fear.
Had he done something to lead Bull to believe he had a special concern for Adam? He would have to guard his expressions better to avoid having his crew think he had gone soft.
“So you believe the boy can do his duty?” Will asked, his voice harsher than he intended.
“He will or I’ll toss him over the side meself,” Bull said. Then his tone softened, “It’s his first battle, Captain. Everyone has to have a first battle.”
Truer words were never spoken. Will’s stomach roiled as he remembered his own first battle on the HMS Triumph in the last days of the French and Indian War. Until then, the life of a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy had seemed easy compared to that of an officer in the army. On a ship, one could spend days on end without so much as spotting the enemy. Battles often lasted only a short time, and some captains struck their colors after the first warning shot across their bow.
Then he witnessed first-hand the carnage left behind when ships of war engaged in a full offensive, and he knew the illusion of a bloodless battle to be just that, an illusion.
However, the real test of character was not to quell one’s fear before battle, but to perform one’s duties during battle in spite of the fear. He still held out hope that Adam would do himself credit.
He could read the name on the back of the merchant ship now. Duckworth.
The boy would soon have his opportunity.
With any luck, the Amanda could rake the side of the larger ship and then draw past before the merchant ship’s twenty-four-pounders made toothpicks out of her. The superior speed of his Baltimore schooner over a heavily laden merchantman gave him more than enough advantage to overcome the mismatch in firepower. However, not every captain had as much skill at leveraging that advantage. Nor as much luck.
Time slowed. Every eye focused on the captain. Every ear, alert for his next order. Even the wind whistling through the rigging quieted as though to listen for the captain’s command.
“Fire!” Will’s cry split the silence and bounced across the deck a fraction of a second before a series of explosions rocked the small ship. The pungent aroma of spent gunpowder permeated the air.
Several of the shots fell clear, but a number of them hit their mark in a spray of splinters.
Although clearly better armed, the merchantman’s crew didn’t appear to be well-trained or well-supplied. Many of the enemy’s guns were not fired, and those few that were, fell short. Tell-tale shouts of confusion rang across the short expanse of sea separating the two ships.
“Above the water line, men!” Will yelled, before ordering the helmsman to bring the ship around. “We don’t want to sink our prize before we get a chance to see what she offers, do we?”
A raucous cry rose from the deck. A good sign for a new crew.
The Amanda came about to take another shot at her prey, giving the men time to reload the guns. Will spent the few minutes of respite considering his good fortune to have a crew so hearty and capable and a merchant ship so defenseless on which to cut their teeth.
Crews aboard a privateer were neither pressed into service nor required to serve for a specified length of time. Many men returned to shore once they had made enough money to pay off their debts or start a new life. For sailors aboard a skilled privateer, it often didn’t take more than a year or two.
Still others stayed on, either for patriotic or personal reasons. With each new voyage, Will prayed he would have enough seasoned sailors joined by willing, capable new hands to continue the almost legendary string of the Amanda’s successes. A lucky captain was a good thing, a skilled crew even better.
Will laughed when Bull sent a sailor sprawling to the deck with a boot to his backside. Never vicious in his discipline, when he felt the men were shirking their duties, Bull made sure they knew it.
He had been crew master on a whaler, but eager to
Had he done something to lead Bull to believe he had a special concern for Adam? He would have to guard his expressions better to avoid having his crew think he had gone soft.
“So you believe the boy can do his duty?” Will asked, his voice harsher than he intended.
“He will or I’ll toss him over the side meself,” Bull said. Then his tone softened, “It’s his first battle, Captain. Everyone has to have a first battle.”
Truer words were never spoken. Will’s stomach roiled as he remembered his own first battle on the HMS Triumph in the last days of the French and Indian War. Until then, the life of a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy had seemed easy compared to that of an officer in the army. On a ship, one could spend days on end without so much as spotting the enemy. Battles often lasted only a short time, and some captains struck their colors after the first warning shot across their bow.
Then he witnessed first-hand the carnage left behind when ships of war engaged in a full offensive, and he knew the illusion of a bloodless battle to be just that, an illusion.
However, the real test of character was not to quell one’s fear before battle, but to perform one’s duties during battle in spite of the fear. He still held out hope that Adam would do himself credit.
He could read the name on the back of the merchant ship now. Duckworth.
The boy would soon have his opportunity.
With any luck, the Amanda could rake the side of the larger ship and then draw past before the merchant ship’s twenty-four-pounders made toothpicks out of her. The superior speed of his Baltimore schooner over a heavily laden merchantman gave him more than enough advantage to overcome the mismatch in firepower. However, not every captain had as much skill at leveraging that advantage. Nor as much luck.
Time slowed. Every eye focused on the captain. Every ear, alert for his next order. Even the wind whistling through the rigging quieted as though to listen for the captain’s command.
“Fire!” Will’s cry split the silence and bounced across the deck a fraction of a second before a series of explosions rocked the small ship. The pungent aroma of spent gunpowder permeated the air.
Several of the shots fell clear, but a number of them hit their mark in a spray of splinters.
Although clearly better armed, the merchantman’s crew didn’t appear to be well-trained or well-supplied. Many of the enemy’s guns were not fired, and those few that were, fell short. Tell-tale shouts of confusion rang across the short expanse of sea separating the two ships.
“Above the water line, men!” Will yelled, before ordering the helmsman to bring the ship around. “We don’t want to sink our prize before we get a chance to see what she offers, do we?”
A raucous cry rose from the deck. A good sign for a new crew.
The Amanda came about to take another shot at her prey, giving the men time to reload the guns. Will spent the few minutes of respite considering his good fortune to have a crew so hearty and capable and a merchant ship so defenseless on which to cut their teeth.
Crews aboard a privateer were neither pressed into service nor required to serve for a specified length of time. Many men returned to shore once they had made enough money to pay off their debts or start a new life. For sailors aboard a skilled privateer, it often didn’t take more than a year or two.
Still others stayed on, either for patriotic or personal reasons. With each new voyage, Will prayed he would have enough seasoned sailors joined by willing, capable new hands to continue the almost legendary string of the Amanda’s successes. A lucky captain was a good thing, a skilled crew even better.
Will laughed when Bull sent a sailor sprawling to the deck with a boot to his backside. Never vicious in his discipline, when he felt the men were shirking their duties, Bull made sure they knew it.
He had been crew master on a whaler, but eager to
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