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Captain Thomas Edwards smiled as the sighting of land was finally reported. His ship had fallen far behind the rest of the fleet without its main mast, and now he could finally put into Cape Town and repair.
He knew the rest of the fleet was probably already near Madagascar, where they were to challenge the French rule, but this would be one battle his ship would sit out, after losing the main mast in the last battle.
It had been just south of the Ivory Coast, where the fleet, numbering nearly thirty ships, had come across a French fleet of about ten, and annihilated them. But Thomas's 74 gun ship, HMS Spartacus, had been caught in the thick of it, in between the two second-rates which had commanded the enemy fleet.
Second-rates - 84 guns apiece, Edwards shuddered at the memory.
If it hadn't been for Admiral Spencer's flagship, HMS Royal Sovereign firing a broadside that raked (firing along the length of a ship from the stern or bow, rather than at the sides) both ships as it passed, the Spartacus would surely have been boarded, or worse, set alight.
But now that was a distant memory, as Cape Town became larger and larger on the horizon.
And so did the smoke that rose from so many buildings in it...
* * * * *
"Battle stations! Man the guns!" Edwards roared, and the beat to quarters was sounded two seconds later.
The Marines rushed onto the deck to take their positions, as the crew rushed around to clear the decks and ready the cannon.
Within five minutes, the well drilled crew of Spartacus were ready for action.
The ship sailed slowly towards the docks, and Edwards realised what was missing. The only other big ship in the port, a frigate of about 24 guns, no longer carried the flag of the Royal Navy.
Instead, suspended from the aft mast was something that looked like a dried up prune.
Edwards put his telescope to his eye, and saw what it really was.
The sun-dried head of a human, the eyes pecked out by gulls.
Worse, it was a head that he recognised - his old First Lieutenant before the man was promoted to command his own ship.
Peter Oxford, Captain of His Majesty's Ship Atlantis.
Edwards checked the name of the ship, and it merely confirmed what he already knew.
"Someone has taken over Cape Town, and they aren't friendly," he told his First Lieutenant, Jim Brown.
"How shall we act, sir?" Brown asked.
Edwards thought for a second before answering. Spartacus was already almost entirely out of rations, and however quick they still were, his crew were in desperate need of food, and weak. Also, his gunpowder stores were running out, after the last battle and flooding caused by the damage.
"We're in no fit state to fight. The only thing we do have is money, and maybe they give us the supplies they have taken for that and a promise to leave them alone." Edwards sighed.
"Aye." Jim nodded as he began to dictate the orders to the lower officers.
Spartacus raised the white flag of truce on her foremast, and began to slowly approach the harbour, where a crowd of Africans waited to meet them.
They weren't cheering like people about to be liberated from the French, and Edwards could see no white people amongst them.
"A revolt, it must have been," he spoke quietly to Jim. "The fleet must have passed through here to pick up supplies less than two weeks ago, and it would take quite a few ships to carry enough soldiers to take this place - more than could be squeezed between us and the fleet."
Then he pointed to the head. "Plus, that looks less than a week old, give or take a few days." Having grown up in a fishing village, Edwards knew about the effects of the sun.
"So how do we approach a people who want to be free?" Jim asked.
"The same way we would approach an enemy who hopefully no longer wants to fight, but to be left alone." Edwards moved towards the gangplank as the Spartacus reached the docks, ready to be the first to meet the natives.
At least there haven't been any shots yet, he thought. Well here goes nothing...
* * * * *
More to come tomorrow or sometime soon!
Thanks for reading, and comments appreciated.
Chris AKA Nemesis
He knew the rest of the fleet was probably already near Madagascar, where they were to challenge the French rule, but this would be one battle his ship would sit out, after losing the main mast in the last battle.
It had been just south of the Ivory Coast, where the fleet, numbering nearly thirty ships, had come across a French fleet of about ten, and annihilated them. But Thomas's 74 gun ship, HMS Spartacus, had been caught in the thick of it, in between the two second-rates which had commanded the enemy fleet.
Second-rates - 84 guns apiece, Edwards shuddered at the memory.
If it hadn't been for Admiral Spencer's flagship, HMS Royal Sovereign firing a broadside that raked (firing along the length of a ship from the stern or bow, rather than at the sides) both ships as it passed, the Spartacus would surely have been boarded, or worse, set alight.
But now that was a distant memory, as Cape Town became larger and larger on the horizon.
And so did the smoke that rose from so many buildings in it...
* * * * *
"Battle stations! Man the guns!" Edwards roared, and the beat to quarters was sounded two seconds later.
The Marines rushed onto the deck to take their positions, as the crew rushed around to clear the decks and ready the cannon.
Within five minutes, the well drilled crew of Spartacus were ready for action.
The ship sailed slowly towards the docks, and Edwards realised what was missing. The only other big ship in the port, a frigate of about 24 guns, no longer carried the flag of the Royal Navy.
Instead, suspended from the aft mast was something that looked like a dried up prune.
Edwards put his telescope to his eye, and saw what it really was.
The sun-dried head of a human, the eyes pecked out by gulls.
Worse, it was a head that he recognised - his old First Lieutenant before the man was promoted to command his own ship.
Peter Oxford, Captain of His Majesty's Ship Atlantis.
Edwards checked the name of the ship, and it merely confirmed what he already knew.
"Someone has taken over Cape Town, and they aren't friendly," he told his First Lieutenant, Jim Brown.
"How shall we act, sir?" Brown asked.
Edwards thought for a second before answering. Spartacus was already almost entirely out of rations, and however quick they still were, his crew were in desperate need of food, and weak. Also, his gunpowder stores were running out, after the last battle and flooding caused by the damage.
"We're in no fit state to fight. The only thing we do have is money, and maybe they give us the supplies they have taken for that and a promise to leave them alone." Edwards sighed.
"Aye." Jim nodded as he began to dictate the orders to the lower officers.
Spartacus raised the white flag of truce on her foremast, and began to slowly approach the harbour, where a crowd of Africans waited to meet them.
They weren't cheering like people about to be liberated from the French, and Edwards could see no white people amongst them.
"A revolt, it must have been," he spoke quietly to Jim. "The fleet must have passed through here to pick up supplies less than two weeks ago, and it would take quite a few ships to carry enough soldiers to take this place - more than could be squeezed between us and the fleet."
Then he pointed to the head. "Plus, that looks less than a week old, give or take a few days." Having grown up in a fishing village, Edwards knew about the effects of the sun.
"So how do we approach a people who want to be free?" Jim asked.
"The same way we would approach an enemy who hopefully no longer wants to fight, but to be left alone." Edwards moved towards the gangplank as the Spartacus reached the docks, ready to be the first to meet the natives.
At least there haven't been any shots yet, he thought. Well here goes nothing...
* * * * *
More to come tomorrow or sometime soon!
Thanks for reading, and comments appreciated.
Chris AKA Nemesis
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