"Then permit me an observation. A modest thought, but possibly useful. Do you see, there"--he pulled erect and pointed toward the shore--"hard by the galleons, there where the seabirds swirl in a dark cloud? That is the river mouth. And on either side are many sandbars, borne there from the river's delta. Along the coast beyond these, though you cannot see them now, are channels, too shallow for the draft of a galleon but perhaps safe for these frigates. Reach them and you will be beyond range of all Portuguese ordnance save their stern demi-culverin. Then they will be forced to try boarding you by longboat, something their infantry does poorly and with great reluctance." "Are there channels on both sides of the river mouth? To windward and to leeward?" "Certainly, my _feringhi _ captain." He examined Hawksworth with a puzzled stare. "But only a fool would not hold to port, to windward." Hawksworth studied the shoreline with the glass, and an audacious gamble began to take form in his mind. Why try to keep both frigates to windward? That's what they'll expect, and any moment now they'll weigh and beat to windward also. And from their position, they'll probably gain the weather gage, forcing us to leeward, downwind where we can't maneuver. That means an open fight--when the _Resolve_ can barely muster a watch. How can she crew the gun deck and man the sheets? But maybe she won't have to. Maybe there's another way. "Mackintosh." The quartermaster was mounting the quarterdeck companionway. "Order the mains'l and fores'l reefed. And the tops'ls shortened. We'll heave to while we run out the guns. And signal the _Resolve_ while I prepare orders for Kerridge." The grizzled Scotsman stood listening in dismay, and Hawksworth read his thoughts precisely in his eyes. There's nae time to heave to. And for wha'? We strike an inch o' canvas an' the fornicatin' Portugals'll take the weather gage sure. Ha' you nae stomach for a fight? Why na just haul down colors and ha' done with it? But he said nothing. He turned automatically and bellowed orders aloft. Hawksworth felt out the morning breeze, tasting its cut, while he watched the seamen begin swinging themselves up the shrouds, warming the morning air with oaths as the _Discovery _pitched and heeled in the chop. And then he turned and strode down the quarterdeck companionway toward the Great Cabin to prepare orders for the _Resolve_. As he passed along the main deck, half a dozen crewmen were already unlashing the longboat from its berth amidships. And when he emerged again on deck with the oilskin- wrapped dispatch, after what seemed only moments, the longboat was already launched, oarsmen at station. He passed the packet to Mackintosh without a word, then mounted the companionway ladder back to the quarterdeck. The Indian pilot stood against the banister, shaded by the lateen sail, calmly studying the galleons.