cursing and half-dead from cold; Martin Whitsun was the most voluble of these, his vehemence sharpened by his frustration with my knots.
“Trust a woman to foul a line so bad it cannot be undone,” he muttered. “If I had my knife—”
“I should be forced to scream for Mr. Hawkins,” I retorted patiently. “I have no intention of abandoning him, and I shall not allow you to steal his boat.”
“You'd rather see us die of exposure, I suppose.”
“That is why I hauled you from the sea,” I replied implacably.
“Curse you, woman! What have you done to the cable? It's lodged so tight we shall never get free.”
“We might s-w-wim for it, Marty,” suggested one of the rogues. His teeth were chattering, and his lips were blue. “There's the Queen Anne sending out a longboat, and I'll wager they've grog and blankets.”
It was true. The fire could not help but be seen by the score of vessels moored roundabout, and it would not be long before a host of small craft converged upon the hulk and endeavoured to aid her survivors. Martin Whitsun shaded his eyes with his hands, and peered across the dark water, I glanced anxiously upwards, intent for any sign of Jeb Hawkins.
“I don't fancy meeting a longboat full of Navy men,” Whitsun said shortly. “They might ask cruel questions, about the rockets and such. The hulk's a Navy vessel, mind.”.
The men stole shuddering and miserable glances at me. “Here,” Whitsun demanded suddenly. “You fashioned the sodding knot; you get it undone, or I'll throw you over the side.”
He looked as fierce as his words, and being vastly outnumbered in strength and desperation, I did not like to test his mettle. I propelled myself forward, and clutched at the vile cable with gloved hands and a sinking heart. The wet coils had swollen and tightened inevitably upon themselves; the knot was fixed, for all my scrabbling fingers might do. I stopped short in the attempt, and drew off my gloves, hoping to buy time.
“Longboat's c-c-coming!” cried one stuttering buck.
“What I won't do to Jeb Hawkins when I meet him,” said Martin Whitsun through his teeth. He shoved at my back, nearly toppling me from the boat. I cried out and clutched at the rope ladder.
“Say that again, Martin Whitsun,” demanded a voice from above. “Happen you'd rather beat a man senseless than a poor defenceless woman—or maybe you'd rather go over the side?”
I looked up—and saw the Bosun's Mate peering through the livid gloom above. He carried a burden over one shoulder: a man, insensible and unmoving.
“Stand aside, you fools!” Hawkins shouted, and heaved one leg over the Marguerite's rail. He grasped the rope ladder with his right hand, and steadied his load with the left Such strength and grace in a man of his age must stand as testament to the hardy nature of the finest seamen. I watched with bated breath all the same, my bare fingers twisting together, conscious of Martin Whitsun malevolent at my back. If he moved—if he menaced Jeb Hawkins in any way—I was determined to shove my elbow hard into the rogue's ribs in an effort to unseat him. The Bosun's Mate torturously descended, breathing hard, his burden dangling. I could not tell for the smoke whether it was LaForge or no.
“Ahoy, there!” cried a voice across the water. “Have you need of assistance?”
The longboat put off from the Queen Anne. Martin Whitsun turned, his attention diverted, and began to swear viciously under his breath. I reached out and seized Jeb Hawkins's coat sleeve; his left boot groped for the skiffs gunwale.
“Don't clutch at me, ma'am—hold the rope steady,” he shouted irritably. I did as I was told, and his foot found a hold. He stepped backwards into the crowded vessel, the man he carried sliding heavily into the bilge— and at that moment the skiff rose up and slapped against the Marguerite's side, all but overbalanced by a sudden shift in weight.
Martin Whitsun and his fellows had abandoned us, diving into the chill waters rather than face the Queen Anne's rescue party.
1A prize-agent was responsible for selling enemy ships seized in maritime war and condemned by the prize-court, one of the courts of the Admiralty.—Editor's note.
2Jeb Hawkins refers to the bosun's chair, which resembled a wooden swing and could be hauled aloft when seamen were at work on the shrouds. It was routinely used to hoist women who boarded from the sea.—Editor's note.