Dead Aft To The Wind

“Captain,” cried Mr. Gowen.  “Diego be now turnin' starboard on us. I think he be plannin' another volley.”

          “Our best position is straight away with full sail.  We are not close enough for Diego to feel the full fury of our wrath,” he declared still assessing the best strategy for this conflict.

          “Aye, aye captain,” shouted Mr. Gowen.

          Arriving on the quarterdeck, Nathaniel asked Mr. Gowen at what time he thought an attack would begin.

          “Mr. Kirk, ye tell me what yer calculation’ be tellin' ye.”

          “Spyglass if you please.”  The sun was about to break but it was still quite misty.  A patch of fog cleared and he saw the Trinidad four-hundred yards astern.  Just then, a flash of fire came from their adversary, then another, and another.  The whistling iron grew progressively louder seeking to destroy as it flew into the blue foggy mist.

          “Why are they firing with bow chasers?” questioned Nathaniel as much to himself as to Mr. Gowen.

          “He be a crazy buccaneer. Thar be nay tellin’ what he might be up to but mor’ than likely he be wantin’ our rudder to be outta action.”

          Another canon fired a projectile making a screaming sound.  Instead of a cannonball, it was chain shot, a series of chains connected to bars that was designed to cause maximum sail and rigging damage.  It made its mark on the mizzen topgallant sail shredding it to mere strands of canvas.  Within seconds, they heard another ball hit the aft mast and clunk to the quarterdeck.  It was an eight-pounder and curiously began rolling up to Nathaniel’s boots and stopped short.

          “Nay much power in that eight-pounder I tell ye,” declared Gowen with a smile.

          The Trinidad turned port broadside and, within seconds of range, more thundering explosions came from her. The white flash enveloped the red-orange flare from which the cannonballs flew.  Six eight-pounders ripped through the sails.  Another one fell short of its mark spraying the stern of the ship with salt water.  The next thing the captain heard was a crack on the starboard forequarter.  “Mr. Gowen,” screamed the captain.  “That was no eight pounder that hit us,” feeling the jarring thud.  "Find out the damage we’ve incurred.”

          As soon as Mr. McDougal heard Mr. Gowen’s order, he was on his way to assay the damage.  There be no way to come outta that unscathed...