into the sea!" added another.

Reverend Harman called for calm and Laura's fatherbriefly told the story of the past three nights.

The crowd grumbled.

"Eh Dickie, you bring enough rope to secure these blackguards?" asked Fletcher of his assistant.

The young man pushed his way forward with a bundle of rope across his shoulder.

"I did, sir!" he said, bustling to the fore.

The grocer leaned in. "Now that would be the old stock, not the new that came in the other day?" he muttered.

"Oh, yes, Mr Fletcher, the old stuff just like you said."

"Good lad," replied the older man, then, noticing the reproachful looks from the others, he straightened his back and rubbed his belly. "It's still good rope, well proven..."

"Then round them up, men," Reverend Harman instructed, rolling up his sleeves, apparently ready to put his boxing skills to the test if need be. "These villains can cool their heels in one of the empty warehouses until the Waterguard arrives in the morning."

With the exception of the Reverend, Laura noted, everyone was armed – cutlasses, pistols, hoes and clubs – and they marched with purpose towards the southern point where Blackwell and his men remained, disconsolate at their loss.

At the sound of the approaching posse, Blackwell turned. A menacing grin spread slowly across his face. He had lost his ship but he enjoyed a fight

He drew his cutlass and stepped forward.

"We're not going to surrender meekly to a group of lily-livered townsfolk, are we men?" he called.