Musketry crackled about the deck and there was already a cloud of smoke obscuring a group of the marines who were reloading. But the Sunbeam’s company would not give them time for another volley. McMinn dived into the smoke, a cutlass swinging as he jumped. The ring of weapons clashing and the screams of men, both angry and hurt, sounded through the encroaching dawn. Jack ran after the Irishman, the hanger Horner had given him in his hand. He was soon in a world of yelling and fury, the occasional discharge of a pistol sounding in his ears. A big bearded sailor crossed swords with him but he was past him quickly, shoving him back into the crowd of men. Jack had sight of the man who must be Spicer. A slender fellow, not tall, probably a full head shorter than Jack himself, wearing a plain blue jacket with no braid to show his rank, but shouting orders that betrayed it anyway, Spicer was standing mid-deck, his thin face pale, the blood drained with either fear or sheer rage.

Jack confronted him and would have run him through straight away if Spicer had not been so nimble. He was sharp with his sword too, whipping it round under Jack’s so that Jack was forced to jump back himself. But he too was quick, even if he did not have Spicer’s skill with the blade. He had moved before Spicer could thrust again and rather than try to stab him, he threw a punch. Spicer was forced back against the mast.

The noise had lessened and the sailors had clearly been pushed back. The deck in front of Jack was clearing. Some of the pirates were now hastening the departure of the matelots with pistol fire. But Spicer’s route was cut off by Jack and others of the company, who had come up to fight and to reset the sails so that the Sunbeam would not be liable to battery once the sailors had returned to their own ship, if they could. The confused melee on the deck was all but over. Spicer had no one to rely on but his own self.

Jack moved forward and he could see Spicer’s eyes darting this way and that. He thrust once at Jack and then as he tried to rush past him, slipped. He kept his feet, but he was open to the pirate’s blade. Jack stuck him in the shoulder and he dropped his blade, pain drawing his face into a grimace.

Yield, Jack shouted. Yield that you might live.

Spicer coughed in the drifting smoke. I would rather die, you dog. He went for his sword but it was near enough to Jack’s feet and it was easy to kick it aside.

The naval man called out to his crew but no one seemed to hear. Jack could see the fight go out of him and now he could almost smell the man’s fear. But as he went to swing at the naval officer, a musket cracked behind him. Unnerved, he jerked his head back as he swung, and his blade glanced off Spicer’s face, leaving a cut that would surely scar but would not kill him. Spicer threw his hands up to his face and Jack drew his arm back to strike again. He regretted the murder but it had to be done. Strike true, dog, Spicer said. Before he could, someone barged into him and knocked him onto his knees. He half turned and saw that it was Horner, unarmed, facing a bearded tar with a musket, with which he seemed fully ready to bash Horner senseless.

Forgetting Spicer for a moment, he dragged Horner out of harm’s way as the musket descended, and smashed the tar across the teeth with his sword. The tar staggered back and Horner was upon him, knocking him to the deck. Horner had seen Spicer’s hanger and grabbed it. The tar may have wished to plead but his ruined mouth would no longer work even for begging, and Horner would in any case spare him no mercy.

Jack turned back to Spicer but he was gone. He could see him running up the deck, many yards away, his hand to his face. He did not give chase. There was no need to kill him now: the battle was over and the navy men were already gone from the deck. They were beaten and could do nothing other than leave their couple of bodies and go. Their pride was shattered. The pirates jeered at them as they rowed for their ship, giving them desultory and entirely inaccurate pistol fire to see them on their way. Jack could not say which would hurt more for Spicer: the ruin of his face or the humiliation of being run off by the pirates.