MacBathory Act One Scene Six
Jan. 4th, 2007 02:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ellyssian"Ahoy, l'Abattoir ! Captain Isaiah Pelham, late of the Bloodhawk, and officers, requesting permission to come aboard!" called out Seth Morse, who had been named first mate for their venture.
Worsley leaned over the rail, looking down at the two boats approaching. He dropped a knotted rope. "J-j-just the Captain, p-p-please." He smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable at the unease of the sailors, and at their readiness for trouble, clearly wary of whatever unknown threat was aboard.
Pelham swung over the rail onto the deck, finding it furnished in the same manner as the rest of the ship: clad with somewhat ill-fitting planking, loose underfoot. No other crew was visible in the lamp light, and nothing that could seemingly do any harm. Perhaps the rumours were overstated - but some vague menace still clung to l'Abattoir despite her ragged appearance.
"C-c-c-captain. Welcome to l'Abattoir. I am to understand you are here to sail with us, and not against us?"
Pelham read Worsley as shrewd and intelligent - yet seemingly unarmed. Confidant, despite his nervous mannerisms, despite being dwarfed by the captain's presence.
Worsley smiled at the assessment, ignoring Pelham's hand upon his sword. "In my absence, l'Abattoir will destroy you, as it did the bold men you sent. You will not be her master, but if you stay your hand, you may benefit from her destructive capabilities. I would not ask you to sail to the ends of the earth without an understanding of what she is about."
"Captain!" called the men in the jolly boats - and Pelham turned to see lights flashing further out in the harbour.
"The navy holds little love for the Bloodhawk - that looks to be Alahandra, and if you do not act fast, she will destroy the 'hawk and your men." Worsley clasped his hands and looked at the larger man, who was clearly growing agitated. FULL STEAM, called out Worsley, and the deck rumbled and whirred, smoke billowing from the main mast in increasing clouds. "Call your men aboard, and you shall take a man o' war. Or watch your ship sink to the bottom of the bay and see far more men die."
Pelham looked briefly at Worsley, then back to the Bloodhawk, which was answering fire, but clearly at a loss in cannon, and with sails and anchor down. Jilkey would have the men do their best, but she was clearly overmatched. He wasn't clear how l'Abattoir would be of much help - with no sail nor rigging, and few enough cannon - however, whatever they might muster would be of far more assistance then if he led the men back in the two jolly boats. He nodded at the weasely little man - and called over the rails to his crew. One of the boats had already started back towards the 'hawk, but the men still aside l'Abattoir scrambled up ropes he dropped over the rail, as the ship's master turned without further words and made for the helm.
Several of the sailors cringed upon hearing the snicker-snack of blades, remembering the fate of their shipmates, but these blades had shorn l'Abattoir of her mooring lines and did no further malice. The deck shook with a terrible noise as great clouds of smoke belched from the main mast. An unearthly whirling noise arose from below decks, as the Captain made his way to the helm, followed, more cautiously, by Holbrook, Cooper, and two others. Morse and another stayed at the rail, looking towards their fellows who were rowing furiously towards the conflict.
"Watch," Worsley warned, pointing up.
"Look out above," called out Holbrook to the first mate. He had barely got the words out when there was a tremendous cracking and shattering, and pieces of the mast's veneer of lathing and timbers began to fall away, and steal spars began to unfold into position. Four spars on the main, and three on the fore, all looked to be square rigged, with spars for fore-aft sails on all three masts.
"Divil take me!" called out one of the sailors, in surprise at the sight.
"No, Devil take the Alahandra!" Worsley pulled and pushed on a variety of levers. Still like a weasel, thought Pelham, but with a fierceness they hadn't seen before, raising the man in his estimation. "Your gunner?"
"In the other boat," Pelham said, as they moved away from the dock - somehow, without a single sail. Worsley nodded, and pulled some more levers, l'Abattoir moving forward faster than any free-floating ship had a wont to. "Are there sails, man?"
"Aye, Captain. Not yet, or we'll overrun our gunner!" Worsley reached to his side and shifted three different levers in succession, as Pelham looked on, unable to determine any of the functions of this odd helm. "Lower ropes to port," he called out as he took hold of another lever, pulling on it, guiding the rudder to bring them to the starboard side.
Holbrook had echoed his order without thinking, and looked to the Captain, who nodded approval. The first mate, Morse, went to the port rail and lowered a rope, as did the sailor with him.
"Mr. Cooper! Take Wilkens and Thayer and get a rope over with Mr. Morse. Get those men up on deck immediately."
"Aye aye sir!" The second mate and the two sailors ran forward to throw lines over. They were travelling faster now, quickly catching up with the jolly boat, and still without a single sail in the wind.
Captain Pelham clenched and unclenched his fists, watching the lights flashing out in the bay.
"We'll launch a broadside," Worsley began, but was interrupted.
"We won't get a sail out if we're getting cannon ready! Damn it all!"
"There's six cannon they'll be taken to - they're of my own design, but I'm sure your gunner will have no trouble with them. Mind you, that's not the whole of it, but that's all we be able to bring to bear. I'll worry the sails, your lads will need to be below decks."
Before the Captain could reply, the first mate called out, "Away!" as the last man in the jolly boat had hold of a rope, and the first ones were reaching the deck.
"Stand firm, men," Worsley said with a grim smile on his face as he called out Voiles! and released a series of locked levers that snapped into place, followed shortly thereafter by a whirling of gears, and then the spars unfurled their sails as black as the night should be.
Cries of surprise and awe arose from the men as they kept footing. l'Abattoir lurched forward, sails billowing. Cables snapped taut, jib and stay sails rose from the deck, catching the wind. Her bow lifted somewhat from the water and by the time the last man stood on the deck they were fast approaching the conflict.
"Down there!" shouted Worsley, pointing to the hatch.
"Port canons, Mr. Stone!" the Captain called, wearing a smug and proud expression - true enough, the sails were not his doing, but he knew there had been something about this ship... now to see how she handled herself in battle!
"Aye, sir!" Obed Stone, the master gunner of the 'hawk answered and led the men down to the mid-deck. Were he a common man, he would have found himself standing in awe of the vast difference between l'Abattoir's outward and inward appearance. Instead, he saw cannon, and he knew what to do.
"Bloody ingenious!" He squinted at the framing holding the cannon and he shook his head. Looking amidships, he saw ammunition. "I'll be damned."
As each man joined him, he called out orders, as all save the Captain and the sailing master were needed to bring six guns to bear. "Mr. Morse, Mr. Holbrook, sirs!" he pointed at the first cannon. "Watch lads!" He reached forward and pulled a lever on the hull. Some wood broke free as the plated metal door swung open. He shifted another lever on the frame, and the quartermaster quickly joined him as they set their weight to the cannon and found it was barely needed. "Blow me, I've died and gone t' 'eaven!"
Stone demonstrated how to open the breech, load the cannon, and prepare it to fire. "Now, you there, Palmer and Wilkens," he ran down the deck, pointing to each cannon in turn and naming its crew, "Green and Haines, Mason and Holt, Mr. Cooper, Thomson, Thayer and Joyce, a'right lads, load away, and prepare to fire on my word!"
The Alahandra became aware of them at that very moment, as the Captain's jaw dropped - at a press of a button, a fore-canon, apparently unmanned, fired once, then twice in quick succession, its missiles screaming as they arced towards the Spanish ship. The first tore through a fore-sail, but the second hit the main deck. A moment later an explosion ripped through the man o' war.
"Gunpowder store," Worsley explained, a fact of which Captain Pelham was quite aware - he just wasn't sure it was all luck that had sniffed it out, and was very impressed.
"Captain, awaiting orders!" Stone called from below. Worsley pointed to a tube, and the Captain looked quizzically at the man before speaking into it.
"Fire at her bow as we pass, then fire as ready!"
"Aye aye!" he heard, quite clearly, as the master gunner stood by Thayer and Joyce's cannon, furthest ahead. "Fire!"
The first cannon sounded with a low thump, and the odd-shaped ammunition spiralled across the sky, screaming as the others had. The second and third had by now fired, the others in quick succession. The chaos on the Alahandra was near complete, as they raced to the bow cannon to face this new foe. The first shot took out the crew on the starboard bow, the second snapping the fore-mast and dropping the topsail. Another shot whirled through sets of sails before splashing down astern to port. Of the other three, one crashed through the hull low near the waterline, one did nothing more than scare the living daylights out of the superstitious sailors as it seemed to scream out their names as it nearly missed them, and the third landed amidships and exploded in the already-burning store.
They could hear the cheers of the crew on the Bloodhawk, but took no such liberties themselves, as they had cannon to bring to bear. The had the second volley off before the remaining bow gun spoke, an unfortunate direct hit - that splintered some wood, and bounced off the thick metal hull of l'Abattoir without doing her any harm. As they came along side, they had already done significant damage to the much larger vessel and had silenced many of her cannon, their modest six firing faster than the much larger contingent of cannon on the man o' war, each manned by a larger number of men.
Pieces of wood broke free from l'Abattoir but it seemed no lasting damage was done. More of the wood seemed to smoulder or burn outright, which added to the appearance of the fearsome ship. The Alahandra, however, fared not so well. A cannon from the Bloodhawk had dropped the mizzen mast, and the main mast looked in danger of toppling, as the fires from the stores threatened it. Her cannons still spoke regularly on her starboard side, but were nearly silent to port.
Captain Pelham removed his cover, so great was his awe - and, below decks, master gunner Stone fell to his knees. The cannons were fitted such that one person could have handled them to faster results than those on their opponent's ship, and with two, they were firing at a rate three to four times that of the naval craft. That, in itself, was more than any gunner might wish for, but there were two additional cannon of sorts, mounted forward of the area where they were stationed, and those fired continuously, sending a hail of smaller projectiles into the larger ship and shredding away her hull.
A bulkhead, with locked doors, kept Obed Stone from discovering exactly what they were and how they achieved their goal, but he was on his knees at the sight.
"She is ours," Worsley said, and turned l'Abattoir fast, sails shifting, bringing her hard around to starboard, away from their opponent and around, and then straight at her. He looked to the Captain, who nodded.
"Close doors and prepare to ram!" he called, and the crew shifted the cannon back and made fast the hatches. The bow cannon fired again, exploding into the Alahandra and toppling the main mast. Fires raged uncontrolled now, and even the cannon on the far side were falling into silence. With a horrific crash, the knife-edge bow of l'Abattoir sliced into the burning hull, riding up onto the larger ship. As they came abreast, they heard those strange cannon firing rapidly, two on either side, into the man o' war, grinding the ship into kindling. The wood coverlet on her steel hull flared and burnt away, and Worsley triggered a number of levers. The black sails rolled away, the ship lurching, as, apparently, whatever alternate method of propulsion l'Abattoir had worked in an opposing direction.
Worsley spake aloud: En garde! and then grabbed at Captain Pelham's sleeve - who had been distracted, looking into the two lower cannon deck of the Alahandra exposed, as they sat amidships. Worsley led him to the mid-deck, where the crew waited further orders, and shifting more levers, he sealed the way behind him. LOCKDOWN, he called, and then moved astern. Beyond the modest complement of six cannon to a side, was another bulkhead. Through this, below the main deck's helm, was another set of controls that looked similar. Glass windows set facing the bulkhead - and all other angles from the helm - used mirrors and clever optics so that it seemed almost as if one was standing on the main deck.
Captain Pelham blinked, his eyes attempting to get used to the odd appearance of the images in the windows. They watched the Spanish sailors - the ones who had not jumped ship as the fiery l'Abattoir lodged into them - jump tentatively to the deck. At the command of the levers, the two strange cannons began firing again, and, with another click and shift, the defences on deck were engaged.
The officers and crew slowly walked into the room with the helm, mouths agape as they watched the bloodshed above decks.
"And that, gentleman, is just a taste of what l'Abattoir can do."
Scene Seven
Worsley leaned over the rail, looking down at the two boats approaching. He dropped a knotted rope. "J-j-just the Captain, p-p-please." He smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable at the unease of the sailors, and at their readiness for trouble, clearly wary of whatever unknown threat was aboard.
Pelham swung over the rail onto the deck, finding it furnished in the same manner as the rest of the ship: clad with somewhat ill-fitting planking, loose underfoot. No other crew was visible in the lamp light, and nothing that could seemingly do any harm. Perhaps the rumours were overstated - but some vague menace still clung to l'Abattoir despite her ragged appearance.
"C-c-c-captain. Welcome to l'Abattoir. I am to understand you are here to sail with us, and not against us?"
Pelham read Worsley as shrewd and intelligent - yet seemingly unarmed. Confidant, despite his nervous mannerisms, despite being dwarfed by the captain's presence.
Worsley smiled at the assessment, ignoring Pelham's hand upon his sword. "In my absence, l'Abattoir will destroy you, as it did the bold men you sent. You will not be her master, but if you stay your hand, you may benefit from her destructive capabilities. I would not ask you to sail to the ends of the earth without an understanding of what she is about."
"Captain!" called the men in the jolly boats - and Pelham turned to see lights flashing further out in the harbour.
"The navy holds little love for the Bloodhawk - that looks to be Alahandra, and if you do not act fast, she will destroy the 'hawk and your men." Worsley clasped his hands and looked at the larger man, who was clearly growing agitated. FULL STEAM, called out Worsley, and the deck rumbled and whirred, smoke billowing from the main mast in increasing clouds. "Call your men aboard, and you shall take a man o' war. Or watch your ship sink to the bottom of the bay and see far more men die."
Pelham looked briefly at Worsley, then back to the Bloodhawk, which was answering fire, but clearly at a loss in cannon, and with sails and anchor down. Jilkey would have the men do their best, but she was clearly overmatched. He wasn't clear how l'Abattoir would be of much help - with no sail nor rigging, and few enough cannon - however, whatever they might muster would be of far more assistance then if he led the men back in the two jolly boats. He nodded at the weasely little man - and called over the rails to his crew. One of the boats had already started back towards the 'hawk, but the men still aside l'Abattoir scrambled up ropes he dropped over the rail, as the ship's master turned without further words and made for the helm.
Several of the sailors cringed upon hearing the snicker-snack of blades, remembering the fate of their shipmates, but these blades had shorn l'Abattoir of her mooring lines and did no further malice. The deck shook with a terrible noise as great clouds of smoke belched from the main mast. An unearthly whirling noise arose from below decks, as the Captain made his way to the helm, followed, more cautiously, by Holbrook, Cooper, and two others. Morse and another stayed at the rail, looking towards their fellows who were rowing furiously towards the conflict.
"Watch," Worsley warned, pointing up.
"Look out above," called out Holbrook to the first mate. He had barely got the words out when there was a tremendous cracking and shattering, and pieces of the mast's veneer of lathing and timbers began to fall away, and steal spars began to unfold into position. Four spars on the main, and three on the fore, all looked to be square rigged, with spars for fore-aft sails on all three masts.
"Divil take me!" called out one of the sailors, in surprise at the sight.
"No, Devil take the Alahandra!" Worsley pulled and pushed on a variety of levers. Still like a weasel, thought Pelham, but with a fierceness they hadn't seen before, raising the man in his estimation. "Your gunner?"
"In the other boat," Pelham said, as they moved away from the dock - somehow, without a single sail. Worsley nodded, and pulled some more levers, l'Abattoir moving forward faster than any free-floating ship had a wont to. "Are there sails, man?"
"Aye, Captain. Not yet, or we'll overrun our gunner!" Worsley reached to his side and shifted three different levers in succession, as Pelham looked on, unable to determine any of the functions of this odd helm. "Lower ropes to port," he called out as he took hold of another lever, pulling on it, guiding the rudder to bring them to the starboard side.
Holbrook had echoed his order without thinking, and looked to the Captain, who nodded approval. The first mate, Morse, went to the port rail and lowered a rope, as did the sailor with him.
"Mr. Cooper! Take Wilkens and Thayer and get a rope over with Mr. Morse. Get those men up on deck immediately."
"Aye aye sir!" The second mate and the two sailors ran forward to throw lines over. They were travelling faster now, quickly catching up with the jolly boat, and still without a single sail in the wind.
Captain Pelham clenched and unclenched his fists, watching the lights flashing out in the bay.
"We'll launch a broadside," Worsley began, but was interrupted.
"We won't get a sail out if we're getting cannon ready! Damn it all!"
"There's six cannon they'll be taken to - they're of my own design, but I'm sure your gunner will have no trouble with them. Mind you, that's not the whole of it, but that's all we be able to bring to bear. I'll worry the sails, your lads will need to be below decks."
Before the Captain could reply, the first mate called out, "Away!" as the last man in the jolly boat had hold of a rope, and the first ones were reaching the deck.
"Stand firm, men," Worsley said with a grim smile on his face as he called out Voiles! and released a series of locked levers that snapped into place, followed shortly thereafter by a whirling of gears, and then the spars unfurled their sails as black as the night should be.
Cries of surprise and awe arose from the men as they kept footing. l'Abattoir lurched forward, sails billowing. Cables snapped taut, jib and stay sails rose from the deck, catching the wind. Her bow lifted somewhat from the water and by the time the last man stood on the deck they were fast approaching the conflict.
"Down there!" shouted Worsley, pointing to the hatch.
"Port canons, Mr. Stone!" the Captain called, wearing a smug and proud expression - true enough, the sails were not his doing, but he knew there had been something about this ship... now to see how she handled herself in battle!
"Aye, sir!" Obed Stone, the master gunner of the 'hawk answered and led the men down to the mid-deck. Were he a common man, he would have found himself standing in awe of the vast difference between l'Abattoir's outward and inward appearance. Instead, he saw cannon, and he knew what to do.
"Bloody ingenious!" He squinted at the framing holding the cannon and he shook his head. Looking amidships, he saw ammunition. "I'll be damned."
As each man joined him, he called out orders, as all save the Captain and the sailing master were needed to bring six guns to bear. "Mr. Morse, Mr. Holbrook, sirs!" he pointed at the first cannon. "Watch lads!" He reached forward and pulled a lever on the hull. Some wood broke free as the plated metal door swung open. He shifted another lever on the frame, and the quartermaster quickly joined him as they set their weight to the cannon and found it was barely needed. "Blow me, I've died and gone t' 'eaven!"
Stone demonstrated how to open the breech, load the cannon, and prepare it to fire. "Now, you there, Palmer and Wilkens," he ran down the deck, pointing to each cannon in turn and naming its crew, "Green and Haines, Mason and Holt, Mr. Cooper, Thomson, Thayer and Joyce, a'right lads, load away, and prepare to fire on my word!"
The Alahandra became aware of them at that very moment, as the Captain's jaw dropped - at a press of a button, a fore-canon, apparently unmanned, fired once, then twice in quick succession, its missiles screaming as they arced towards the Spanish ship. The first tore through a fore-sail, but the second hit the main deck. A moment later an explosion ripped through the man o' war.
"Gunpowder store," Worsley explained, a fact of which Captain Pelham was quite aware - he just wasn't sure it was all luck that had sniffed it out, and was very impressed.
"Captain, awaiting orders!" Stone called from below. Worsley pointed to a tube, and the Captain looked quizzically at the man before speaking into it.
"Fire at her bow as we pass, then fire as ready!"
"Aye aye!" he heard, quite clearly, as the master gunner stood by Thayer and Joyce's cannon, furthest ahead. "Fire!"
The first cannon sounded with a low thump, and the odd-shaped ammunition spiralled across the sky, screaming as the others had. The second and third had by now fired, the others in quick succession. The chaos on the Alahandra was near complete, as they raced to the bow cannon to face this new foe. The first shot took out the crew on the starboard bow, the second snapping the fore-mast and dropping the topsail. Another shot whirled through sets of sails before splashing down astern to port. Of the other three, one crashed through the hull low near the waterline, one did nothing more than scare the living daylights out of the superstitious sailors as it seemed to scream out their names as it nearly missed them, and the third landed amidships and exploded in the already-burning store.
They could hear the cheers of the crew on the Bloodhawk, but took no such liberties themselves, as they had cannon to bring to bear. The had the second volley off before the remaining bow gun spoke, an unfortunate direct hit - that splintered some wood, and bounced off the thick metal hull of l'Abattoir without doing her any harm. As they came along side, they had already done significant damage to the much larger vessel and had silenced many of her cannon, their modest six firing faster than the much larger contingent of cannon on the man o' war, each manned by a larger number of men.
Pieces of wood broke free from l'Abattoir but it seemed no lasting damage was done. More of the wood seemed to smoulder or burn outright, which added to the appearance of the fearsome ship. The Alahandra, however, fared not so well. A cannon from the Bloodhawk had dropped the mizzen mast, and the main mast looked in danger of toppling, as the fires from the stores threatened it. Her cannons still spoke regularly on her starboard side, but were nearly silent to port.
Captain Pelham removed his cover, so great was his awe - and, below decks, master gunner Stone fell to his knees. The cannons were fitted such that one person could have handled them to faster results than those on their opponent's ship, and with two, they were firing at a rate three to four times that of the naval craft. That, in itself, was more than any gunner might wish for, but there were two additional cannon of sorts, mounted forward of the area where they were stationed, and those fired continuously, sending a hail of smaller projectiles into the larger ship and shredding away her hull.
A bulkhead, with locked doors, kept Obed Stone from discovering exactly what they were and how they achieved their goal, but he was on his knees at the sight.
"She is ours," Worsley said, and turned l'Abattoir fast, sails shifting, bringing her hard around to starboard, away from their opponent and around, and then straight at her. He looked to the Captain, who nodded.
"Close doors and prepare to ram!" he called, and the crew shifted the cannon back and made fast the hatches. The bow cannon fired again, exploding into the Alahandra and toppling the main mast. Fires raged uncontrolled now, and even the cannon on the far side were falling into silence. With a horrific crash, the knife-edge bow of l'Abattoir sliced into the burning hull, riding up onto the larger ship. As they came abreast, they heard those strange cannon firing rapidly, two on either side, into the man o' war, grinding the ship into kindling. The wood coverlet on her steel hull flared and burnt away, and Worsley triggered a number of levers. The black sails rolled away, the ship lurching, as, apparently, whatever alternate method of propulsion l'Abattoir had worked in an opposing direction.
Worsley spake aloud: En garde! and then grabbed at Captain Pelham's sleeve - who had been distracted, looking into the two lower cannon deck of the Alahandra exposed, as they sat amidships. Worsley led him to the mid-deck, where the crew waited further orders, and shifting more levers, he sealed the way behind him. LOCKDOWN, he called, and then moved astern. Beyond the modest complement of six cannon to a side, was another bulkhead. Through this, below the main deck's helm, was another set of controls that looked similar. Glass windows set facing the bulkhead - and all other angles from the helm - used mirrors and clever optics so that it seemed almost as if one was standing on the main deck.
Captain Pelham blinked, his eyes attempting to get used to the odd appearance of the images in the windows. They watched the Spanish sailors - the ones who had not jumped ship as the fiery l'Abattoir lodged into them - jump tentatively to the deck. At the command of the levers, the two strange cannons began firing again, and, with another click and shift, the defences on deck were engaged.
The officers and crew slowly walked into the room with the helm, mouths agape as they watched the bloodshed above decks.
"And that, gentleman, is just a taste of what l'Abattoir can do."
Scene Seven