Heart of Steele by Brad Strickland, THOMAS E. FULLER

to ignore. I finally surfaced from the terrible reality around me long enough to recognize one of the voices. Mr. Tate was crowing his head off as he pounded his way through the packed pirates clustered around the captain.
    “They be comin’, sir! Can you not hear the drum? They be comin’!” he yelled, pushing men twice his size out of his way.
    “Who’s coming, Mr. Tate?” Captain Hunter said, never taking his eyes from the great dripping H on the side of the little church.
    “The Spanish, Cap’n, that’s who! The road east to Santiago is crawlin’ with Spanish steel! Soldiers and cavalry, comin’ at the double!”
    “Aye, it’s a trap!” snarled Uncle Patch. “A trap with jaws of steel closing on our necks!”
    “There’s a west road,” the captain said, finally tearing his gaze from the church. “How fares it?”
    “Another river of bloody Spaniard steel, Cap’n!” called Ezra Adain, one of the gunners’ mates,running with his men from the opposite direction. “They must have started marching days ago to be here now! Someone sent word of what was goin’ to happen. We’ve been betrayed!”
    “Back to the
Aurora?”
Captain Hunter thundered, brandishing his cutlass back toward the harbor. “It’s only a trap if we’re foolish enough to stay in it! Run, you sea dogs, run!”
    And run we did, pelting like madmen to the boats that rode on the polluted blue water. Fast we flew, oars stabbing into the very soul of the sea. Now we could all hear the drums, rumbling up from the converging roads. I imagined I even heard their boots, rising and falling, and my fevered mind swore I saw the sunlight flashing off silver breastplates and helmets, with the gold-and-crimson banner of Spain over all.
    “Row, curse ye, row!” Mr. Jeffers howled at his men. “The dons be indifferent sailors but the fiercest soldiers in the world! Remember Antwerp and row!”
    Antwerp. My old tutor, Mr. Home, had taught me the history of that sad city. Over one hundred years ago the soldiers of Philip II, he who had sentthe Great Armada against England, had marched into the rebellious city of Antwerp. When they had marched out again, the city was destroyed and its people dead. Lord deliver us from the Spanish Fury.
    Up the sides of the
Aurora
we scrambled, leaving our boats to tow behind. Our sails were up and just catching the wind when the first of the Spaniards burst out through the gutted white buildings of San Angel. Even across the water, I could hear their shouts of outrage and despair. I felt my face grow red with shame. They thought we were the villains who had slaughtered the innocents, like King Herod in the Bible. Their muskets roared out at us, but we were already out of range and beating out to sea.
    We had cleared the long island that had failed to protect San Angel, and it looked as if we might be free. Then the second trap sprang.
    “Sails, Cap’n!” came a loud cry from our truncated mainmast, and I spied a spindly arm pointing beyond our stern.
    Captain Hunter turned and shaded his eyes with his hand. “Hardly seems fair, when you think about it.”
    Two heavily armed Spanish barks were standing in, racing toward the harbor passage on a quartering west wind. They flew huge red-and-gold banners and their sides were studded with too many guns.
    “Saints!” my uncle snarled. “They should not be floating under the weight of so many bloody cannons, let alone closing on us!”
    “The dons have always demanded good value for their gold, and they’ve always had a lot of gold,” Captain Hunter replied. “Mr. Tate! Run up a Spanish flag and let’s see if we can at least confuse our friends! Mr. Alonzo! On deck, sir, your services may soon be needed! Mr. Jeffers! Man your guns but keep the men below the bulkhead! Stand by, all! If you have any prayers, now would be a good time for them!”
    I watched the men come pouring up on the deck in threes and fours and heard Mr. Jeffers whispering harshly to them as