Something stirred peculiarly in his mind--something that for the moment caught his breath from his lungs and left him shivering, then sent the blood racing hot through his body. There was an anger there--a long-smouldering anger for which he could not accurately account, but which was undeniable. His sword flashed again in the blaze of the sun. And once more he shivered. "Cap'n Cutlass sir! It's a trap!" His palm was suddenly cold and slippery on the corded hilt of the glittering blade in his hand. "Sail ho! Sail to stern sir!" the lookout was bellowing. "Three o' the King's men-o'-war!" Cutlass watched them as they bore down, shouted orders to the helmsman to bring the brig about. The cries of the drowning merchantman's crew were totally wasted on him as he prepared to meet the new menace. Ordinarily, so far as his hazy memory would account for him, there had never been much to fear from the Jamaica fleet. Now it seemed they had been especially enjoined in the Frenchman's aid for the sole purpose of taking his head for the 500-pound reward on it. Or perhaps the British King had added a couple of hundred--because for less, who was there who would dare bring the attack to Robbin Cutlass? The men-of-war, under a smart press of canvas and now within cannon range, were already lowering boats. "Mister Treach bring your muskets to bear!" "Aye, sir and the guns are reshotted!" "Keep your fire until I give the order to loose it, Mr. Treach! And strike the black flag--you shall hoist American colors in its place. We mistook the Frenchman for a Spaniard, d'ye hear?" * * * * * Cutlass knew as he gave the order that the strategy was far too thin, but it would give heart to the crew until the English swarmed over the side. Had he kept his witless anger and secured the merchantman and her guns rattier than sunk her.... But it was too late to correct the error now--and if this were a premeditated trap, then the English were tardy, and had permitted their decoy to pay too high a price. There was the crack of musketry as the crew of the _Talon_ fought to turn the boats' advance, but it was answered with vicious accuracy from the decks of the men-of-war themselves. Then one of the King's ships tacked about, bringing her cannon to bear while her sister ships bore down on the brig. The _Talon's_ broadside was simultaneous with that of the gun-boat, but it was a matter of 40 guns to twelve. And even as the main top gallantmast was sheared and came tumbling crazily through the brig's already sagging top-rigging, the British war vessels had come alongside to both starboard and port. "All hands repel boarders!" Cutlass thundered, and armed his left hand with one of the pistols from the brace suspended bandolier-like from his neck.