(38, 3 of 4)
The last echo of the broadside faded. By the dim light of their battle-lanterns seamen began the process of reloading their cannons, working with silent, practiced precision.
Above on the maindeck, the ship’s boats were being lowered over the side. A rabble of seamen, marines, mercenaries, and volunteers gathered to finish their preparations and wish each other well. They loaded their pistols, they cleaned their cutlasses, they slung their muskets over their shoulders, and slipped knives into their stockings.
“You be careful out there, now, Joe,” muttered the old foretopman. “And mind you bring back that knife of mine. It was a gift from my Mrs.”
“Which you ain’t got a Mrs., mate. You thieved this knife from the woman in Bridgetown what sold them little pies.”
“Aye, she were too busy eating her own wares to notice, cor. What a fine, plump…ho, make a lane there! Officer coming through.” They stepped reverently aside as their commander emerged from the billowing gunsmoke. And she needed a rather wide lane.
Adelaide tromped past, her boots falling heavily on Tryphena’s creaking timbers. She had donned the best approximation of an officer’s uniform that could be compelled to fit her frame: thin white pantaloons, a matching moleskin waistcoat with a standing collar, the regulation blue wool jacket with its laced lapels and gleaming brass buttons, and Captain Muir’s own bicorn hat.
The hat was the only article that wasn’t strained to its limits and even it seemed to only highlight the rotundity of Adelaide’s face. The trousers were so snug around her thighs that glimpses of skin were already visible along the seams and, as their waistband couldn’t be fastened, they were held up only by a rather courageous belt. The jacket pinched her arms terribly; its buttons and their respective lapels could never see one another across the broad expanse of her chest and stomach, much less hope to ever close. With some clever tailoring the waistcoat had been induced to remain fastened, but for all its added circumference it remained quite short. She wore no blouse beneath, fearing the equatorial heat, and the overtaxed vest showed off a great deal of bosom and all the belly that couldn’t be tucked into her trousers.
She presented an unmistakable figure and as she huffed her way onto the quarterdeck every officer turned to salute her.
“Certainly whets the appetite,” she chortled, over the noise of the gun-crews.
Calder made room for her at the binnacle. “I think we had them entirely by surprise. There was some scuffle outside the battery that seemed to be taking up their attention…a lucky stroke for us.”
“Not for long,” observed the doctor, pointing. Lights flitted about in the fort.
“I can keep up the barrage from our broadsides, but once they get to their defenses, we’re done for. Those ships in the anchorage will start firing back at any moment. And the artillery-pieces in the fort will make quick work of us.”
“Then we must storm it at once!” declared Colonel Rafaga. “I shall land my men there, behind the storeship, and proceed up the hill. Forward, for her ladyship’s glory!”
“And I will take my party into the anchorage,” blurted Captain Brise, elbowing past the Colonel. “We’ll cut out the prize-ships and turn their guns on the frigate. A whole assortment of treats for her ladyship!”
The bearded whaler puffed out his chest. “My boys and I can land at the beach. Rally any prisoners we can find and head inland. I’m sure she could use more hands.”
Mr. Boreas pulled on his hat. “And I’ll lead the Company-men around to the far side. We’ll make a landing at that second settlement. It’ll be a feast of spoils.”
“Take aim!” piped Mr. Irving’s voice from below.
Adelaide gave the men a resolute smile. “Bon courage, messieurs.”
The second broadside began. Shot soared across the bay and crashed against the walls of the fort; one errant ball snapped the flagstaff. Dirt and splinters burst up and men dove for cover. Part of the palisade toppled over.
New guns began to roar in reply. Trimalchio’s ports opened and the pirates scrambled to fire back at Tryphena with a ragged volley. The men on the captured sloop tugged frantically at their anchor cable to turn the ship around enough to bring their broadside to bear. After a few desperate minutes the gunners in the fort finally gathered themselves enough to ready their pieces and the awful blast of a 32-pounder shook the air. Plumes of frothing water erupted between the boats as they raced for shore.
The one-eyed whaler howled and hurled another pirate out of his way, clearing the path downhill. Captain Muir led Zephyra and the other prisoners behind the shelter of a low ridge and turned to fend off pursuers with his pistol.
Aubert’s voice called through the darkness. “To the beach, you bloated fools! They mean to land!”
The prisoners raced along the ridge, ducking as another round of cannonfire roared. As they reached the edge of the village they could head the crackle of muskets from the harbor.
The off-duty pirates were rushing from their huts in droves, pulling on shirts and breeches and fumbling with their weapons. Seeing the prisoners, they formed into a haphazard line and cocked their muskets.
“Oh, for all love,” groaned Muir. “To the lagoon!”
They scattered, darting behind trees and between buildings. Zephyra squeezed between two stacks of barrels and as her abdomen slid across the wood she realized, with an unexpected tinge of regret, just how much weight she’d lost.
“Listen,” she assured her aching stomach, “if we somehow survive this, I promise I’ll never let you be empty again.”
The last echo of the broadside faded. By the dim light of their battle-lanterns seamen began the process of reloading their cannons, working with silent, practiced precision.
Above on the maindeck, the ship’s boats were being lowered over the side. A rabble of seamen, marines, mercenaries, and volunteers gathered to finish their preparations and wish each other well. They loaded their pistols, they cleaned their cutlasses, they slung their muskets over their shoulders, and slipped knives into their stockings.
“You be careful out there, now, Joe,” muttered the old foretopman. “And mind you bring back that knife of mine. It was a gift from my Mrs.”
“Which you ain’t got a Mrs., mate. You thieved this knife from the woman in Bridgetown what sold them little pies.”
“Aye, she were too busy eating her own wares to notice, cor. What a fine, plump…ho, make a lane there! Officer coming through.” They stepped reverently aside as their commander emerged from the billowing gunsmoke. And she needed a rather wide lane.
Adelaide tromped past, her boots falling heavily on Tryphena’s creaking timbers. She had donned the best approximation of an officer’s uniform that could be compelled to fit her frame: thin white pantaloons, a matching moleskin waistcoat with a standing collar, the regulation blue wool jacket with its laced lapels and gleaming brass buttons, and Captain Muir’s own bicorn hat.
The hat was the only article that wasn’t strained to its limits and even it seemed to only highlight the rotundity of Adelaide’s face. The trousers were so snug around her thighs that glimpses of skin were already visible along the seams and, as their waistband couldn’t be fastened, they were held up only by a rather courageous belt. The jacket pinched her arms terribly; its buttons and their respective lapels could never see one another across the broad expanse of her chest and stomach, much less hope to ever close. With some clever tailoring the waistcoat had been induced to remain fastened, but for all its added circumference it remained quite short. She wore no blouse beneath, fearing the equatorial heat, and the overtaxed vest showed off a great deal of bosom and all the belly that couldn’t be tucked into her trousers.
She presented an unmistakable figure and as she huffed her way onto the quarterdeck every officer turned to salute her.
“Certainly whets the appetite,” she chortled, over the noise of the gun-crews.
Calder made room for her at the binnacle. “I think we had them entirely by surprise. There was some scuffle outside the battery that seemed to be taking up their attention…a lucky stroke for us.”
“Not for long,” observed the doctor, pointing. Lights flitted about in the fort.
“I can keep up the barrage from our broadsides, but once they get to their defenses, we’re done for. Those ships in the anchorage will start firing back at any moment. And the artillery-pieces in the fort will make quick work of us.”
“Then we must storm it at once!” declared Colonel Rafaga. “I shall land my men there, behind the storeship, and proceed up the hill. Forward, for her ladyship’s glory!”
“And I will take my party into the anchorage,” blurted Captain Brise, elbowing past the Colonel. “We’ll cut out the prize-ships and turn their guns on the frigate. A whole assortment of treats for her ladyship!”
The bearded whaler puffed out his chest. “My boys and I can land at the beach. Rally any prisoners we can find and head inland. I’m sure she could use more hands.”
Mr. Boreas pulled on his hat. “And I’ll lead the Company-men around to the far side. We’ll make a landing at that second settlement. It’ll be a feast of spoils.”
“Take aim!” piped Mr. Irving’s voice from below.
Adelaide gave the men a resolute smile. “Bon courage, messieurs.”
The second broadside began. Shot soared across the bay and crashed against the walls of the fort; one errant ball snapped the flagstaff. Dirt and splinters burst up and men dove for cover. Part of the palisade toppled over.
New guns began to roar in reply. Trimalchio’s ports opened and the pirates scrambled to fire back at Tryphena with a ragged volley. The men on the captured sloop tugged frantically at their anchor cable to turn the ship around enough to bring their broadside to bear. After a few desperate minutes the gunners in the fort finally gathered themselves enough to ready their pieces and the awful blast of a 32-pounder shook the air. Plumes of frothing water erupted between the boats as they raced for shore.
The one-eyed whaler howled and hurled another pirate out of his way, clearing the path downhill. Captain Muir led Zephyra and the other prisoners behind the shelter of a low ridge and turned to fend off pursuers with his pistol.
Aubert’s voice called through the darkness. “To the beach, you bloated fools! They mean to land!”
The prisoners raced along the ridge, ducking as another round of cannonfire roared. As they reached the edge of the village they could head the crackle of muskets from the harbor.
The off-duty pirates were rushing from their huts in droves, pulling on shirts and breeches and fumbling with their weapons. Seeing the prisoners, they formed into a haphazard line and cocked their muskets.
“Oh, for all love,” groaned Muir. “To the lagoon!”
They scattered, darting behind trees and between buildings. Zephyra squeezed between two stacks of barrels and as her abdomen slid across the wood she realized, with an unexpected tinge of regret, just how much weight she’d lost.
“Listen,” she assured her aching stomach, “if we somehow survive this, I promise I’ll never let you be empty again.”
