Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗

When Hal recovered consciousness, he found his father kneeling over him. He whispered, "What happened, Father? Did we win?" His father shook his head, without looking into his eyes, and made a fuss of wiping the sweat and soot from his son's face with a strip of grubby cloth torn from the hem of his own shirt.

"No, Hal. We did not win." Hal looked beyond him, and it all came back. He saw that a pitiful few of the Resolution's crew had survived. They were huddled together around where Hal lay, guarded by green-jackets with loaded muskets. The rest were scattered where they had fallen in front of the gun pits or were draped in death upon the parapets.

He saw that Aboli was tending Daniel, binding up the wound in his chest with the red bandanna. Daniel was sitting up and seemed to have recovered somewhat, although clearly he had lost a great deal of blood.

His face beneath the grime of battle was as white as the ashes of last night's camp-fire.

Hal turned his head and saw Lord Cumbrae and Colonel Schreuder standing nearby, in deep and earnest conversation. The Buzzard broke off at last and shouted an order to one of his men. "Geordie, bring the slave chains from the Gull! We don't want Captain Courtney to leave us again." The sailor hurried back to the beach, and the Buzzard and the colonel came to where the prisoners squatted under the muskets of their guards.

"Captain Courtney." Schreuder addressed Sir Francis ominously. "I am arresting you and your crew for piracy on the high seas. You will be taken to Good Hope to stand trial on those charges."

"I protest, sir." Sir Francis stood up with dignity. "I demand that you treat my men with the consideration due to prisoners of war."

"There is no war, Captain," Schreuder told him icily. "Hostilities between the Republic of Holland and England ceased under treaty some months ago."

Sir Francis stared at him, aghast, while he recovered from the shock of this news. "I was unaware that a peace had been concluded. I acted in good faith," he said at last, "but in any event I was sailing under a commission from His Majesty."

"You spoke of this Letter of Marque during our previous meeting. Will you consider me presumptuous if I insist on having sight of the document?" Schreuder asked.

"My commission from His Majesty is in my sea-chest in my hut." Sir Francis pointed into the stockade, where many of the huts had been destroyed by cannon fire. "If you will allow me I will bring it to you."

"Please don't discommode yourself, Franky my old friend." The Buzzard clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll fetch it for you." He strode away and ducked into the low doorway of the hut that Sir Francis had indicated.

Schreuder rounded on him again. "Where are you holding your hostages, sir? Governor van de Velde and his poor wife, where are they?"

"The Governor must still be in his stockade with the other hostages, his wife and the captain of the galleon. I have not seen them since the beginning of the fight."

Hal stood up shakily, holding the cloth to his head. "The Governor's wife has taken refuge from the fighting in a cave in the hillside, up there."

"How do you know that?" Schreuder asked sharply.

"For her own safety, I led her there myself." Hal spoke up boldly, avoiding his father's stern eye. "I was returning from the cave when I ran into you in the forest, Colonel."

Schreuder looked up the hill, torn by duty and the desire to rush to the aid of the woman whose rescue was, for him at least, the main object of this expedition. But at that moment the Buzzard swaggered out of the hut. He carried a roll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon. The royal seals of red wax dangled from it.

Sir Francis smiled with satisfaction and relief. "There you have it, Colonel. I demand that you treat me and my crew as honourable prisoners, captured in a fair fight."

Before he reached them, the Buzzard paused and unrolled the parchment. He held up the document at arm's length, and turned it so that all could see the curlicue script penned by some clerk of the Admiralty in black indian ink. At last, with a jerk of his head, he summoned one of his own seamen. He took the loaded pistol from the man's hand, and blew upon the burning match in the lock. Then he grinned at Sir Francis and applied the flame to the foot of the document in his hand.

Sir Francis stood appailled as the flame caught and the parchment began to curl and blacken as the pale yellow flame ran up it. "By God, Cumbrae, you treacherous bastard!" He started forward, but the tip of Schreuder's blade lay on his chest.

"It would give me the greatest pleasure to thrust home," he murmured. "For your own sake, do not try my patience any further, sir."

"That swine is burning my commission."

"I can see nothing," Schreuder told him, his back deliberately turned to the Buzzard. "Nothing, except a notorious pirate standing before me with the blood of innocent men still warm and wet on his hands."

Cumbrae watched the parchment burn, a great wide grin splitting his ginger whiskers. He passed the crackling sheet from hand to hand as the heat reached his fingertips, turning it to allow the flames to consume every scrap.

"I have heard you prate of your honour, sit," Sir Francis flared at Schreuder. "It seems that that is an illusory commodity."

"Honour?" Schreuder smiled coldly. "Do I hear a pirate speak to me of honour? It cannot be. Surely my ears play me false."

Cumbrae allowed the flames to lick the tips of his fingers before he dropped the last blackened shred of the document to the earth and stamped on the ashes, crushing them to powder. Then he came up to Schreuder. "I am afraid Franky's up to his tricks again. I can find no Letter of Marque signed by the royal hand."