"Mackintosh." Hawksworth's voice cut the silence. "Issue the muskets." His eyes swept along the shore, and then to the narrow bend they were fast approaching. Karim is lying, he told himself; at last the pilot has begun to play false with us. Why? What does he fear? "Aye aye, Cap'n." Mackintosh was instantly alert. "What do you see?" The sudden voices startled Elkington awake, and his nodding head snapped erect. "The damn'd Moors have settl'd in for the night. If you'd hold your peace, I could join 'em. I'll need the full o' my wits for hagglin' with that subtle lot o' thieves come the morrow. There's no Portugals. E'en the night birds are quiet as mice." "Precisely," Hawksworth shot back. "And I would thank you to take a musket, and note its flintlock is full-cocked and the flashpan dry." Then he continued, "Mackintosh, strike the sail. And, Karim, take the tiller." The pinnace was a sudden burst of activity, as seamen quickly hauled in the sail and began to check the prime on their flintlocks. With the sail lashed, their view was unobstructed in all directions. The tide rushing through the narrows of the approaching bend carried the pinnace ever more rapidly, and now only occasional help was needed from the oarsmen to keep it aright. A cloud drifted over the moon, and for an instant the river turned black. Hawksworth searched the darkness ahead, silent, waiting. Then he saw it. _ "On the boards!"_ A blaze of musket fire spanned the river ahead, illuminating the blockade of longboats. Balls sang into the water around them while others splattered off the side of the pinnace or hissed past the mast. Then the returning moon glinted off the silver helmets of the Portuguese infantry. As Karim instinctively cut the pinnace toward the shore, Portuguese longboats maneuvered easily toward them, muskets spewing sporadic flame. The English oarsmen positioned themselves to return the fire, but Hawksworth stopped them. Not yet, he told himself, we'll have no chance to reload. The first round has to count. And damn my thoughtlessness, for not bringing pikes. We could have . . . The pinnace lurched crazily and careened sideways, hurtling around broadside to the longboats. A sandbar. We've struck a damned sandbar. But we've got to face them with the prow. Otherwise . . . As though sensing Hawksworth's thoughts, Karim seized an oar and began to pole the pinnace's stern off the bar. Slowly it eased around, coming about to face the approaching longboats. No sooner had the pinnace righted itself than the first longboat glanced off the side of the bow, and a grapple caught their gunwale. Then the first Portuguese soldier leaped aboard--and doubled in a flame of sparks as Mackintosh shoved a musket into his belly and pulled the trigger. As the other English muskets spoke out in a spray of pistol shot, several Portuguese in the longboat pitched forward, writhing. Mackintosh began to bark commands for reloading.