Man-O-War a short story

Man-O-War

“Ship on the starboard bow.”  A shout went up from the masthead.

Captain Corrigan went to the rail and peered into the distance but could see nothing, even with the aid of his telescope the ship remained out of sight.

“Helmsman, bring her about by two points.”

The change of course went unnoticed in the choppy sea but soon the ship picked up speed as she leaned into the wind.

Corrigan kept vigil from the quarterdeck, it wouldn’t be long before the ship appeared over the horizon.

“There she be, dead ahead.”  The look out in the crow’s nest high above the deck shouted.

Orders were given to change tack and a course was set that would bring the them closer.  Clearly they had been spotted because the other ship reacted by doing the same.

Raising his telescope, Corrigan studied the mystery ship but could not make out its name and she was showing no colours.  She was a magnificent Man-O-War, much larger and heavier than his own ship so, until he knew what he was dealing with he chose to keep his identity to himself.  It would be unwise to raise a flag just yet.

“She’s making pretty fine way sir.”  Said one of the officers who joined him at the rail.

“She is indeed and what a fine looking ship.”

Men sprang along the deck hauling on the ropes and every inch of canvas was trimmed allowing the ship to cut more easily through the waves. 

“Have the men run out the guns,” Corrigan said.  “We’ll see action before long.”

“Aye captain, I’ve a feeling she’s a Frenchie.”

“Have the colours brought from the chest and prepare to run up the Jack.”

“Very good captain.”

The ships were much closer now and as he watched, Corrigan saw the French Tricolour blossom at the top of the mainmast.  The officer was right she was a French ship so he ordered the Union Flag to be displayed proudly above the deck.

Both ships jostled for position.  It was the French way to send ball and grapeshot into the rigging to bring down mast and sail.  Balls would pound the upper decks causing all kinds of damage and injury to those unfortunate enough to be caught out in the open. 

The technique that the English employed was to fire between the decks, aim at the ports where men were crammed in amongst the guns.  The damage caused in such confined spaces would be crippling.  Strikes below or about the waterline would bring about a swift conclusion, so with that in mind, Corrigan manoeuvred his ship alongside the enemy and prepared to fire a broadside.

Sunlight played from the edges of drawn sabres and muskets were made ready as men crouched out of sight on the deck.  Once the enemy ship had been hit, the order to board would sound then hand to hand fighting would begin. 

From their vantage point on the quarterdeck, Captain Corrigan and his officers observed these preparations for battle.  A mist was rolling in driven by the wind that powered the French ship and soon it would be upon them.

“Strange weather,” one of the men said but there was no time to worry about that.  With a whoosh of spray, the ship turned into its firing position.  Gun ports crashed open as cannons rolled out and from the gloomy interior of the gun decks pale faces stared out. 

They were in range of the heavier French guns, which strangely remained silent.  Corrigan needed just a few more seconds to bring his smaller guns to bear and he felt as if every man aboard the ship was waiting for his order to attack. 

“Fire.”  The order was given and the ship reeled as every gun on the starboard side bellowed.

The men ducked their heads as they waited for the enemy guns to report and when eventually it came, Corrigan expected the damage to be considerable.  Miraculously every ball seemed to miss its target.  

The decks shuddered again as the British ship kept up the bombardment, strikes could be heard as balls found their mark then came screams from the injured.

The fog was now thickening, damp salty air mixed with black powder smoke that threatened to engulf them both.

“Tis strange Captain,” one of the officers remarked.  “Never seen such foolery before in all me days at sea.”

The French ship disappeared completely and the sound of clattering cannons ceased.  Men could be heard calling, their voices eerie in the gloom but it was impossible to tell from which direction they were coming. 

“Did you see the name of the ship captain?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“It was the Corsica.  What do you make of that?”

“Couldn’t have been the Corsica, she was sunk not six months gone.”

The officer looked at him and his face paled with astonishment.  The French ship Corsica had gone down with all hands in a battle just off the west coast of Ireland.  It had been reported that the engagement took place as a thick fog rolled in. 

© 2018 Kevin Marsh