The Pride of a Nation
I breath in the ocean air. The great endless plain of ocean and waves just beyond the jungle of rope and bundle of sail. There I see the Frigate, Royal Navy colors flying proudly as they made their way towards our ship.
The distinct black and yellow of the warship could be seen on our challenger, and the kings colors fluttering off the side of the ship. Our prow cut through the waves, storming maddly towards the enemy vessel as our sails yanked us toward the unknown fate beyond. In the brief moment of silence on the fore mast fighting top, I begin to think of when we left Boston, the land slowly slipping from view and then, out of nowhere, it’s gone. I snap back to the present when I begin to hear more commands from down below.
The British ship was in firing range, and opened fire. From the fighting top, I could see the cannon of the enemy blow a cloud of smoke followed by the bellowing of the shots. A swishing sound filled the air, followed by a loud CRACK! Then two more. A ball lodged itself into the side of our ship. Another black streak flashed its way to our side, but this one was stopped dead in its tracks, and fell into the ocean below with a puny splash. My god, we’re sailing a fortress! I thought to myself. My thought was backed up as the men began to cheer for our super ship, all shouting her sides are made of iron! A commanding voice broke the celebration of triumph, and the order was given. FIRE! Followed immediately by the report of the canon, POOM! A cannon aftward blew a cloud of smoke out from the side.
Their cannons began to pound on our sides and the air got thicker with smoke with each shot. We crept closer and closer until we were at almost point blank range. They sent a flurry of iron in our direction , and we returned with an equal amount of intensity. With our bombardment, their Mizzen mast toppled over into the sea. Our ship maneuvered behind the enemy and gave her a raking broadside, during this, I could make out the name of the thing, HMS Guerriere. Soon as we were turning for another rake, Guerriere smashed into our rear, and tangled the two beasts.
As we got in range for small arms fire, we shouldered our guns and began scanning for a target. Staring back at us was the marksmen of the Guerriere. The blast of smoke blocked my view, and when it cleared, there was no time to check my result. Recollecting myself, I kneel down and begin to reload. It felt like a million years, as bullets whizzed by me and men below were screaming and shouting in all sorts of manners over the roaring of the cannons. I was loading my third round and getting ready to fire, but was interrupted, the the sound of cracking wood. We started to break away from the rope entrapment and with a loud and long crack from the opposing ship, we came loose. I turn to see the bowsprit of his majesty’s warship plummet into the waves in front of it. Soon the foremast fell to the sea. With only her mainmast pulling her through the fight, they were no match for us. A single distant pak and a wispy cloud of sorrow rose from the other side of the Guerriere, she was through. Our proud ship erupted with cheers. We had won! Bracing myself with a rope, I stood at the edge of the platform and examined what was left of the Guerriere. She was in shambles, a white flag now flying shamefully aftward, replacing the proud colors of a once seemingly unstoppable force.