Ships of War

The cannon upon Phaeton let go, a full barrage, one thump meticulously levied after the other. Cooper could only delight as he accounted the din, a rolling broadside. It seemed Douglas was sharp, the man he had thought him to be. With the wind on their back, he could wholly imagine how seamlessly Phaeton had slipped upon États de Bourgogne, only to audaciously bear away before even a shot might be returned.

Cooper dutifully counted each report, ever lost within a thunderous volley of insistent huffs. It was a great storm swelling, a faraway clamour, each shot furiously echoing within the mix of a tempest intensifying. The harbour bore a skyline of smoke, dull and dark. Yet beckoning within, lurking, a striking of sparked fire in fury rose. The rumbling attested the swelling absence of calm, a chorus of faint sirens whistling the approach of heightened foes. From far away the shrill loomed, ever increasing, a flock of screeching predators swooping upon its prey. Great thumps echoed within the tops, the whumping puff of the canvas exhaling as the iron trespassed upon the great wings. Thrashing and pitching, the shots burst, unrelenting, the indignity of each ball daring to harass the heart of the beast. The tally cruelly reverberated, a crescendo imposed upon each and every inch of the deck, finally drowned within the stillness of the sea. As the balls effortlessly passed, the canvas departed, shredded, crying aloud as sheets randomly tore under the tautness of the breeze. Hazarded upon the oaks, splinters erupted. In kind the timber hideously wailed, the great logs forking the exposed arms, yards and stays, rods and ropes, all hopelessly rent. Oh how she ever groaned, whining, a beast in despair until finally the failing cracks horrendously sought to give way. A man fell screaming into the sea, most likely a lookout from the masthead. They never saw him rise. Piled upon his back followed the weight entire of the tops, chasing madly into the depths. It was a deluge of debris, an entanglement of wreckage scored amongst smatterings of lumber and smouldering canvas. To the harbour it all plummeted, no less a great sized hailstorm sweeping a winter’s day.

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