Fast ForwardThe squall faded into the distance. Up the ratlines when our gallent crew, this time to shake out the reefs and speed down the wind running free.
Ben was growing more acustomed to the hieghts of the mast.
Not all was well, in the squall the 'Pelican' had parted commpany.
"Fire 3 guns to leaward Master Gunner - The sound of a cannon might bring Drake into sight"
The drum rolled - a signal for the Gun Crews to close up for action. In the confusion Ben sprinted down to the Magazine. The serge curtains parted A gunners mate thrust a powder box into Bens arms. He ran up the compainion way into the waist. "Here boy!", a hairy guner grabed the box and ladeled scoops of black powder in to a Cannon. Four stought seamen heaved on the tackle and thrust the cannon uo to the gun port. A sprinkling of fine dust from a horn, Jones pulled Ben away clear of the fierce recoil, the Gunner leant overand swept the slowmatch onto the loose powder.
Oh such a roar, it seemed it never ended, white smoke billowed away to leeward. In the heart of it an incandesent flame. Bens eyes watered, the sulphur reek clawed at his throat. The Breeching ropes twanged as they brought the cannon to a stop. Twice this was repeated.
"Still " shrilled the Bosons call. " Right lads " cried Thorneton " Listen for a reply."
They listened and listened again but no echoing reply came over the Sea.
The 'Gallant' was on her own, venturing into the Spanish Sea.