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PART III
JUNE, 1780
THE THAMES
LONDON, ENGLAND
ELLIOTT, HAVING abandoned his wig, coat, cravat, and pumps some time ago, was silent as he helmed and observed his crew surreptitiously going about the business of preparing to abandon ship. They had passed the Thunderstorm ninety minutes ago, and he had feared Rathbone would notice there had been two HMS Roses on their way to hunt Fury, one of them pointed in the wrong direction.
Rathbone was high on the platform, the glass to his eye, watching fore and aft, unable to fathom where Fury might have gone or even if she was still on land. His certainty that Fury would take flight on water had been convenient, but now he was doubtful.
“Raxham!” he called. “The Rose is closing in.”
“Signal for assistance!” Elliott called back.
A tense few moments passed before Rathbone spoke again. “Hylton’s at the helm, praise God.”
“Praise God indeed,” Elliott replied with some amusement.
“She’s still signaling. The Thunderstorm is ahead of us, but we also have reinforcements ahead.”
He started. Reinforcements? “Yeardley!”
“Our reinforcements,” Yeardley murmured a few minutes later from the darkness behind Elliott, “consist of the Mad Hangman and the Black Demon.”
Elliott took a deep breath of relief. “Excellent. Tell the men to make for them instead of awaiting the Thunderstorm.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Another full glass passed as the tide began to roll back in, the wind picked up, the sky gradually darkened to deep violet, and the Thunderstorm drew closer just as they passed into the Channel.
Rathbone spoke again. “Do you know,” he called slowly, facing aft with the glass to his eye, “there is something quite odd about the admiral’s captaining.”
Elliott had expected that five minutes ago.
“’Tis familiar to me, but it’s not the ad … mir … al’s— GODDAMMIT! FURY!”
“HO PENANCE!” bellowed a female voice from behind them that carried across the waters. Elliott looked over his shoulder to see her bare to her waist, her long orange mane flowing on the breeze before she reached back to secure it. “Looking for me?”
“RAXHAM!” he roared.
“AHOY, MARQUESS!” she answered with a cackle. “If I have not yet succeeded in destroying your career, I will today. RUN UP CONGRESS’S COLORS, LADS!”
Elliott choked back a laugh, swore appropriately, and bellowed rapid-fire battle commands. He could hear Celia and her officers doing the same, putting them all in position for Elliott and his crew to escape out of Rathbone’s view.
The two of them were dancing with their ships, their masts and sails turning smoothly as one so that they were fore and aft perpendicular to the shores. Likewise, they executed the next steps together when the gunports of both ships slammed open and the cannons were rolled out.
“Munro!” Elliott bellowed. “Go overboard and keep watch for the report. I can put this bitch down.”
“I will not!”
“Someone has to record this, and I am a mite occupied at the moment.”
Still, Rathbone hesitated, loath to carry out such a cowardly order, but aboard this vessel, Elliott’s word was law, no matter their ranks, military or noble.
“FIRE!” shouted Celia’s gunner.
The Penance heeled larboard with the blast, causing wood to splinter and fall like rain.
“THAT’S AN ORDER, LEFTENANT!” Elliott thundered even as the Penance fired back—and hit, rocking Thunderstorm to starboard.
“Goddamn you, Tavendish! I’ll make you regret this!” And with that, Rathbone dove off the platform with the grace of long practice, cleaving the Thames sixty feet below.
BOOM!
Another broadside to the Penance, this one a mortal hit.
At Elliott’s signal, his topside crew scrambled over the wale opposite the one Rathbone had taken, whilst his meager gun crew fired one last shot at the Thunderstorm before they, too, abandoned ship and swam out to greet the ships just coming out of the lightening horizon.
“Cap’n,” Yeardley said, even as they ducked a spray of grape-shot from the Thunderstorm’s swivels. “Everyone is out and the bodies have been dressed and placed.”
Elliott simply nodded while attempting to keep the Penance from coming about with the force of each cannon blast she took. Out of the corner of his eye, Elliott saw Yeardley follow the rest of the crew overboard and out to sea.
He was alone now, facing Celia’s swivel gunners who peppered the ship, sending wood and metal flying. He ducked again when a large piece of wood flew past his ear.
Celia’s archers rose up and now he could see the flaming arrows pointed right at him.
“FIRE!” she bellowed.
The woman was enjoying this far too much, he thought as he awaited the arrows. As soon as his freshly tarred rigging and dry sails went up in flames, he turned and ran for the wale, hoping he could get far enough away before—
Elliott hit the water in a clean dive, then quickly shed the last of his clothes.
He flinched when, a few seconds after that, the Penance’s magazine blew, sending wood and burning canvas and human body parts sky high along with flames that lit the night and shielded his and his crew’s escape from Rathbone’s detection.
It was done, and Elliott sighed, half elated and half grieving. He turned and made toward what he could tell was the Mad Hangman.
Another volley of cannon fire and a third explosion, surely the one that would reduce the Penance to burning flotsam and allow the Thunderstorm to sail past with little risk.
He did not turn and look, which he supposed he should have done to avoid the burning wood that speared him straight through his gut.
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
Everything was going according to plan…
Well, that can’t be good.
Neph claims another scalp. I purchased a cocktail shaker.
I have all that stuff.
No idea where it is. I know it made the move back in 2010 and the move from the apartment to the house in 12.
In a box I would assume.
I bought a whole cheap kit ages ago but I rarely mix drinks anymore. It begs to be used when entertaining which I haven’t done in about a thousand years.
We gave up entertaining about the fourth or fifth time we threw a dinner party and none of the invitees showed even after rsvping.
🤔 Yikes
I’ve ghosted an invite or two over the years but I am certain the hosts didn’t miss me terribly
We finally just gave up.
That’s so low class. Did any of them call, or talk with you later, to apologize?
One showed up 45 min late, commented that it would have been an amazing meal, scarfed some food down and bailed about thirty min later.
We tried it three or four times when we lived on base.
Moved back to the home town, bought a house. Tried it a couple more times and had the same results with a completely
Different group of people.
Just very weird.
“Ya see, kids? THAT’S why ya keep your eye on the ball, that right there! Might as well be the Pittsburgh PURITANS, ya lousy priss-abouts!”
~ex manager, hung after strike three.
*sigh* I’m down to four beast chili. there wasn’t enough room in the slow cooker for any corned beef.
Need a bigger crock pot.
Or fewer chilies.
I had already cut the peppers before I began cutting the meats.
I was looking through old emails and went down a rabbit hole. About 10 years ago I was telling a friend why I adored the comments in HnR. Specially the “you know who else?” game.
Sorry for the formatting.
Fist of Etiquette| 11.3.16 @ 9:00AM|#
The Chicago Cubs beat the Cleveland Indians last night to win the World Series.
You know who else beat Indians?
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Just a thought not a sermon| 11.3.16 @ 9:02AM|#
The Florida Marlins. You really could have looked that up yourself.
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Rasilio| 11.3.16 @ 10:42AM|#
Just goes to show, Florida Man always beats Ohio Man
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Tumulus| 11.3.16 @ 11:30AM|#
They have a fight, Florida wins, Florida man.
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Grand Moff Serious Man| 11.3.16 @ 9:02AM|#
Colin Campbell, the 1st Baron Clyde?
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Libertarian| 11.3.16 @ 9:02AM|#
Every other team in MLB?
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yet another dave| 11.3.16 @ 9:05AM|#
Except Toronto
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Libertarian| 11.3.16 @ 9:15AM|#
Thank god for Toronto, or we really couldn’t call it the “world” series, could we?
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Bobarian (Would Chip Her)| 11.3.16 @ 10:04AM|#
Nobody counts them, the ‘World’ reference comes from old reference to the Expos.
They don’t even speak English there.
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Citizen X| 11.3.16 @ 9:04AM|#
The 7th Cavalry at Wounded Knee?
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PBR Streetgang| 11.3.16 @ 9:11AM|#
Andrew Jackson?
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Lachowsky| 11.3.16 @ 9:12AM|#
damn. ok. Oliver Otis Howard
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Lachowsky| 11.3.16 @ 9:11AM|#
Andrew Jackson
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SugarFree| 11.3.16 @ 9:14AM|#
Colonel Reginald Dyer?
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Princess Trigger| 11.3.16 @ 9:17AM|#
The British Empire.
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invisible furry hand| 11.3.16 @ 9:18AM|#
Turkmenistan, 2-1
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Lee Genes| 11.3.16 @ 9:18AM|#
The Franciscans?
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jack sprat| 11.3.16 @ 9:50AM|#
The Jesuits
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Mike Schmidt| 11.3.16 @ 9:56AM|#
Other Indians?
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Johnny Hit n Run Paulene| 11.3.16 @ 9:57AM|#
Harley-Davidsons?
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Swiss Servator| 11.3.16 @ 10:03AM|#
Phil Sheridan?
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bacon-magic| 11.3.16 @ 10:15AM|#
The British Empire?
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Chip Woodier| 11.3.16 @ 10:31AM|#
DAPL security guards?
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Seguin, the Mighty Monoclops| 11.3.16 @ 11:15AM|#
Tamerlane?
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Hayeksplosives| 11.3.16 @ 1:14PM|#
Smallpox?
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Touching cause the final comment was from Hayek.
Yes. And a number of those names bring back memories.
Same for me. Some that came here for a while, but no longer comment.
Rings back some memories.
I’m at a circus.
Two years ago this troupe had a pair of elephants, three or four bison they rode, horses, and a dude on a rotating death swing thing.
Now not so much. I’m glad I won the tickets on a radio call in show.
I wonder if ICE got their talent.
Russians and Central Americans.
UCS caught of them bison. Possibly the horse, maybe the dude. “My crock pot will not remain vacant,” said the gloved stranger, according to local carnies. “This time we really is telling the truth, so help me,” a two peg-legged dwarf told Glibs Nightly. “I treat the diabetics,” he added with pride, pointing to his groin, where “SUG FREE!!” was tattooed on his hairless crotch, an arrow lined along his penis to his urethra, a smiley face inked on his glans.
“I’m why he’s feelin’ so good. We missed his act ’round here for a week or so. He was THIRSTY. Don’t let ‘im tell ya about weird hallucinations, or nothin’. We just had our fun! He likes watching his stories. And salty snacks!”
Hey, FIFA – fuck you, it’s “Turkey” in this country. I’m not gonna suddenly switch my pronunciation for whatever bullshit reason you’ve decided.
I’m not saying “Chil-lay” either.
I’d say nearly anything for a chill lay.
I’ll see myself out.
*cue young topless fan of any of those with national colors body paint*
Wearing a burka?
The Turkeyay one is especially ridiculous as no reason has ever been given other than FYTW. It is just globalists fucking with us, making us dance to their tune.
Also ridiculous as the vast majority of English speakers, without training, do not know how to correctly pronounce it.
You might as well demand that English speakers call China 中國 from now on.
Chi-Na
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RDrfE9I8_hs&ra=m
“It is just globalists fucking with us, making us dance to their tune.”
^^ I’d really like to know how that Top Down strategery is played. Create thousands of Twix vids, phrases, ‘ideas,’ etc etc and see which ones poke the Vote Democrat nerve the hardest, gets the most comments and views.? I’m sure that occurs. But ‘someone’ sketches out those ideas. I’m sure some cribbed through university students and their thousands of ‘essays.’
It’s spread out so far, through so many nodes, that no one really feels bad about their own choices, decisions, actions in those moments. But eventually, lots of money is paid to the person who ‘decides’ each Outrage of the Week.
*fingers twiddle, serious face affixed at Bond villain’s Big Exposition Table*