CATHBARR YIELDS UP HIS AX.
Brian gazed out at the scene before him in dull despair. So close were
the ships that he could clearly make out Nuala's figure, with its
shimmering mail and red cloak, on the poop of the foremost.
Her second carack had fallen behind, a shot having sent its foremast
overside, but the other two ships were driving in. All three were
lowering sail, for the Dark Master's craft were unable to get out of the
bay and were giving over the attempt; his disabled ship was sending
over its men to reinforce him, and Brian saw all his own efforts gone
for nothing.
There came a new burst of cannon, and through the veil of smoke he
perceived that Nuala was laying her carack alongside one of the pirate
ships. But it was not that on which stood the Dark Master; his was the
ship closest to the castle, and Lame Art was bearing down on him, while
Shaun the Little stood for the third, spitting out a final broadside as
he came about and lowered sail.
The crowding men on the shore had fallen silent as they watched the
impending conflict, but now Brian felt Cathbarr touch his arm, and
turned.
"Why so doleful, brother?" grinned the giant; though blood dripped into
his beard from a light slash over the brow, his eyes were as clear and
childlike as ever, and the rage of battle had gone from him. "Let us
join in that fight, you and I?"
"Eh?" Brian started, staring at him. "How may that be?"
"Ho, here is our captain given way to despair!" bellowed Cathbarr, and
his fist smote down on Brian's back. "Wake up, brother! We have three
boats here, and we can still strike a blow or two!"
Now Brian wakened to life indeed. He saw the three boats on the shore,
with dead men hanging over them, and leaped instantly into action.
"Push out those boats--get the oars, there!" he shouted, leaping down to
help shove them out. The men saw his intent, and sprang to work with a
howl of delight.
In no long time the dead were flung out, and the boats pushed down until
they were afloat. Brian leaped into one, Cathbarr into another, and men
piled in after them until the craft were almost awash.
An eddy in the veil of smoke that hung over the bay showed Brian that
Lame Art's ship had grappled with that of O'Donnell, and with renewed
confidence thrilling in him, he shouted to his men to get aboard the
O'Malley ship. The Bertragh cannon had ceased to thunder as the ships
came together, but from the ships balls were hailing, musketry was
crackling, and the water was tearing into spurting jets around the
boats.
Brian's men fell to their oars in sorry fashion enough, but they made up
in energy what they lacked in skill. Driving past Nuala's ship, Brian
saw that she had also grappled and that the battle was raging over her
bulwarks, but sorely tempted to turn aside though he was, he waved his
men on.
They rowed close under the ship to which she was fastened, and as they
sped past the O'Donnells saw them, and gave them a scattering volley.
One or two of Brian's men went down, and a cry broke from him as he saw
a round shot heaved over into his third boat, sinking her; then they
were past, and bearing down on Art Bocagh's ship.
"Tyr-owen for O'Malley!"
Cathbarr's bellow rose over the tumult, and his boat crashed into the
waist of the ship just as Brian leaped up into the mizzen-chains. His
feet gained hold on a triced-up port, and as he looked down he saw a
swell heave up the two boats, then bring them down together with a
splintering smash.
The result was dire confusion. None of the men were seamen, but some of
them gained the side of Brian, others scrambled in through the ports,
and more than one of them fell short and went down. Standing in the
sinking boat with the water swirling about his ankles, Cathbarr caught
up his ax and leaped; a moment later Brian was over the bulwarks with
the giant at his side, and the O'Malleys welcomed them with a yell of
joy.
They were badly needed, indeed. The Dark Master had led his men in
furious onslaught across the waist of the ship, and Art Bocagh was being
beaten back to the poop despite his stubborn resistance. Brian saw that
the Dark Master's men far outnumbered Art's, while from the rigging of
each ship musketeers were sending down bullets into the melee. With a
shout, Brian and Cathbarr led their men on the O'Donnell flank, and the
tide of battle turned.
At the first instant the rush of men bore Brian against the Dark Master,
who was fighting like a demon. Brian caught the snarl on the other's
pallid face, and struck savagely; O'Donnell parried the blow with his
skean and returned it, but Brian warded with his left arm and swept down
his blade. The Dark Master flung himself back, but not far enough, and
Brian saw the point rip open the pallid cheek. Even as he pressed his
advantage, however, another surge of men separated them.
Now Brian gave over every thought save that of reaching his enemy again,
and fell on the O'Donnells with stark madness in his face. A pistol
roared into his stubbly beard and the ball carried off his steel cap,
but he cut down the man and pressed into the midst of the pirates,
cutting and thrusting in terrible rage.
At sight of him men bore back; the icy flame in his eyes took the heart
from those who faced him, and behind rose Cathbarr's wild bellows as the
giant hewed through after Brian. Back went the pirates, and farther
back. Brian found that he had cut his way to Lame Art, and with a yell
the forces joined and swept on the Dark Master's men.
O'Donnell had vanished, and now his men were swept back to the bulwarks
and over to their own deck. Here they made a brief stand; then Cathbarr
leaped over into the midst and his ax crushed down two men at once;
Brian followed him, and for an instant it seemed that they would sweep
all before them.
Just then, however, Lame Art toppled from the bulwarks with a bullet
through him from above, and the Dark Master's disappearance was
explained by a rain of grenades that whirled among the O'Malleys. They
gave back in dismay, Brian and Cathbarr were forced after them, and the
Dark Master himself led his men in a mad stream over the bulwarks once
more.
There was no stopping them now. The death of Art Bocagh had disheartened
his men, and amid flashing steel and spurting fire Brian and Cathbarr
retreated to the quarterdeck. Here they had a brief breathing space
until the pirates came at them anew, and with such fury that three of
them gained a footing to one side. Brian went at them with a shout,
thrust one man through the body, sent a second back with his bare fist,
and as the third man struck down at him a pikeman transfixed the man
before the blow could fall.
The boarders drew back, but as they did so a great heave of the grinding
ships broke the hastily flung grapplings. The ships were borne apart,
and the Dark Master with most of his men remained in the waist of the
O'Malley ship.
This gave a new turn to the conflict. O'Donnell had to master the ship
to win free, and when Brian saw this he gave a great laugh and rejoined
Cathbarr. A quick glance around showed him that Nuala was slowly winning
her grappled decks, while Shaun the Little was hanging off and sending
his cannon crashing into the third pirate ship. The two disabled craft
were slowly drawing together with the tide, which was forcing all eight
into the bay, and were pounding away with their guns as they came.
Now the combat resolved itself into a desperate struggle for possession
of the quarterdeck, which Brian and Cathbarr held. The Dark Master's men
swarmed up at them bravely enough, but the ax and sword flashed up and
down, and time after time the Millhaven men fell back, unable to win a
footing. Twice the Dark Master himself led them, snarling with baffled
rage, but the first time a pikeman thrust him down and the second time
Cathbarr's ax glanced from his helm.
O'Donnell reeled back and was lost to sight for a time.
"That was a poor blow," grunted the giant in disgust. "'Ware, brother!
Stand aside!"
Brian leaped away as the men behind him ran out a falcon and sent its
blast into the crowd below in the waist. A dozen men went down under
that storm of death, but almost at the same moment a grenade burst
behind the falcon, and with that Brian was driven back as a keg of
powder tore out half the quarterdeck in a bursting wall of flame and
smoke.
Barely had the shattering roar died out when Brian's reeling senses
caught a wild yell of dismay from his men.
"Fire! The ship is afire forward!"
Brian saw that the grenades had indeed fired the ship forward, while the
explosion had sent the quarterdeck into a burst of fire also, and the
lowered but unfurled sails were roaring up in flame.
Up poured the O'Malleys, and Brian staggered back to the poop. He had a
vision of the great form of Cathbarr heaving up through the smoke,
blackened and bleeding, but with the ax whirling like a leaf and smiting
down men; then Brian gained the poop, helped the giant up, and with the
few men left they turned to drive down the pirates, who were striving
desperately to win the ship before it was too late.
As he stood with Cathbarr at the narrow break of the poop, beating down
man after man, Brian knew that it was only a question of time now, for
the whole ship was breaking into flame forward. Suddenly he felt a tug
at his buff coat, and looked down to see his belt fall away, sundered at
his side by a bullet. He thought little of it, for he had half a dozen
slight wounds, and turned to smite down at a man who had leaped for the
poop; as his sword sheared through helm and skull, there came another
tug, and Brian felt a bullet scrape along his ribs.
The O'Donnells drew back momentarily, and in the brief pause Brian saw
the figure of the Dark Master by the starboard rail in the waist, aiming
up at him with a pistol, while two men behind him were hastily charging
others. Cathbarr saw the action also, and hastily flung Brian aside, but
too late. A burst of smoke flooded over the waist, and Brian caught the
pistol-flash through it, as the ball ripped his left arm from shoulder
to elbow. Then the pirates were at the poop again, and the waist was
shut out by the flooding smoke as the wind drove it down from forward.
With a scant dozen men behind them, Brian and Cathbarr once more beat
the enemy back; the giant swung his ax less lightly now, and seemed to
be covered with wounds, though most of them were slight. Brian still
eyed the waist for another glimpse of the Dark Master, but the smoke was
thick and he could see nothing. In the lull he flung a wan smile at
Cathbarr, who stood leaning on his ax, his mail-shirt shredded and
bloody.
"Are you getting your fill of battle, brother?"
"Aye," grinned the giant, "and we had best swim for it in another minute
or the ship--look! _M'anam an diaoul!_ Look!"
At his excited yell Brian turned, as a ball whistled between them. There
below, in a boat half full of dead, but with two men at the oars, stood
the Dark Master, just lowering his pistol. He flung the empty weapon up
at Brian with a hoarse yell of anger, and passed from sight beneath the
ship's counter, toward the stern.
Realizing only that his enemy was escaping, Brian whirled and darted for
the poop-cabins. He was dimly conscious of a mass of figures behind,
amid whom stood Cathbarr with the ax heaving up and down, then he was in
the cabins. Jerking open the door to the stern-walk, he saw the Dark
Master's boat directly underneath, hardly six feet from him.
"Tyr-owen!" yelled Brian, and dropping his sword, but holding his skean
firmly, he hurdled the stern-walk railing and leaped.
At that wild shout the Dark Master looked up, but he was too late. Brian
hurtled down, his body striking O'Donnell full in the chest and driving
him over on top of the two rowers, so that all four men sprawled out
over the dead. For an instant the shock drove the breath out of Brian,
then he felt a hand close on his throat, and struck out with his skean.
One of the rowers gurgled and fell back, and Brian rolled over just as
steel sank into his side. Giddy and still breathless, he gained his
knees to find the Dark Master thrusting at him from the stern, while at
his side the other rower was rising. Brian brought up his fist, caught
the man full on the chin, and drove him backward over the gunwale. The
lurch of the boat flung the Dark Master forward, Brian felt a sickening
wrench of pain as the sword pierced his shoulder and tore loose from
O'Donnell's hand, then he had clutched his enemy's throat, and his skean
went home.
Spent though both men were, the sting of the steel woke the Dark Master
to a burst of energy. As the two fell over the thwarts, he twisted above
and bore Brian down and tried to break the grip on his throat, but could
not. For the second time in his life Brian felt that he had a wild
animal in his grasp; the sight of the snarling face, the venomous black
eyes, and the consciousness that his own strength was slowly ebbing, all
roused him to a last great effort.
The smoke-pall had shut out everything but that wolfish face, and as he
writhed up even that seemed to dim and blur before his eyes, so that in
desperate fear he struck out again and again, blindly. The blows fell
harmless enough, for all his strength was going into that right hand of
his; he did not know that his fingers were crushing out the Dark
Master's life, that O'Donnell's face was purple and his hands feebly
beating the air.
Brian knew only that the terrible face was hidden from him by some loss
of vision, some horrible failure of sight due to his weakness. Suddenly
there was a great crash at his side, and he thought that a huge ax with
iron twisted around its haft had fallen from the sky and sheared away
half the gunnel of the boat. He struck out again with his skean, and
felt the blow go home--and with that there came a terrific, blinding
roar. The smoke-veil was rent apart by a sheet of flame, Brian realized
that the burning ship must have blown up, and then a blast of hot wind
drove down against him and smote his senses from him.