Black Sam - Prince of Pirates

Thirty-Three - THE GALLEON

Thirty-Three - THE GALLEON

December 1716

Sam yanked on one of the rigging lines and tied it around the belaying pin on the port side railing. He looked up into the sails, satisfied it would hold, and then walked to the bow of the ship where he joined La Buse and Paulgrave.

Sam looked toward the galleon. “Is Blackbeard powdering his cheeks?”

La Buse and Paulgrave both turned to Sam with questioning looks.

Sam smiled. “Good name, right?”

La Buse shook his head as a slight grin formed on his face.

“It definitely fits,” Paulgrave said with a chuckle, handing his scope to Sam.

“He won’t be flattered by it, and so I love it,” La Buse said.

Sam looked through the scope. “We’re closing fast.”

La Buse straightened his hat. “Maybe too fast.”

“I didn’t think there was such a thing as too fast,” Paulgrave said.

“The Spanish are cunning, and unpredictable,” La Buse said.

Sam lowered the scope. “They do what it takes, just like we do.”

“Is that so?” Hornigold stepped to the railing and watched the Spanish ship.

“Do you have any advice for two sailors still wet behind the ears?” Sam asked, hoping to gain favor with Hornigold.

After a moment, the Captain turned to Sam, his face serious. “Try not to get killed.” Sam smiled and waited for Hornigold to crack, but he did not. Paulgrave shrugged.

“That’s… really… sound advice,” Sam said looking back to Hornigold.

Hornigold nodded, and then raised the scope back to his eye.

Now feeling uneasy Sam and Paulgrave stood in silence. Hornigold’s advice might have been humorous coming from someone else, but from Hornigold it could have meant anything; even a threat. It was clear to Sam from the beginning that Hornigold was not thrilled about him and Paulgrave joining his crew. He had guessed that the Captain felt threatened, and so he made efforts to try to smooth Hornigolds ruffled feathers. Apparently it did not work.

A heavy aroma of spent gunpowder filled the air. Sam turned to see Edward dressed as his dark persona. Black eyes filtered by swirls of gray smoke. His black beard tied in three separate tails with black ribbons. He seemed to float toward them on a cloud of smoke. When it came to his quest of putting the fear of god in all men, he was doing a fine job. After all, who ever heard of a man that wanted to fight the devil?

Sam was transfixed as he watched Edward tie guns to ribbons.

“When you’re ready,” Hornigold said.

Pulled free from Edward’s gravity, Sam cleared his throat. “Pardon me, Captain.”

Hornigold turned to Paulgrave. “You two will follow the crew aboard. Make sure everyone boards quickly; we need to overwhelm these Spaniards. La Buse, you are with me.”

“Oui, Capitaine.” La Buse followed Hornigold to the bow of the ship.

Sam gave him a nod, and then he and Paulgrave walked back to amidships. They watched as Hornigold adorned his neck with ribbons already attached to their pistols. Sam and Paulgrave grabbed two pistols each and checked to see if they were loaded. Paul leaned toward Sam and whispered. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Nor do I,” Sam said. “But this is part of our deal. Keep your nose clean, and stay alive.”

“Yeah,” Paulgrave said with a ghostly white face.

Sam took a deep breath and watched as one of the men raised Edward’s flag to the top of the flagpole. Sam looked to the Galleon, and noticed that her crew seemed to move about in a panic. It was different however, than the panic he saw among Nigel’s crew, before Sam boarded their ship. It seemed more like organized chaos. His crew seemed to adjust the sails continually in order to find more speed. It was useless however, as Hornigold had her without question.

The Mary Anne’s bow had barely come even with the stern of the Galleon when the Spanish fired their cannon. Edward’s fear tactic could not have worked any better as Sam witnessed cannon after cannon firing freely into the open sea. The Mary Anne’s gunnery held fast, waiting for the right moment. Edward stood motionless staring at the terrified enemy. Some of whom built up enough mettle to fire rifles at the devil. None found their targets.

Below deck, you could hear the gunnery sergeant yell out commands, and a succession of cannon fire commenced. Sharpshooters located up high on yardarms, and in the crow’s nest fired away at the sailors on the Galleon’s deck. Cannon balls devastated bulwarks sending wooden shrapnel like arrows into soft flesh. Swivel cannons fired grapeshot into the fray. One devastating shot tore a man’s leg completely off his body.

Edward tossed a grappling hook up over a yardarm and pulled it tight to ensure its grip. He jumped up onto the rail and turned to his crew. “Expect no quarter, and give none back.” He then swung across to the Galleon followed by Hornigold, La Buse, and the rest of the crew. No man needed coercion to board quickly, which fueled Sam’s suspicion that Hornigold had sent them to the back to keep them from the action.

Finally onboard Sam and Paulgrave looked to join the fight but found that there wasn’t much of one left. Sam felt somewhat disappointed as the short-lived rush dissipated. With the top deck under control, Hornigold ordered Sam and Paulgrave below with the job of clearing the lower deck. They climbed down the hatch and into the main hold. It was dark, and the lingering cannon smoke made visibility difficult.

Thoroughly checking every nook and cranny, Sam and Paulgrave carefully moved about until they came upon a table knocked to its side. They froze when they heard a scuffle coming from the other side. A man popped up and fired his pistol just before Sam and Paulgrave opened fire, sending the Spaniard crashing to the rough wood floor in a lifeless heap.

With his pistol now spent, Sam whipped out his sword.

Paulgrave tried but grabbed his shoulder wincing in pain. He reached into his jacket under his shirt, and then pulled his hand out, covered in blood.

Sam sheathed his sword. “Where are you hit?” Not thinking, Sam put his hand on the wounded arm. Paulgrave’s face contorted as he growled through clenched teeth and knocked Sam’s hand away. “Damn you!”

“Sorry, but we need to get the bullet out.”

Paulgrave shook his head. “You’re not touching it.”

Sam put his hand on Paulgrave’s good arm. “Paul, you could lose your arm.”

“I need a doctor,” Paulgrave said.

Sam shook his head. “You know as well as I do that we don’t have one.”

“Sure, but they might,” he said pointing to the man lying prostrate on the ground. He grimaced in pain and held his arm; he looked down at the wound then proceeded to rip the sleeve off. “Help me.”

Sam tied the sleeve around Paulgrave’s arm just above the wound.

Paulgrave unsheathed his sword with his good arm, “Now, let’s finish clearing this deck.”