They got my Goat
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Sea FenciblesChapter 15: A Tethered Goat free porn video
The first grey of dawn was showing over the land to the east as HMS Syren slowly crept forward. A half hour before, whilst still in complete darkness, Syren had fired her broadside twice and HMS Clyde had fired back. The muzzle flashes and the thunder of the guns must have been visible for miles. Now, whilst Clyde had taken up her own position, Syren was creeping along with her main top missing, lost in a nightly battle to the unknowing watcher. That was the bait for which the Dutch captain would hopefully snap.
"On deck! Ship ho, three miles ahead. It's the Eendracht!"
The cry from the foretop made them look forward.
"Steady as she goes," Anson commanded. They had to get closer if they wanted to lure the Eendracht into a pursuit.
Meanwhile, Clyde had to have reached her hiding place behind the Wieringen island, whilst Hyperion was anchored with furled sails behind the Vogel Zand sandbank, her anchor ready for slipping, and her crew on battle stations.
"She's heading straight for us, sir!" the midshipman in the foretop yelled. "Two miles!"
"Mr. Carling, let's bring her around. Slowly! I want us to go about slowly. Stand ready with the spanker sail if we get caught in stays!"
Syren went about as clumsily as possible. Her silhouette with the missing main top would give the impression of a serious damage and hopefully induce the Dutchman into a pursuit. Now, Syren was under way again, but with the two sea anchors she was dragging along, she did not make much speed. Even the Eendracht with her dismal sailing qualities would smell blood now, wouldn't she?
She would. Looking aft, Anson could see how the Dutchman was under full sail, eager to catch up to the intended prey. The distance was down to a little over a sea mile.
"Cast off one sea anchor, Mr. Carling," Anson commanded. He needed to bait the Eendracht along at least past the De Balk channel from where Clyde would come to close the trap.
Syren was making more speed now, but the Dutchman was still gaining on them, if a little slower. Suddenly, the darkness abaft was pierced by the muzzle flash of two guns. The Eendracht was bringing her bow chasers into play, but they heard and saw nothing of the cannonballs.
"Bring up the main top, Mr. Carling!" Anson commanded. Syren was not build to take 18-pounder fire, and they would need their manoeuvrability soon enough.
The topmen rushed up the ratlines, the bosun was assembling his men, and soon the top mast was being lifted up from the deck where it had rested.
"The Dutchman is still gaining, sir," Carling said beside Anson.
"So I can see, Mr. Carling. Cast off the second sea anchor, if you please."
With the drag of the sea anchor gone, Syren almost leapt forward, and not too early. The next shots from the Dutchman's bow chasers raised water fountains not three fathoms behind their stern. One of them ricochetted off the smooth water and hit Syren just below her main deck.
"Damage report, Mr. Carling!" Anson rapped. He was feeling a strange uneasiness now. Those shots had come literally too close for comfort, and Anson became aware that this might be the day when he would die. No glory, no prize money, no Elizabeth. Just agony under the surgeon's knife, and a miserable death before he would be dumped over the side in a hammock. Another man would be made captain, and Anson would be forgotten.
With an effort, he shook off the gloom. Looking up, he saw that the main top was ready again.
"Set main tops'l!" he commanded. They were getting close to the Vlieter, and now Eendracht was also past the De Balk channel. It was time for Clyde to show.
"On deck! Hyperion is setting sail!" the midshipman in the foretop sang out.
It was true. Anson could see the huge topsails of the old battleship unfold. It was time for Syren to get out of the way. Still there was one small act to play.
"Ready to wear ship! Stand by braces! Helmsmen, six points to starboard! Larboard battery! Ready to fire blank shots!"
As Syren turned before the wind, they were about to sail past the approaching Hyperion. When the ships were passing, Syren's broadside roared out, albeit without round shot in the breeches. The quarterdeck and Fo'c'sle deck guns of Hyperion answered, fortunately also without a proper load. This was designed to confuse the Dutch, but also to keep them from looking aft to where Clyde would be appearing.
Then they were past and Hyperion sailed out into the Mars Deep to meet the Eendracht. It was getting light now, and the Dutch would be able to see their approaching enemy. Hyperion was sailing close to the wind aiming to win the windward side, and the Dutch kept going. Was it braveness or confusion?
"Man the braces! Ready to tack! Quartermaster! Helm-a-lee!"
Now, with her rigging complete again, Syren went about as wished. Anson planned to observe the battle and render support if possible. If Hyperion and Clyde engaged the Dutchman form both sides, there would be a chance for Syren to cross the bows. They could even participate in the boarding if needed.
There! Muzzle flashes were seen in the light mist and the roar of two broadsides rolled over the water. In the light from the muzzle flashes, Anson could see Clyde coming up to join the battle, her guns run out. He envied Captain Fortescue for the beautiful, big frigate. The second broadside from Hyperion lit up the narrow waterway, followed a bit later by the Dutchman's. Now Clyde's larboard broadside roared out. Fortescue had sailed his ship to pistol shot range before firing his big guns. Clyde shipped 32-pounder carronades on her quarter deck, giving her almost the firepower of a small battleship, and Anson could see the Eendracht heel over under the impact.
Anson looked for Stevens. "Get me my steel hand!"
Stevens reappeared in less than a minute. With his servant's help, Anson replaced the stuffed glove on his stump with his battle gear, a two-tined fork made of steel with a steel sheath for his stump. He had it fashioned by a Salcombe smith at Butterworth's advice. It could give him an edge in a shipboard melee.
"Ready to tack!" Anson commanded. In spite of the fears he had felt not long ago, or perhaps because he had felt them, he had to join the action. Just fire one broadside, to show that Syren was more than just a tethered goat in this big game hunt.
Syren tacked and came close to the wind.
"Starboard battery! Run out!" he commanded.
They were just a cable length from the Dutchman when Anson had the rudder laid to larboard, and Syren wore to cross Eendracht's bows.
"Mr. Halliwell! Passing honours!" he commanded, just before the dawn to their right was torn apart by Hyperion's broadside.
Anson felt transported back to Trafalgar, and he had to suppress an urge to dry swallow.
"Steady as she goes!" he forced himself to say, just as the foremost 12-pounder discharged. Gun by gun, even the 9-pounder popguns, went off, and a cheer rose from the gun deck when the foretop of the Dutchman collapsed. At the same time, Syren was hit somewhere forward.
"Hard larboard!" Anson shouted over the din. "Well done, gunners!"
Syren wore and started to cross the bows of the damaged enemy once again. Now it was the larboard battery that had the chance, but their fire did not cause any visible damage except for a few flying splinters.
It was light now, and when Syren wore again, Anson could see the damage to the three ships. Clyde was also without her foretop, Hyperion had lost the main topsail yard, but Eendracht was worst off, with foretop and mizzen mast gone. Hyperion had gone about and was now closing in, obviously aiming at boarding the Dutchman.
Anson considered briefly. He desperately wanted to board the enemy to wipe the moments of fear from his conscience, but he knew that he would be a liability to a boarding party with his dummy hand. Also, he owed it to his first lieutenant to stand back.
"Mr. Carling, you will assemble a boarding party from the larboard side battery and from the marines! Mr. Merry, load canister. Let's clear their fo'c'sle!"
"Aye-aye, sir!" Carling beamed, visible ecstatic about the chance to prove himself. A first lieutenant was only a successful boarding away from promotion to commander.
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