Smith opened the bag of shot and removed a lead ball. He slid it into the muzzle and gently used the ramrod to seat the bullet securely on the powder charge. Resting the musket horizontally, he opened the frizzen — the L shaped piece of hinged steel used to enclose a small priming charge — and filled the shallow flash pan with powder. Confident the weapon was ready to fire, he closed the cover tightly. His jaw was set hard as he took aim.
Oswald yelled, “Don’t waste your shot!”
Smith carefully leveled the musket at the only survivor and squeezed the trigger. The ball struck the man in the back of his head. His arms stopped thrashing in the water, and the water settled once more. It was the only gift he could give to the poor man.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” Oswald said.
He looked up, ready to argue, but stopped — because the second wave of forty warriors attacked.
Smith watched as the second wave of attackers fell as quickly as the first, and the third followed immediately after. The third focused its attack on the bow of the Emerald Star. It was the only place where they had any chance of climbing onto the vessel. It should have made it easy to defend. Instead, it made it exceptionally hard, because there were only so many spaces for the men to load and fire their muskets. While their attackers were spread out around the ship, it was easy to pick out individual targets and take them out. Now, the same attacker was being hit by multiple shots while the person behind, was able to continue the advance.
When the fourth wave of attackers reached the bow they did so with the same unity as the human bridge. They locked arms and gripped the bowsprit and chain, to form a semi-rigid platform. The attackers quickly scrambled over their backs and up on to the deck of the Emerald Star.
Muskets fired and the deck was filled once more with the familiar cloud of smoke of burnt gunpowder. The men rotated through the process of priming, loading, and firing so that they could keep a constant barrage of shots at the boarders. Smith noticed, for the time, the method worked — but how long could the muskets keep firing? His eyes glanced at the army of warriors, impatiently waiting on the shore to join the fight. He knew the answer — not very long.
Their only hope was that the tide would rise sufficiently so they could flee before being overcome by the superior numbers. He turned to check with his brother and stopped. A small party of attackers had managed to form a small human chain, and climbed up the portside to the no longer guarded aft section of the Emerald Star.
“Boarders aft!” he said.
Smith aimed his musket and fired at the first attacker to step foot on the deck. He then dropped the weapon, and replaced it with a pike. The sudden success of the boarder’s attack, sent a surge of adrenaline to his system, and his fear turned to bloodlust. He charged at the men trying to scale the railing. He stabbed at their fingers as they gripped the gunwale, before they had a chance to overcome the railing.
Behind him, he heard his brother shout, “You five! Help Smith. The rest of you, stay at your posts — if the boarders breach the bow, we’re done for!”
“Aye, aye, captain!”
The five reinforcements joined Smith and quickly killed the remaining boarders. Smith felt his heart pounding in his ears. He paused on the edge of the ship, struggling to catch his breath. He glanced as the growing number of attackers surrounding the ship was swelling again. It was hard to tell the living from the dead. He stared at them, stunned. With their own superior weaponry, how could they possibly lose? But it was clear their dominance was beginning to wane and struggle to keep up with the endless number of assailants, willing to sacrifice their lives to win. Soon, he knew, the muskets would start to fail. They would misfire, the powder would fail, and their shot balls would run out. Then what would happen?
Smith knew the answer with the simple certainty of a man who knows that he cannot fly like a bird, or breathe water like a fish — their attackers would overcome them, and the crew of the Emerald Star would be slaughtered.
Unless they changed their tactics, now.
Smith stared at a row of dead men floating in the water below. Despite the gruesome sight, he suddenly grinned. The solution had presented itself to him. He couldn’t believe his brother hadn’t thought of it already. He turned to tell his brother. But a hand stretched through the railing and clasped his leg.
He looked down and saw a fiend from the dead suddenly rise out of the sea. Smith stabbed his pike at the man, but the attacker gripped the head of the weapon and used it to pull himself up. Smith let go, but he was too late. The fast moving boarder had already cleared the railing. The man appeared young, no more than fifteen or sixteen. He wore nothing but a small animal-hide loincloth. His muscles were lithe, and he moved about with the agility of a circus performer. He used a small dagger of fragmented obsidian and sliced one of the men in the process of priming his musket.
Someone else fired a shot, but the lead ball went wide. Another pirate threw his dagger, but it missed. The attacker slipped past three men who were reloading their muskets and ran forward. Oswald stood toward the bow of the ship, where most of the crew still fought off the main boarding assault. He noticed the unfolding disaster and ran toward the assailant, with his cutlass drawn, ready to slice the small man. The boarder glanced at the large man and turned. He was now trapped between Smith and his brother. Smith reached for his musket and quickly began the tedious task of priming it to fire.
The attacker stared at him. The assailant’s eyes darted back toward Oswald, who stared back with the vehemence of a seasoned pirate with blood on his drawn cutlass. It was enough for the attacker to make a decision. The attacker turned to run away, directly toward him. Smith quickly filled the muzzle with gunpowder. He didn’t measure the amount, and then shoved a round shot ball into the barrel. He dropped his ramrod, and opened the frizzen to fill it with an unmeasured priming charge. The attacker jabbed at him with his small dagger. Smith parried the attack with the barrel of his musket, and stepped back. He closed the frizzen and squeezed the trigger. The shot ball fired and struck the man’s belly…
The soft lead flattened on impact. Unlike a modern spitzer-type bullet, which enters and exits tissue quickly, the deformed ball doesn’t travel through tissue very efficiently. Instead, it transfers most of its kinetic energy to the tissues, organs and bones of the victim causing unimaginable damage. The boy gripped his abdomen with his right hand. Abject horror in his eyes, as blood started to gush out. It was a mortal shot, but the man still moved.
The boarder howled with rage. Driven by some unearthly force, he pushed passed Smith and clambered up the ratlines to the main-mast. He reached the maintop and continued to climb up to the topgallant. Once there he started to cut the rigging. Smith cursed and swiftly started the process of reloading his musket.
“Forget about him,” Oswald said, as he glanced up into the rigging. “He won’t live long, and if I don’t do something to change their attack, we won’t have a ship left to protect.”
Smith nodded. “I’ll take care of him.”
It took less than twenty-five seconds to finish priming and loading the musket. Smith then climbed the ratlines to the maintop. He stopped and tried to aim at the dying man. The shot was obstructed by the main mast and second stage of ratlines. If he had his rifle he could have made it, but not with the musket. The dying man above appeared to be making the most of his last few minutes of life by cutting as many rigging lines as possible. Why doesn’t he just lie down and die? Smith breathed hard and started to climb again. Immediately, the man above started to move toward the very end of the crosstree, toward the portside.