“What in God’s name are you doing?” Lord William at last acknowledged Sharpe. “My wife’s aboard! Have a care with that gun, you fool! Who the devil are you?”

“We were introduced not an hour ago, my lord,” Sharpe said. “Richard Sharpe is the name.” He fired and the pistol ball splintered a timber of the boat just on the water line between the recalcitrant skipper and his passengers. Lady Grace put a hand to her mouth in alarm, but the ball had harmed no one, merely holed the boat so that the Indian had to stoop to plug the damage with a thumb. Sharpe began to reload. “Row on, you bastard!” he shouted.

The Indian glanced behind as if judging the distance to the shore, but Hopper ordered his crew to back water and the barge slowly moved behind the two boats, cutting them off from land. Lord William seemed too astonished to speak, but just stared indignantly as Sharpe rammed a second bullet down the short barrel.

The Indian did not want another ball cracking into his boat and so he suddenly sat and shouted at his men who began pulling hard on their oars. Hopper nodded approvingly. “Twixt wind and water, sir. Captain Chase would be proud of you.”

“Between wind and water?” Sharpe asked.

“You holed the bastard on the water line, sir. It’ll sink him if he doesn’t keep it stopped up.”

Sharpe gazed at her ladyship who, at last, turned to look at her rescuer. She had huge eyes, and perhaps they were the feature that made her seem so sad, but Sharpe was still astonished by her beauty and he could not resist giving her a wink. She looked quickly away. “She’ll remember my name now,” he said.

“Is that why you did it?” Hopper asked, then laughed when Sharpe did not answer.

Lord William’s boat drew up to the Calliope first.