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VOYAGE OF REPRISAL

by Kevin J. Glynn

Excerpt

They bore down upon the war galleon on a close-hauled tack to windward on sail alone to give the rowers time to conserve their strength. Their course was taking them obliquely across the path of their target which was running before the wind on her mainsails. She appeared to be somewhat larger than the Elanor Rose. She had a full complement of guns including bow and stern chasers. A driving rain was beginning to fall, and large swells were breaking over the Egret’s bow, impeding her headway. The enemy was coming to her, however, guaranteeing an encounter so audaciously sought by Lawton.

“Are you going to tell me what you plan to do?” Fournier yelled to Lawton over the wind. “I hope you don’t intend on ramming her.”

“We won’t ram her, I hope, but when I give the word Yves, I want the Egret to come about on a starboard tack with the rowers pulling hard on the sweeps. We will aim for her bow and then a close pass along her windward side beneath her gun deck batteries.”

“Are you crazy? Look at those bow chasers.”

“I see them. I’m betting they can’t hit us in these heavy seas. They should only have one chance before we are alongside and under their muzzles if you and your men follow my instructions.”

Mon Dieu, you are mad!”

“Are you going to lose heart, Yves? Show me that Gallic fortitude, that Huguenot virtue. Remember Saint Bartholomew’s day!”

“I remember a great slaughter of Protestants by Catholics on that day. Let us not repeat that episode by rushing blindly down yonder ship’s throat.”

“I know you will do the right thing, Yves. I am standing here beside you as a comrade in arms.”

“Do you have a hidden pistol on me like last time?”

“No, sir. Should I?”

“You English have treated me badly on this voyage. You do not trust me, I know. Why did I sign on with you?”

“Do you want to give up your share of the treasure? Let me see, how many silver pesos are you slated for?”

“All right, I understand. Silver won’t help me when I’m dead, though.”

“But you’ll have your honor.”

“You are losing me.”

“I doubt it. Get ready, Yves. Give me a hard starboard tack. Elevate and load the forward chaser with bar shot. Load the starboard guns with round shot.”

Fournier implemented the orders while continuing to grumble under his breath in French. He switched to English. “Why must you always use my pinnace for your reckless ventures? You’ll be the ruin of me yet.”

The crew followed the orders with desperate aplomb. All hands not occupied in manning the sails helped with the sweeps. As the pinnace rose over crests of waves which broke over her bow, cool spray showered her occupants. The ensuing descent into the troughs which followed caused her bow to fall almost the height of a man into watery furrows. At these times, all hands could look up and see the enemy galleon’s imposing form grow ever larger as the two vessels bore down upon each other. The heavy seas caused Willie’s old seasickness to return, exacerbated by his position in the maintop. His vomit trailed aft in the wind, mixing with others’. Once his stomach was empty, however, Willie kept his eyes glued to the Spanish galleon with breathless fascination while dutifully abiding each order to trim sails.

“Row with all your sinews!” Lawton yelled above the wind. “Break your hearts if you have to. Row! Row! Row!”

“She’s running out her chasers,” Bowman yelled from aloft.

“We’re done for,” Fournier wailed.

“Nonsense. If they hit us in these seas, I’ll buy you a cask of wine,” Lawton said. “It’s their broadside that’s apt to kill us.”

“You comfort me so.”

“Here it comes...”

The war galleon’s starboard bow chaser had just erupted in flame. An iron ball was hurled outward from the force of 26 pounds of ignited black powder. The Egret had just tilted over forward for a slide down the back side of a wave. With a high-pitched roar, the demi-cannon’s ball hurtled by less than a yard above the rising stern of the pinnace.

“I saw it...I actually saw the ball go by,” Willie yelled.

“I felt it, too,” Bowman responded. “Ain’t nothing quite like the breeze of a cannon ball.”

“May we never feel it again,” Willie said with a shudder.

“Don’t count on it.”

“I need extra men at the tiller,” Fournier said.

“Stavely, to the tiller,” Lawton called. Stavely took his place at the head of the tiller alongside the helmsman. The sinews of his arms bulged as he threw all his strength against the stubborn timber.

“Get ready the bow chaser,” Lawton cried while trotting toward the bow. “Prepare to fire on my order. Ready a hard tack to windward, Yves.”

Lawton knelt down above the ship’s keel with a gunner’s quadrant and focused over the muzzle of the long culverin. He timed the swells in his head while covering a particular point on the enemy ship at the crest of each wave. He ordered corrective actions on the tiller after each cresting wave passed. Upon the fifth swell, he gave the order to fire. The long culverin jerked backwards and bellowed forth smoke and flames. Two half-balls linked by a bar whirled toward the enemy ship. The whining sound of the shot’s passage decreased in pitch as it gained distance until it smashed into Spanish rigging with a sound of rending wood. Despite the cheering voices, Lawton didn’t pause to gloat over the hit. He turned and stumbled aft.

“Bring her around now, Yves!”

The Egret responded painfully slowly in the high seas. The bow of the war galleon was bearing down upon her. She was so close that she filled the sky. Willie stared with mouth agape at the gigantic crimson crosses and golden crowns embroidering the width of the vast canvas expanse of her maincourse. Scores of helmeted figures could be seen upon her foredeck’s beakhead. Muzzle flashes began flickering from the enemy’s decks as small arms fire broke out. A shout from Bowman brought Willie back to his duties as enemy arquebus balls flew by.

The pinnace turned to windward just in time to avoid a disastrous collision. Fournier was rigid with fright. Lawton had ordered the masts evacuated and the starboard sweeps hauled in just before the close pass with the galleon. The two vessels glided past each other so closely that they scraped hulls. A rain of crossbow bolts and musketry fell upon the pinnace’s open decks. Several screams denoted hits among the English crew from enemy small arms fire. As the pinnace passed amidships to the galleon, Lawton gave the order to fire the starboard broadside. The muzzles of three demi-culverins and three falcons were depressed at maximum angles to hit the enemy hull at or near the waterline. The detonations of English great guns were joined almost immediately by the tremendous peal of a Spanish broadside. Keeping with Lawton’s intent, the Egret’s approach was so close that the Spanish great guns’ firing angles could not be depressed enough to cover the pinnace’s decks or hull. The English upper masts, however, were vulnerable as they passed before the Spanish gun deck. Both masts were blown apart, showering the English deck with shards of shattered timbers and pinioning two men beneath debris. Lawton quickly rallied the uninjured men. They begin clearing debris from critical areas while the Egret’s great guns were reloaded.

The pinnace passed aft of the galleon and steered hard to larboard into the wind to get out of the point-blank killing zone of the enemy’s starboard stern chasers. What sails remained deployed on the pinnace fluttered, luffed, and stalled. Slowly and awkwardly she turned on her sweeps and rudder to resume the attack on the enemy from the rear quarter. For her part, the galleon continued her straight course on the heels of the Elanor Rose as if disdainful of the diminutive opponent’s presence. After her turn to windward was completed, the Egret’s crew bent hard to the sweeps. Their efforts were aided by a spare storm sail being hastily erected upon the shambles of the pinnace’s rigging.

“Let us break off now, I beg you Robert,” Fournier implored. His hair ran crimson from a scalp wound.

“One more thing left to try, Yves, then she is all yours.”

“What in Heaven’s name do you expect to accomplish? We are hopelessly outgunned.”

“You braved a difficult pass back there, Yves. I’m proud of you. It was all for this moment. We have the weather gauge and her weakest link lies before us. Behold, her rudder. Let us ready the bow chaser and prepare for a turn to leeward.”

“Her stern chaser...”

“She has one shot at us before we grant our coup de grace. That is fair. We have time. Load our bow chaser with bar shot. Maximum elevation. Fire on my order. Prepare to load with round shot afterwards. Let’s see how fast your gunners are, Yves.”

The gunners complied. At maximum distance, Lawton fired at the enemy bonaventure mizzen mast. Again, a discharge of whirling ball and bar was flung into enemy rigging, this time from behind. A huge tear opened up in the lower lateen sail above the Spanish halfdeck. Heavy wind action widened the hole until the sail was rendered largely ineffective.

“We’re evening the odds for the `Rose, Yves, that’s what we’re doing.” Lawton gazed at the sky. Diffuse gray light in the west penetrated thick, running clouds. The Elanor Rose was still visible up ahead of the war galleon, closer than before.

Lawton gave the word and Fournier directed the pinnace at the enemy stern. Lawton noted the name of the vessel written upon her stern in large proud letters: Concepcion.

When they were well within effective range, the Spanish starboard stern chaser fired. The iron round shot of the demi-cannon impacted squarely upon the Egret’s bow, punching clean through the hull just above the waterline and into her lower deck. The pinnace began taking on water as her bow plowed over the crest of a wave. Soon her ability to maneuver would be seriously degraded.

“Pull harder, boys,” Lawton cried. “We’ve got to get closer!”

Fournier pointed ahead. “Look, she is preparing a turn to windward. She's going to unleash a broadside on us!”

Lawton ran forward and began aiming the bow chaser in on the rudder. He yelled several times in frustration, urging adjustments of helm to acquire a better aim on the elusive target.

“Her ship master is on to you, Robert, he knows the danger,” Bowman said from his position at the bow chaser. The original gunner lay in a swoon from loss of blood. “He aims to deny his rudder to you while finishing us off with a broadside.”

“Well, she heeds us at last.” Lawton beckoned Bowman to look upon the enemy sails. They were luffing as the ship maneuvered closer into the wind. “Sloppy sailors. We’re doing our job, Bowman, she’s losing speed. It’ll take her some time to reacquire the wind and even longer, now, to catch the `Rose. Let’s see if we can delay her some more.”

Lawton concentrated on his aim while wielding the slowmatch himself. Conveniently for the Spanish, the galleon’s turn to starboard retained the rudder’s narrow edge-on profile relative to the approaching English pinnace. Lawton cursed under his breath as the pinnace bucked under rolling waves. Sensing his final opportunity, Lawton applied the slowmatch to the touch hole. The long culverin fired but the round shot glanced impotently off the enemy stern above the rudder. Lawton had missed his mark. The galleon attained an oblique broadside firing angle on the Egret. She fired.

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©copyright 2001, 2021 by Kevin Glynn. All rights reserved

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