The Sickbay Rangers log This morning started with a Sail ho!. A sail is spotted on the horizon to the west. We have been sent to investigate. We are running free with our studding sails set and once again cleared for action. Since the French incursion we have been able to clear for action faster and faster. Our little powder monkeys are like little whippets scampering back and forward between gun and magazine. The captain has called me to the quarterdeck as we are approaching our mystery sail. He is not happy with me. Evidently I should be fully armed with pistol and cutlass ready to do battle in a boarding. It never crossed my mind that I should prepare this early. Our mystery sail has taken to his heels and is running North by East. We are closing slowly but surely. Our carronade is readied and the midshipman in charge of the forward gun deck is hurrahing and urging the ship on. The purser is still turned into his cot after yesterdays squashing by a falling jack tar. He is complaining bitterly that he has been assaulted by a seaman and nobody is listening to his moaning. One of his assistants is rushing around trying to keep him happy and in his bed. Just after lunch the ship was identified as a French merchant man and we were sent in to investigate. She is the Fleur, a privateer. After a long chase we finally get a shot into her stern with our forward carronade. Then a second and she slews round her rudder shattered her steering crew dead or wounded. She is not ready to surrender though. As we close a ragged broadside is fired and a couple of shot make it inboard of us. Tom Hardy is cut in half by a ball and one of the powder monkeys loses a leg as the ball passes close by him as he rushes about. We return his broadside with one of our own. His mizzen mast is carried away and a part of his quarterdeck gunwale is smashed. A second broadside shudders her as it strikes and timbers fly high into the afternoon sky. We close her and come alongside. It is at this moment that the captain cries, away borders. A number of our men lead by the captain and myself leap onto the enemy deck. The crew are dazed and take a while to realise that we are amongst them. A short but bloody battle ensues and their captain, although wounded, offers our captain his sword. Our captain accepts and the battle is over. I am to stupefied to show any elation. Sickened by the limbless torsos and blood soaked deck and the smells brought about by the fighting. We make our way back onboard and set about getting underway again. Darkness is settling like a blanket over the scene of battle. After completing my duties I retire to the cuddy. I am tired out. So its off to me ammock and a night night shipmate from me
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 01:14:20 +0000
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