Jaded Tides (The Razor's Adventures Pirate Tales) by P.S. Bartlett Page B
Authors: P.S. Bartlett
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bowsprit crosses her stern.”
“What about the warning shot, Captain?” James asked. “She’ll most likely fire on us again.”
“What’s your point, Robertson?” Rasmus asked.
“Well, sir, I’m familiar with navigating merchant ships. I’m not accustomed to being shot at.”
Rasmus reached into his baldric and pulled one of his loaded pistols. “Not that this will do a heap of good, but it might keep ye from feeling helpless,” he said, placing the pistol in James’s hand.
“Captain, I’m afraid I’ve never fired a weapon like this before. I’m a swordsman, sir,” James said, awkwardly holding the pistol by the barrel.
“Give it to Razor. He knows how to fire it.” My eyes, which had been locked on the position of the barely visible sandbar in the darkness, snapped open like clamshells, and I spun my head around. When I met Rasmus’s gaze, a restrained smile covered my lips, and I pressed them tightly together. I could not, however, control the pleasure in my eyes; nor could he, as I removed the dangling weapon from James’s hand, stuffed it in my belt, and spun back to the gunnel. There was no way I was losing sight of that lump of sand.
We gained on her fast. The closer we came to her, the difficulty of holding the spyglass and my balance as we crossed over the swells from her wake caused my straining leg muscles to tremble. I was alive, and I believed I could feel every drop of blood in my body racing through my veins as my heart thumped and pushed it out. Then, when the first of a barrage of musket fire began whizzing over my head, I was afraid I wouldn’t be alive much longer.
“Razor, give me the spyglass and get to the helm. There’s no more time. We have to push her hard to port now or change our plan immediately!” James took the spyglass and I flew from the forecastle to the helm in a matter of seconds and gave the order to come around tightly starboard and push Belle , if necessary, to force her hard to port.
The risk of doing this in the dark, with the added danger of the damage we may incur due to coming so close to ramming her, was now an afterthought. The rush of coming alongside so close we could almost touch her, and watching her crew scrambling as our gun ports opened and every swivel gun on our deck was manned and turned, aiming right at them, was palpable. The smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air from her fruitless musket blasts, and then, the eeriest and most miraculous thing happened. That wind was back.
I looked up, and one by one, every sail on every mast filled until the rattle of the lines ceased and they were pulled so tight I feared they’d snap. That marvelous exhale from God himself gave the Jade just enough of a shove to nose into the bow of the Belle , and like a rutting horse, she brushed firmly against it, and the Belle began to turn portside.
The crew of the Jade erupted in cheers and howls of victory as the Belle came about so sharply she began listing to port. I gasped at the thought she might topple over, but that bloody bastard wind caught her and pushed her upright. Fortunately, that gust also gave her a hard shove headlong and due west. With the next gust, like a bow releasing an arrow, she shot forward, aiming dead on for the sand bar.
As we veered off, and the helmsman struggled to hold our course, Rasmus blew by me as if shot from a cannon and took the wheel. “Hold her tight, man! We have to slow her down before we come about, or we’ll go belly up!” he wailed as he pulled to keep her bow pointing south and parallel to the now almost invisible stretch of land. “Green, get those sails reefed and tie ‘em off! Where’s Robertson? What’s our speed? We can’t come about until we get her down to four knots!”
Rasmus’s cries began to fade as I ran back to the quarterdeck and up the gangway, when I heard the screams and shouts being carried across the black water from the Belle. She was a good two hundred yards away now and
“What about the warning shot, Captain?” James asked. “She’ll most likely fire on us again.”
“What’s your point, Robertson?” Rasmus asked.
“Well, sir, I’m familiar with navigating merchant ships. I’m not accustomed to being shot at.”
Rasmus reached into his baldric and pulled one of his loaded pistols. “Not that this will do a heap of good, but it might keep ye from feeling helpless,” he said, placing the pistol in James’s hand.
“Captain, I’m afraid I’ve never fired a weapon like this before. I’m a swordsman, sir,” James said, awkwardly holding the pistol by the barrel.
“Give it to Razor. He knows how to fire it.” My eyes, which had been locked on the position of the barely visible sandbar in the darkness, snapped open like clamshells, and I spun my head around. When I met Rasmus’s gaze, a restrained smile covered my lips, and I pressed them tightly together. I could not, however, control the pleasure in my eyes; nor could he, as I removed the dangling weapon from James’s hand, stuffed it in my belt, and spun back to the gunnel. There was no way I was losing sight of that lump of sand.
We gained on her fast. The closer we came to her, the difficulty of holding the spyglass and my balance as we crossed over the swells from her wake caused my straining leg muscles to tremble. I was alive, and I believed I could feel every drop of blood in my body racing through my veins as my heart thumped and pushed it out. Then, when the first of a barrage of musket fire began whizzing over my head, I was afraid I wouldn’t be alive much longer.
“Razor, give me the spyglass and get to the helm. There’s no more time. We have to push her hard to port now or change our plan immediately!” James took the spyglass and I flew from the forecastle to the helm in a matter of seconds and gave the order to come around tightly starboard and push Belle , if necessary, to force her hard to port.
The risk of doing this in the dark, with the added danger of the damage we may incur due to coming so close to ramming her, was now an afterthought. The rush of coming alongside so close we could almost touch her, and watching her crew scrambling as our gun ports opened and every swivel gun on our deck was manned and turned, aiming right at them, was palpable. The smell of gunpowder still lingered in the air from her fruitless musket blasts, and then, the eeriest and most miraculous thing happened. That wind was back.
I looked up, and one by one, every sail on every mast filled until the rattle of the lines ceased and they were pulled so tight I feared they’d snap. That marvelous exhale from God himself gave the Jade just enough of a shove to nose into the bow of the Belle , and like a rutting horse, she brushed firmly against it, and the Belle began to turn portside.
The crew of the Jade erupted in cheers and howls of victory as the Belle came about so sharply she began listing to port. I gasped at the thought she might topple over, but that bloody bastard wind caught her and pushed her upright. Fortunately, that gust also gave her a hard shove headlong and due west. With the next gust, like a bow releasing an arrow, she shot forward, aiming dead on for the sand bar.
As we veered off, and the helmsman struggled to hold our course, Rasmus blew by me as if shot from a cannon and took the wheel. “Hold her tight, man! We have to slow her down before we come about, or we’ll go belly up!” he wailed as he pulled to keep her bow pointing south and parallel to the now almost invisible stretch of land. “Green, get those sails reefed and tie ‘em off! Where’s Robertson? What’s our speed? We can’t come about until we get her down to four knots!”
Rasmus’s cries began to fade as I ran back to the quarterdeck and up the gangway, when I heard the screams and shouts being carried across the black water from the Belle. She was a good two hundred yards away now and
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