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| The funeral pyre of the last honest privateer | |
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| Topic Started: 23 Nov 2007, 07:17 PM (196 Views) | |
| Vicary Dargo | 23 Nov 2007, 07:17 PM Post #1 |
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All was still on the surface of the water in Port Royal. All probably wasn't still below it, but then again, it might be. You never knew. Vicary Dargo, eating an entire ham by himself, was in his cabin. His multiple chins were wobbling with the effort, and the growth of his stomach was almost perceptible. It took him less than five minutes to demolish the morsel, and then he burped quietly (a sound like a gunshot, as opposed to a cannon) and sighed. A fine meal for a fine man. Being a privateer was an honest and respectable job; he could - he had - made a fortune with the Daunted, far more easily than he ever could have at any other occupation. Life was a joy when one had a letter of marque and could wrest that joy straight from enemy shipping. French sailors had infinitely better cuisine than English ones. He heaved himself out of his chair, going on deck to inspect that knots and the furled sails. Below, he checked that the guns were stored correctly, the wheels of the truckles secured and everything in its place. Then it was time to inspect the magazine, to be sure that the store of gunpowder, cartridges, and suchlike were properly stored, and all still there. Vicary heaved his way even further below, the boarding creaking underneath him as his vast weight settled on every step. Eventually he made it to the magazine, and ordered the sentry to open it. Once it was open, he forced his way inside, past the tight doorway - well, tight for him, though it would have fit three other men shoulder to shoulder within it. And there were the racks of empty cartridges, the casks of powder, the destructive forces of the ship. Everything seemed in order. Suddenly, something brought Vicary up short. He sniffed. Smoke! He smelled smoke! On his dry wooden ship, flame was the ultimate enemy, more so even than the cannon-fire of other ships. A ship could go up in flames in moments. But it was even worse that he should smell it here. This was the magazine; fire here would cause the entire ship to blow if the powder kegs caught fire. His eyes widening, he bellowed for the sentry to find out where the smoke was coming from, and to bring sand to douse it, all in the same order. His shout rousted the sentry from where he was lounging outside the door as Vicary inspected the ship, and the man came running. Thus it was that he was the only person to witness Vicary Dargo's last moments on earth. The gargantuan captain burst into fire, all over flames from crown to root. No star-fire stolen by Prometheus ever burned so bright as the human torch that once was Vicary Dargo! The roaring of the flames was as a thousand cannons shot at once, and the sight was as if the sun itself had fallen into the magazine. The most delicious smell of roasting meat filled the magazine, and the sentry had but a split second to wonder if it was cannibalistic to think that human flesh smelled tasty. And then Vicary toppled, not a sound escaping from his throat - not that it would have been heard above the roaring flames of his spontaneous combustion - and fell directly on the powder kegs. The sentry's eyes widened in utter panic, but within a second the flames had chewed through the dry wood casks to the powder below. The magazine blew. The Daunted, once a mighty privateer ship, commissioned by the marque of the Lords of the Admiralty themselves, burst as a mighty force shredded through the inside of her hull. Not one sailor escaped the great explosion that ripped through her as a cannon-ball bursts through the head of a soldier. The masts were shivered into burning splinters, and the hull sprayed outwards across the docks of Port Royal and into the town. The pier where the Daunted had been docked disintegrated in a circle radiating outward from the centre of the explosion, and the nearest two warehouses were on fire, the burning flesh of men raining down out of the enormous pillar of smoke rising from the tragic accident. And a violent and tumultuous wave roared across the water of the bay, driven by the awesome force of the detonation, towards the place where a small naval vessel had forced a much larger ship to heave to. (Which, incidentally, kills Kenridge) - this references the thread "An Encounter", that later posts of which have been lost. |
 
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2:21 AM Sep 7
