## Chapter 105: The Royal Navy’s Resolve
The Beagle, a ship of the Royal Navy, held a commanding position in the English Channel.
Colonel Fitzroy, using his monocular, meticulously observed the movements of the ship before him. He noticed the boarding plank between the two vessels being retracted, followed by both ships displaying the signal flags indicating their willingness to submit to inspection.
“This…”
Colonel Fitzroy, gazing at the two ships of near-identical size, found it difficult to discern which one was the “Blackthorn” they were looking for.
After a moment of contemplation, he decided to adhere to naval tradition and maintain a safe distance until the identities of the vessels were confirmed.
“Lower the dinghy. Send eight marines to board for inspection. If anything seems amiss, raise the white flag, and we’ll come to your rescue,” he ordered.
Following his command, several marines, under the supervision of two officers, boarded the two dinghies secured to the ship’s side.
With the crank’s rotation, the dinghies were lowered by ropes, eventually settling steadily on the water’s surface.
Arthur, standing at the bow, breathed in the refreshing sea breeze, but a lingering scent of blood seemed to linger in his nostrils.
Agareus stood beside him, raising his right arm, summoning a illusion red-eyed raven that landed on his forearm.
Agareus, his ear pressed against the raven’s beak, listened to its report, nodding repeatedly.
“Hm… Hm… Well done, my little darling,” he chuckled, retrieving a small colored bead from his pocket and feeding it to the raven. He patted its head with a smile, “This is your reward.”
Arthur, observing this, calmly remarked, “You’re quite generous with your spending!”
The Red Devil grinned, “Of course. You think I’m like you, Arthur? I’m always generous with those who work diligently, while you, my dear, are stingy with hardworking devils. How about it, want to make a deal? Ten souls for a piece of information.”
“Information bought for one soul, resold for ten times the profit. Agareus, you’re a better businessman than any Jew.”
Agareus snorted, “Arthur, that’s an insult! Judas sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, I wouldn’t negotiate for such a low price! For a devil, the life of a prophet is worth far more than thirty silver coins!”
“Is that so?” Arthur asked, “What about my life?”
“Oh, my dear Arthur,”
The Red Devil rubbed his hands and chuckled, “That question touches upon my trade secrets. Though I can’t answer that, I can tell you that the information priced at ten souls can save more than ten lives.”
“Is that so?”
Arthur pondered Agareus’ words, ensuring the devil was using a declarative sentence before he spoke. “Seems like a devil is about to make a fortune today.”
The Red Devil smiled, “Arthur, what you’re saying. It’s a fair deal between us, Professor Agareus is honest and true to his word.”
Arthur remained silent, simply extending his hand and placing his thumbprint on the contract Agareus conjured.
Almost instantaneously, his relaxed brow furrowed, a vivid recollection of Fred’s conversation with someone flashing in his mind.
He hurriedly removed his pipe, muttering a curse, “Damn it, Fred’s really doing big business! Not only is he selling indentured servants to North America, but he’s also gotten involved with Barbary pirates who specialize in supplying white slaves to the Ottoman Empire!”
The Red Devil floated beside him, covering his mouth and chuckling, “But how are you going to convince Colonel Fitzroy to believe you? You can’t tell him that you know about the Barbary pirates because you made a deal with a devil, can you?”
“Convince him? Why would I convince him?”
“Then what are you planning to do? Wait for them to attack?”
Arthur didn’t answer. He simply walked towards the cannon mounted on the bow, smiling at the gunner and asking, “Is the cannon loaded?”
The gunner was taken aback by his question. “Of course.”
Arthur nodded impassively, then pointed to the sky and exclaimed, “My God! Look, is that not God?”
The gunner, bewildered by Arthur’s words, looked up, and Arthur, taking advantage of the moment, pressed his burning pipe onto the cannon’s fuse.
The gunner turned back, scratching his head in confusion and asking, “Sir, where is God?”
Arthur didn’t answer. He simply counted down.
“Three, two, one…”
With a resounding boom, the cannon roared, firing the cannonball swiftly down the barrel. However, due to the long distance, the projectile lost momentum and ultimately crashed into the sea not far from the Blackthorn.
White smoke billowed from the bow, leaving the gunner dumbfounded. It took him a while to realize what had happened.
He couldn’t help but yell, “Are you crazy? The captain hasn’t given the order, why are you doing this?”
Arthur, with one hand in his pocket, shook his head, “I told you, it wasn’t me, it was God.”
He then walked towards Colonel Fitzroy.
Colonel Fitzroy, startled by the sudden cannon fire, was already making his way to the bow, cursing as he went, “Which goddamn son of a bitch fired that cannon? I’ll flay him alive!”
Arthur approached him, extending the folded monocular and placing it before Fitzroy’s eyes. “Colonel, don’t be hasty. Look at this.”
Through the monocular’s lens, two flags were slowly raised on the two ships.
One was a skull and crossbones pirate flag with a silver arm symbol on a blood-red background.
The other was a triangular blood-red St. George’s flag.
As a sailor who had spent over two decades at sea, Colonel Fitzroy understood the meaning of these flags.
The first symbolized the Barbary pirates, who would slaughter all in their path.
The second represented the British pirates, who would fight to the death.
“Damn it!”
Colonel Fitzroy threw his ship’s cap to the ground, his cheeks flushed red, whether from excitement or anger.
“Goddamn it, I actually caught two big fish! All hands, turn the ship, aim the cannons!”
Meanwhile, on the Blackthorn, Fred was also using his monocular to observe the Beagle’s movements.
He threw the monocular to the ground in a fit of rage, cursing, “How did they know we were up to something? Get me closer, I’m going to slaughter those fools!”
But before he could finish his sentence, he heard the roar of cannons from the sea.
“Take cover!!!”
The first mate’s voice echoed across the Blackthorn, but before he could finish his warning, four cannonballs whistled through the air, striking the Blackthorn’s hull.
One pierced the bowsprit, another snapped the mast, and two more claimed the lives of three unlucky souls.
“Damn it!” Fred spat, “If the army artillery had that kind of accuracy, the Battle of Waterloo wouldn’t have been so hard!”
He roared, “What are you waiting for? Fire back!”
But despite Fred’s bellowing, the first mate wasn’t going to heed his advice.
Though the Blackthorn was an armed merchant ship, it was only equipped with two eight-pound cannons, and they were far out of range.
As for the ship’s dozens of muskets, their effectiveness at that distance was limited to boosting morale.
He wanted to order them to close the distance, but after sailing for a while, he realized that the Blackthorn was at a disadvantage, and closing the distance against the Beagle, which could reach a speed of twelve knots with the wind at its back, was a fool’s errand.
The initiative, whether to advance or retreat, was almost entirely in the Beagle’s hands.
The Blackthorn was at a loss, but the experienced Barbary pirates already had a plan.
They quickly sailed away from the Blackthorn, intending to flank the Beagle and attack from its weaker front.
But the seasoned Royal Navy wouldn’t let them have their way. Almost simultaneously with the Barbary pirates’ departure from the Blackthorn, Colonel Fitzroy ordered the Beagle to close in on the Blackthorn.
Fred was overjoyed at this sight. He commanded, “Turn the ship around, I’m going to have a head-on collision with them!”
The first mate looked bitter, but couldn’t argue.
They were at a disadvantage, even if they played a collision game, it would be the Beagle ramming the Blackthorn, there was no such thing as a head-on collision.
However, he still ordered the cannons to fire back when the Beagle came within range.
“Fire!”
With a loud boom, the cannonball landed near the Beagle’s waterline, but only left a dent in the Beagle’s hull, which was reinforced with copper.
However, even though they didn’t suffer much damage, the Beagle’s gunners weren’t going to tolerate Fred’s antics.
“FIRE!!!”
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!!!
This was the second round of cannon fire in three and a half minutes.
To avoid sinking the Blackthorn, the gunners chose their targets carefully, aiming for masts and sails.
Their focus wasn’t on killing, but on incapacitating the Blackthorn and preventing its escape.
As Admiral Nelson famously said, the Royal Navy’s motto was ‘If I have the opportunity to capture twelve ships, and end up capturing only eleven, I would not call this a victory.’
Just as Fred thought the cannon fire had ended and he could finally catch a break, a strong smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils.
Before he could figure out what was happening, he saw countless white flashes on the Beagle’s deck, followed by a series of piercing screams from the sea.
Fred’s pupils contracted. He recognized this weapon, as the army had used it against Napoleon at Waterloo.
He remembered how the infantry had only used a few hundred of these projectiles to withstand the repeated charges of Napoleon’s elite French Old Guard.
Congreve rockets!
Fred didn’t know its technical name, this uneducated cavalryman preferred to call it ‘Death’s Whisper.’
In an instant, the Blackthorn was engulfed in flames. Sailors burned on the deck, rolling around in agony, explosions reverberated in their ears, and the air was filled with the stench of urine from fear and terror, as well as the aroma of roasted meat.
Fred, gazing at the scene before him, unsure if it was due to the thick smoke he inhaled, felt as if he had been transported back to that day fifteen years ago.
That June 18th that cost him two fingers and a toe.
Suddenly, the Blackthorn’s hull shook violently, and with the first mate’s terrified shouts,
Fred saw three boarding planks extending towards him.
On the planks, dozens of marines with swords in their mouths charged towards the Blackthorn’s deck.
And on the plank directly opposite him, stood a black-haired young man with an officer’s sword in his mouth.
He leaped off the plank, thrusting his sword through the jaw of a Blackthorn sailor who lunged at him.
He took another step, dodging a slash from the left, then stepped on the shin of an enemy beside him, smoothly sliding his sword down the man’s throat and penetrating his skull with a slight push.
Having just taken a life, he turned his body, using his leather-gloved left hand to firmly grip the curved blade swinging towards him, then lunged forward, sending the blade in his hand into the enemy’s heart.
Seeing this, Fred suddenly felt his blood, which had been dormant for so long, start to boil.
Though he had occasionally killed a few people in recent years, it was always one-sided slaughter, completely uninspiring.
Except for Willox, who was tougher, he hadn’t encountered a skilled opponent like this in a long time.
“There are such skilled people in the Royal Navy?” He widened his eyes and grinned, “Mediterranean fighting style, Apennine swordsmanship, Fiore dei Liberi?”
(End of Chapter)