Chapter 213: Crisis at Sea

Chapter 213: Crisis at Sea

Though the ship continued to sway violently, Captain Morel, who had just finished his night shift, quickly dozed off in his hammock. This was a fundamental skill for any sailor. However, just as he had closed his eyes for a brief moment, a shrill alarm jolted him awake.

"What's happening?" Captain Morel climbed up the ladder, pushed open the hatch, and the intense sunlight streaming in made it difficult for his eyes to adjust to the brightness, given he had grown accustomed to the darkness of the ship's interior.

Captain Morel, one hand shielding his eyes, shouted, "What's going on?"

"In the captain's quarters, we've spotted a strange British vessel!" called Leclerc, who was on duty by the helm.

"Where?" Captain Morel, now adapted to the outside light, quickly made his way to Leclerc while asking.

Leclerc handed Captain Morel a brass telescope, saying, "Captain, look over there, where the smoke is rising. That ship looks quite odd!"

By this time, Captain Morel had also spotted the billowing smoke. "Is their ship on fire? Or did our Greek fire scorch them?" Captain Morel wondered aloud as he raised the telescope to his eye.

"That ship is really ugly!" Captain Morel couldn't help but exclaim.

It was a gray vessel with a tall smokestack spewing thick black smoke. Two large paddlewheels turned on each side of the ship, generating considerable wake. Most notably, an English flag fluttered from the ship's bow.

"They're from our direction," Captain Morel said. "I'm curious to see whether they're faster than us."

Captain Morel checked the sails all of them were unfurled. But due to the scarce wind at sea, the ship's speed remained sluggish.

When confronting other sailing ships, the lack of wind wasn't a significant issue, as if the wind was weak for the flying clipper, it would be weak for others as well. However, the pursuing ship behind them was an exception it had no sails but was still racing at a considerable speed.

"I'll take the helm," Captain Morel said, and Leclerc stepped aside.

Captain Morel controlled the wheel, making slight adjustments to the ship's direction, but it didn't seem to significantly increase the ship's speed. Leclerc was also an experienced helmsman, and Captain Morel wasn't necessarily better. Switching helmsmen at this point was more of a superstitious notion, hoping for a change in luck. Perhaps the new helmsman would bring the wind with them?

"Leclerc, think clearly!" Morel said. "Look at their ship's design, their bulwark height. That's not a flying clipper, and they definitely have cannons on board. They still have the advantage in speed and can maintain a safe distance while blasting us to the seabed with their cannons. Leclerc, making a fortune at sea is a risky business with a strong gambling flavor. But once you make this bet, you can't afford to gamble recklessly because your wealth and life are at stake."

Leclerc was convinced by Morel's words, and the crew started removing cargo from the hold and throwing it into the sea.

As more cargo was cast overboard, the ship lightened, and its speed improved somewhat. However, the sea remained windless, and the British ship continued to close in. Even though they had jettisoned all their cargo, it appeared that they wouldn't escape the pursuing British ship unless an unexpected strong wind saved them.

"Enemy ship firing!" cried the lookout from the mast. Everyone gazed aft and saw a plume of smoke rising from the British ship's bow. After a while, the deep roar of cannon fire echoed, followed by the whistling of cannonballs through the air.

A water column surged from the right side of Morel's ship, but it was still far from the vessel. If it weren't for the relatively calm sea at the moment, such a small splash might have gone unnoticed.

Firing at such a distance was indeed a challenging feat, primarily a warning and a show of force. It essentially meant, "You can't escape; surrender quickly!"

But for Morel and his crew, surrendering was not an option. If they surrendered, they would lose their ship, plunging them into the tragic state of having no money but not being dead.

So, Morel and his crew continued to run, the British ship pursued, and the bombardment continued.

The British ship got closer, and the cannonballs landed increasingly near Morel's vessel. At this point, binoculars were unnecessary; they could see the British ship and the thick, massive cannon mounted on its bow.

One 24-pound cannonball accurately struck the mast of the flying clipper, snapping it into two pieces.

The mast, with the sails attached, fell into the water, but the ropes remained connected to the ship. The fallen mast essentially became an impromptu anchor, drastically slowing down the ship.

"Quick! Cut the lines!" Morel shouted, dropping the wheel and grabbing an axe himself. Leclerc's face turned pale, his expression one of despair, for losing the mast meant they had no chance of escaping the British.

"Oh my God!" Leclerc cried out. At the same time, a thunderous noise echoed from the approaching British ship.

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