H.M.S Valor: Treachery And Triumph: A war time adventure on the high seas by Cal Clement (best way to read an ebook TXT) 📗

heard, but no alarm had been raised yet. Omibwe’s father looked down into the faces surrounding him, ensuring they were ready. Then as if he were taking a plunge off a tall cliff, the African took a deep breath and pushed hard, forcing the weather hatch open. With a massive thud, the hatch swung over and landed on the deck. In a headlong rush the crowd of African captives moved up the stairs and onto the deck of the ship. LeMeux, for his part, made his way up the stairs amid the main party. When he stepped out of the hatch onto the deck, he heard the first sound of alarm,

“The slaves have escaped! Down to the deck everyone, the slaves are out and some of them are armed!” a shout from overhead came. The crew of the Gazelle all raced to storm the Africans and their French leader. Pistol shots sounded in rapid succession, several of the Africans fell from the first exchange along with a pair of the closest approaching sailors. LeMeux scanned the deck for Mr. Sprague, not finding him.

“Sprague must be in the Captain’s cabin!” the Doctor shouted over the fracas of the fighting. Omibwe’s father looked over to him and followed, the two making their way to the door of the cabin in the aft castle.

LeMeux shoved open the door to the cabin to find Sprague pulling on his trousers. Panic and rage plagued the man’s face when he saw the French doctor in his doorway, sword in hand.

“I should’ve killed you, you damn shit eating dog,” Sprague shouted angrily, reaching for his sword.

“Indeed. You should have.” LeMeux said, running into the cabin all his strength and momentum behind a right sideways swing with the cutlass. Steel rang on steel as Sprague brought his sword up to parry. Another desperate slash from LeMeaux met Sprague’s sword from the opposite direction, loosening the startled sailors grip on his weapon slightly. LeMeux saw a flash of fear cross his opponents face and he swung his sword in rapid succession, each blow growing in strength and fury meeting against Sprague’s rebuttals. The sound of the steel swords connecting filled the cabin until LeMeux felt his sword impact soft flesh and bite into bone against Sprague’s wrist. The sailor dropped his weapon under the flurry of blows from the raging doctor. LeMeaux freed his blade from the man’s arm and plunged with a great thrust, diving his point into Sprague’s chest. A guttural gasping noise escaped from Sprague, deep in his throat. Blood poured out of his wound, dark red and quickly soaking through his clothing. Sprague’s strength slipped away, and he crumbled onto the deck. LeMeux pulled hard, removing the blade from its target.

A shout from behind snapped LeMeux out from slipping into a trance of shock as his eyes locked onto the face of the man he had just killed. Outside the cabin on the main deck, swords collided as the African’s battled the crew of the Gazelle. Each party to the fight seemed to lose their taste for the battle quickly as bodies scattered the deck of the ship. LeMeux scanned over the onslaught as the Africans drew into a semi-circle enveloping him and the cabin entrance by the weather hatch. A standoff developed as the crew of Gazelle faced the circle of Africans. It seemed as though neither side would initiate a second offensive for a moment and there were only shouted threats and taunts from the crew. Doctor LeMeux looked up into the rigging to see four sailors still aloft. They had either refused to join in their crew’s battle or were being held in reserve, he could not decide which. From the weather hatch, Omibwe struggled up the last couple steps into LeMeux’s vision. The doctor dropped his sword to step forward and assist his young friend coming up on deck, keys still in his hand.

“I’ll not be having anything of this sort on my ship!” a voice shouted out from behind LeMeux as he pulled Omibwe up the last step onto the deck. He turned to see the Captain; head still bandaged with a trail of dried blood striping the side of his bearded face. He held Omibwe’s father in front of him, a pistol in hand pointed at the African man’s head. “You all drop your weapons. Doctor. Don’t even breathe a word to them. I know you speak their savage tongues, when I get them all back in their cells, you’re a dead man. This is your doing, I should have listened to Mr. Sprague, he wanted to open your throat in the first place.”

Omibwe struggled against his board crutch leaning onto it for support in between the doctor and where is father was held by the Captain. A moment elapsed, Omibwe looked down at the blood streaked cutlass LeMeux had dropped onto the deck just moments ago. None aboard dared move, until the Captain’s rage boiled over.

“So be it! Kill the lot of them!” he shouted, firing his pistol. Omibwe saw his father’s head jerk sideways from the impact of the ball. A shower of blood splattered the deck and his lifeless body crumpled, thudding onto the planks. The Captain turned his pistol in hand and swung it like a club at LeMeux, taking no notice of Omibwe as he dove for the cutlass on deck. The Captain’s pistol butt connected with LeMeux’s jaw causing him to stumble backwards, falling down the ladder well leading into the belly of the ship.

The fall jarred LeMeux and he fought to grab the steps on his way down, failing he collided with the deck below. His vision doubled over, and his head spun, the doctor placed his hand on the crown of his scalp and felt warm, sticky blood oozing from a gash. Gathering his strength, he fought his way back up the steps, crawling hand over hand trying to gain traction with feet that wouldn’t fully obey his command. His ears