Bellerophon's Champion by John Danielski

Author:John Danielski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
Published: 2019-04-24T08:00:00+00:00

Wilson was glad that his knees had stopped shaking. His nerves were on fire and he wanted to run, but the sight of the boy Higgins standing firm put enough resolve into him to keep him fixed in place.

He would do nothing until the confusion of battle took over and he had a safe opportunity to disappear. There would be plenty of wounded, and a large splinter held in place by a suitably bloodied bandage would give him the cover to exit the deck as yet another sad casualty. All he had to do was stay on deck long enough to give two commands: “Fire” and “Reload in quick time.” He could manage that.

The ring on his finger seemed to glow faintly, though that was probably his fevered imagination. He also could have sworn that he felt a slight vibration in it when he was contemplating ways to outfox propriety. It was ridiculous how superstition played tricks when your life was at stake. Whether the ring was a bringer of good fortune or just a bauble with a legend, it was soothing to believe it his ally, since he needed all the luck he could get.

Bhummp, Bhummp! Two French round shot bounced twice and smashed open the spare ammunition chests, spraying powder onto the deck. Two alert ships boys rushed over and began industriously swabbing the powder with wet brooms to ensure that it stayed inert.

Cooke was operating on instinct now, using his intuition to judge the exact moment to open fire. He briefly fingered the St. Christopher medal in his pocket and thought of his wife. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Cumby, no further course adjustments.” His first officer relayed the order to Overton, who in turn passed it to Ferguson at the wheel.

Cooke had chosen his course expertly. A three hundred yard gap had opened between Bahama and what appeared to be Montañés, a virtual sister ship. He had navigated his vessel to pass through its exact center. The range to both Spanish ships would be musket shot: 150 yards.

The wind had almost vanished. The lack of wind had been a problem all morning, but now it would be an advantage. The ship’s speed was slow enough that Cooke would have the opportunity to rake Bahama’s stern with several broadsides and pour an equal weight of metal in to the bow of Montañés.

Bellerophon had taken damage aloft, mainly severed stays and shrouds, the principal visible result being the dangerous swaying of her mizzen t’gallant mast. But her sails were still functional and the casualties among the crew were fewer than he expected. The men’s spirits were excellent; if anything, they were even more eager than he to have a good long bash at the enemy.

Cooke realized that he was blessed with a moment that all captains prayed for but few were ever granted. He was engaged in a major fleet action with exactly the right weapon, at precisely the right spot, at just the optimum moment to deliver a devastating fusillade which might well be talked of for centuries.

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