A tall, thin man walked along the deck, the sound of his feet against the wood perhaps the only audible noise besides the light movement on the sails in the wind. He had left his station at the poop deck to engage in an investigative stroll along the length of the ship; since the boredom of the watch had set in, he had felt a need for his mind to focus on something. Despite the nighttime darkness, there was a glow through the moonlit sky that illuminated the waves as they moved slowly by, and, for a while, the man stood there entranced by them as if it were the first time he had seen the sea.
He had paused somewhere adjacent to the mainmast, and with a quick glance to the mammoth oak structure standing upright to his right, he carried on his leisured walk, leaving the end of the quarterdeck and proceeding onto the slightly lower main deck. It was eerily silent, as it always was, and sometimes he believed it was if time itself had froze, and it would take all his mental capacity to comprehend they were actually making headway when no sound could be heard and no motion could be observed.
Luckily, the delusion was broken by a loud groaning emitted from the ship, as if was retorting to the man’s conviction that it was doing no work. A wry smile formed on the man’s face, and he rearranged his slightly lopsided bicorne to a straighter disposition. He passed a few crew and nodded in recognition, before reaching the forecastle, the bow of the ship, and he stood almost where the two sides joined, and the bowsprit protruded forwards, like a signalling desire of the ship to power ever onward. The man overlooked the figurehead, which hung below the prow, the spiritual embodiment of the great beast of the sea they called a ship. There hung a vicious snake, slithering and vicious, its sharp teeth and tongue looking fearfully alive – an apt figure for a ship that had been launched as The Serpent’s Breath.
“She always manages to squirm our way out of the tightest spots…” he muttered quietly to himself, voicing the ship’s notorious reputation for evading entrapment by enemy fleets, causing some to call her a blessed ship. The man, though, knew it was her speed and well-oiled crew that kept it alive, and was also why it was used extensively as a scouting frigate.
He glanced upwards, away from the model serpent and towards the horizon, just about discernible in the moonlight. The man half-hoped he might glimpse the glare of a lantern across the ocean, perhaps a Varean frigate sailing in the night, and that he would at last get to grips with an enemy ship. They had been at sea for four months and there was neither sight nor sound of any enemy fleet movements. For all he knew, they could be the only ship on the whole globe.
“Lieutenant Williamson?” whispered a hopeful voice from behind him. He turned round.
“Yes?” Williamson answered harshly, a little irritated to be disturbed, although he knew it would probably be for a good reason.
“I reckon I might have glimpsed a light off the starboard stern, sir,” the man replied, slightly abashed by the Lieutenant’s tone.
Williamson pulled out his telescope, and taking a few short steps to the starboard side, looked out into the darkness. “I see nothing,” he concluded.
“Sir, I swear it was there a minute ago. Was on for a few seconds before it disappeared again.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“By the Good King himself sir.”
Lieutenant Williamson was just about to signal the call to arms when the first ball struck the ship, ripping a hole through the deck and showering the officer and the seaman in shattered pieces of wood, leaving them both to nurse both cuts and bruises as they were thrown unscrupulously to the floor. It was quickly followed by others, smashing their way through anything that barred their path. Williamson saw a seaman ripped in half– his screaming pierced the night silence, his blood splattered onto the formerly clean deck. There were lights flashing on and off in the distance, from gunpowder igniting in cannon barrels. The serpent had been caught asleep.
But there was a sudden and unmistakable awakening – from the sound of clashing bells, to the hundreds of feet stamping to their stations, to the gun crews preparing their return fire. Soon they could return a murderous barrage, similar to the one that had ruthlessly awoken them.
Lieutenant Williamson was dimly aware of the Captain striding onto the poop deck, along with the other Lieutenants and crews filling their positions. The first cannon shot had half-stunned him, he was sure some sort of splinter must have damaged his ears for he could not hear anything except a low buzz. His legs weren’t moving either, but that might be just because he was suddenly afraid. He had dreamed constantly of action, but not like this – it was supposed to be glorious – staring into the man’s eyes, shouting inspiration to the men, storming the enemy ship with cutlass in hand. Not at night, not a surprise attack, and certainly not so far away.
They were doing something to alleviate the last one, at least, as The Serpent’s Breath steered into a more north-westerly course, attempting to cut across the bow of the enemy ship. It was some distance away still, but had lit its lanterns and so was stark against the black backdrop. They were shouts and orders and Williamson, lying on the floor, felt he should do something, but had lots all sense of duty and just slumped onto the oak deck.
Someone must’ve noticed him, because he was grabbed by the arms and legs by two men, who looked at the cuts and slumped posture of Williamson and decided he needed some medical attention. They raced across the deck, while the Lieutenant heard the ship roar with a thunderous broadside, twenty or so cannons firing at once. It shook the very frame of the vessel. This was not how he had imagined battle, he thought lamely, as the men navigated the steps downwards.
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