|
Excerpt
Power of a
Carronade
By Ellen Margret
Chapter One
She was large, a third-rate ship of
the line with eighty guns. She emerged out of the heavy fog, the
union flag flying high, a reminder if needed, that this was a
British ship made for war.
The cry came from high up in the
crow’s nest. “Captain, do ye see her off the starboard bow?”
The captain let rip an expletive.
“Damnation, aye, I see her. She’s damned near close enough to spit
at!”
One of the officers ran up to his
captain. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Where the hell did she
come from? She’s much too large to be patrolling these coastal
waters?”
The captain dashed the rain out of
his eyes. “She’s not patrolling Dan. She’s searching and,
unfortunately, it looks as though she’s found what she was looking
for.”
The first mate appeared from below
deck. His jacket was only half on, and he was buckling up his belt.
“Looks like our luck’s run out, Captain. Two weeks of surprise raids
on ten coastal towns, our hold filled to bursting with English beef,
mutton, cider and wheat and our coffers filled with English coin.
And now we’re scuppered.”
“And this was to have been our last
raid before going home,” Dan moaned.
“Shall I tell the men to man the
guns?” the first mate asked.
“Forty guns against eighty, the odds
are stacked against us,” the captain declared. “Raise the anchor,
we’ll have to turn and run.”
“We can’t, the wind is against us,”
the first mate replied. “We’ll have to fight.”
The captain took the wheel and began
to turn the frigate. “We run, Mr. Barker. I cannot risk the lives of
my men.”
“But, Captain, this ship’s nimble
enough to sidle up round that navy ship and maybe get a chance at
raking her.”
“I gave an order, Mr. Barker!” the
captain snapped. He felt the ship beneath him slowly begin to turn
in the churning waves. Uppermost in his thoughts were the lives of
his men. Just over two hundred manned his ship whilst on the naval
vessel there would be closer to seven hundred. Should the ships come
together under grapples, the result would be a foregone conclusion.
“But surely we can punch a few holes
in her, Captain,” the first mate protested.
“No, we concentrate on running.”
“I never had ye down for a coward,”
Barker snorted.
“Hold your tongue, or I’ll shove it
down your throat!” Dan hissed. “The captain gave an order. Obey it.”
“Enough!” the captain yelled.
“Barker, take some men and get to work on the sails!”
Hearing the ominous sounds of cannon
fire, Captain Clayton Welbourne glanced worriedly over his shoulder
just seconds before the shots hit the bulwark. He was thrown against
the ship’s wheel as the frigate keeled in the water. Regaining his
balance, he focused on steering the ship, reasonably confident that
if they could weather a few hits then they might just make it to the
open sea. But his optimism was short-lived when suddenly the dense
fog before him parted like a giant curtain. And there, in its
fearsome splendor, was the Euphemia, another third-rater. He
knew this ship, he had seen before, he knew her power, and because
of it, he knew that he and his men had absolutely no chance of
escape.
Within minutes, the Euphemia
had the smaller frigate well and truly grappled. Men swarmed from
the naval vessel onto Clayton’s ship. Clay had expected to be given
the opportunity to surrender, but the offer was not made. The
captain of the Euphemia was already coming at him with his
sword drawn.
Clay pulled out his sword, but his
intention was to surrender, given the chance. He saw the captain’s
face suddenly contort in disbelief. And he knew why.
“By God, Welbourne, is it you
who captain’s this ship?”
Clay stared into the face of the man
who had once been his good friend. “Aye, Jonathan, you stand upon my
ship.”
“Bastard, you are a traitor to your
own country!”
Clay saw the hatred in the other
man’s eyes. It went deep, and yet, aside from the war, he knew not
why it was there.
“We’ve been after this ship for days,
but the last man I expected to see was you. But then, I suppose that
I shouldn’t be surprised. No scruples, no morals, no idea of how to
behave in society. Bah, you’re no gentleman. You’re a ruddy pirate.”
“I prefer to be called a privateer,
and this is my ship, Belchamp.”
“And it’s a ship that you shall sail
no more, you filthy bastard!”
Clay took a step toward Jonathan
Belchamp and held out his sword, hilt first. “Captain Belchamp, I
surrender my ship to you. There need be no bloodshed.”
Belchamp grimaced as he took the
sword. “I want you to fight me, Welbourne. For all the hurt that you
caused my sister, I demand satisfaction, and I demand it right now.”
Clay’s brows drew together. “Hurt
her? Damn it, I loved her.”
PDF Ebook
HTML Ebook
PRINT
|
