## Chapter 109: The Sound of the Endgame
**Chapter 109: The Sound of the Endgame**
While laughter filled the decks of the Blackthorn, the Beagle remained a bustling hive of activity.
Colonel Fitzroy, using his telescope to track the movements of the Barbary pirate ship, commanded the adjustment of the cannons.
“Align! Elevation 30, south-east 15 degrees, four rounds, fire!”
The deafening roar of the cannons echoed across the sea, sending plumes of water skyward. The Barbary pirate ship was hit in two places, but the damage was above the waterline, not affecting their mobility.
However, the Beagle’s barrage was quickly met with a retaliatory strike.
The Barbary pirates unleashed a volley from their six cannons, aiming directly at the Beagle.
A thunderous boom shook the deck, sending splinters of wood and dust flying.
Eldred, clutching his head, lay flat on the deck. After a moment, he rose, spitting out a sliver of wood and cursing, “Those goddamn bastards! If they have the guts, they should come alongside for a boarding! What kind of cowards rely on superior firepower to bully others?”
Darwin, wiping the soot from his face, muttered, “Eldred, you didn’t say that when we were shelling the Blackthorn! You were all about firepower being justice then!”
Eldred glared, raising the musket he held and pointed it at Darwin. “Charles, whose side are you on? Of course, our firepower is justice! When they have the firepower advantage, it’s tyranny! I’m obviously going to protest!”
Perhaps the Barbary pirates had seen the smoke billowing from the Blackthorn. After several rounds at the Beagle, they finally closed the distance, intending to use their numerical superiority to rescue the Blackthorn.
However, as the pirate ship drew near, the sailors on both vessels immediately raised their muskets and opened fire.
Under the orders of Ahmed, the Barbary pirate captain, and Colonel Fitzroy, both ships dropped their sails, moving almost parallel to each other at a standstill.
After a round of musket fire, both sides threw their guns to the deck.
Then, several gangplanks were lowered between the ships. The Barbary pirates, drawing their curved swords, charged toward the Beagle’s deck, shouting “Allah Akbar!” (God is Great).
The Beagle’s sailors, drawing their swords and cutlasses, met their charge with a furious “God wills it!”
Agareus, pacing the deck of the Blackthorn, couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose and shake his head. “You all worship the same God. What’s the point? Besides, He can’t help you. You’re better off calling on my name. At least I can give you a response.”
However, the two sides were deaf to the Red Devil’s sigh. In the blink of an eye, the Beagle’s deck was awash in blood.
Almost everyone joined the fight, even the nine-year-old cabin boy, wielding a cutlass and fighting with all his might, coordinating with his companions to attack a Barbary pirate.
Eldred was locked in a fierce sword fight with a pirate, but his strength was no match for his opponent, and his stance was far less stable.
The pirate kicked Eldred’s ankle, sending him stumbling. Seizing the opportunity, the pirate leaped onto Eldred, raising his blade to strike the killing blow.
In a moment of desperation, Eldred drove his right knee forward, not managing to knock the pirate off, but striking a vital blow.
The pirate yelped in pain, dropping his curved sword.
Eldred, quick as a flash, kicked the sword away and, lying on the deck, used all his strength to choke the pirate’s neck.
The pirate, gritting his teeth, returned the chokehold.
The two grappled, neither willing to yield. Their faces grew increasingly purple. Eldred caught a glimpse of the mast, where a figure clung, the self-proclaimed blood-phobic former surgeon, Charles Darwin.
Eldred roared, “Charles, help me! Look at your pathetic skills! You’re not even worth calling a monkey relative!”
Darwin, still a little dizzy, was enraged by these words. He leaped from the mast, crashing onto the Barbary pirate’s back.
The pirate coughed up a mouthful of blood, splattering Eldred’s face.
As Eldred breathed a sigh of relief and was about to praise Darwin, he saw the surgeon giving him a furious middle finger.
“Eldred, you can question my courage, but you cannot accuse me of having any relation to monkeys without evidence! You are not only insulting me but also Lamarckism!”
Eldred, clutching his neck and shaking his head, said, “Thank God, thank monkeys, and thank Lamarckism! They both saved my life!”
As the sailors were locked in a fierce struggle, a volley of gunshots rang out. Seven or eight Barbary pirates were instantly hit, clutching their chests and falling one after another.
They turned to see the arriving marines and Arthur standing on the gangplank, arms raised, firing.
Arthur adjusted his sailor hat slightly, raising the muzzle of his musket and blowing away the pale smoke.
“Whew…”
As the smoke cleared, behind Arthur stood not only the marines but also a swarm of shadowy figures – countless freed contract slaves from the Blackthorn, armed with various weapons, their faces filled with rage.
Seeing this, the Barbary pirates knew they were outmatched. Captain Ahmed blew a whistle, signaling a retreat.
He shouted in Arabic, “This mission is a failure. Let’s withdraw!”
They wanted to retreat, but the Beagle’s sailors weren’t letting them go.
Colonel Fitzroy kicked a pirate to the ground, then raised his sword and bellowed, “Counterattack!”
Tom and Tony drew their muskets and fired at the retreating pirates on the gangplank. “For justice and righteousness!”
At the same time, the Beagle echoed with the shouts of the charging sailors. “For Nelson!”
Following close behind Arthur onto the Beagle, Alexandre Dumas grabbed the flintlock pistol Arthur had given him and fired furiously. “The Irish represent the pinnacle of British intellect!”
The sailors, already fueled by passion, were further enraged by these words. Even Colonel Fitzroy roared, “Damn it! Who the hell is that pirate shouting? I think he wants to die! Kill them all!”
Under the relentless assault of the sailors and contract slaves, the Barbary pirates were pushed back step by step.
Seeing that the enraged sailors and contract slaves were about to follow them onto the gangplank, Pirate Chief Ahmed had to order, “We can’t wait any longer! Remove the gangplank, we’re retreating!”
At his command, the pirate ship raised its sails once more. With the help of the monsoon wind, it quickly distanced itself from the Beagle.
The gangplank, losing its support, collapsed, sending the Barbary pirates still standing on it tumbling into the sea. They splashed in the waves, desperately calling for help.
Colonel Fitzroy, waving his sword, roared, “Fire! Don’t let them live!”
At his command, the Beagle’s bow cannons roared.
Several cannonballs struck the pirate ship’s hull, but unfortunately, they failed to sever the sails providing its propulsion.
Colonel Fitzroy, seeing the Congreve rocket launchers, clenched his teeth in frustration. “I should’ve kept some in reserve!”
He wanted to order the pursuit, but then he saw the Beagle’s damaged sail and a fallen mast. He sighed in frustration.
“Damn! We had a chance to take both ships! Those Barbary pirates, they dare insult our Irish intellect!”
As he finished speaking, he saw Arthur walking towards him, a bloody towel in hand.
The battle had been so fierce that Arthur’s arm and hand were covered in blood. His palm was slick, making it difficult to grip anything.
Arthur looked at the disgruntled Colonel Fitzroy and said, “Colonel, you needn’t worry, those pirates are doomed.”
“How do you know?”
Arthur wiped his hands clean and pulled out his telescope from his pocket, handing it to Fitzroy. He pointed to the sea ahead and said, “Look there.”
Colonel Fitzroy took the telescope and looked up, noticing several black dots on the horizon.
As the dots grew closer, he could see the flags flying from the ships.
At the top was the Royal Navy’s main flag, a crimson background with three golden anchors.
Below it was the white ensign, a red cross on a white background, with the Union Jack in the upper left corner, symbolizing the Royal Navy’s frontline fleet.
Next were the flags of the English Channel Fleet, the division flag and the swallow-tailed white ensign with a red border.
But these flags weren’t what Fitzroy was most concerned with. His attention was drawn to a special flag, a small red sun sewn onto the St. George’s flag, fluttering in the wind.
This was the flag signifying the highest command rank within the fleet.
As the ships drew closer, Colonel Fitzroy recognized the imposing vessels of the Royal Navy.
The Glasgow, a 74-gun third-rate ship of the line from the Channel Fleet. The Impetuous, a 98-gun second-rate ship of the line from the Channel Fleet. And the Conqueror, the flagship of the Channel Fleet, a 114-gun first-rate ship of the line.
Colonel Fitzroy let out a sigh. This information was enough to tell him who was on the ships before him.
The commander of the Royal Navy’s Channel Fleet, directly under the Admiralty, Vice Admiral of the White, Edward Codrington.
The knowledgeable sailors were already grinning, while Colonel Fitzroy couldn’t help but cross himself.
“What’s the point of those pirates? Codrington has a complicated history with the Ottoman Empire. Falling into his hands is worse than surrendering to me.”
On the far horizon, a naval officer stood tall, sporting a silver-white curly wig, a ship-shaped hat, three shining round sun-shaped shoulder stars, a red and black uniform, and white trousers. His face was cold and stern.
The salty wind brushed against his cheek, lifting his silver-white wig.
The old admiral stood up and raised his right hand slightly.
His signalman, upon seeing this, immediately roared, “To Your Station!”
Soon, the sound of cannon covers being lifted echoed across the sea.
From top to bottom, cannons of various calibers were rolled out – 12-pounders, 24-pounders, 32-pounders, and the largest, 68-pounders. The black muzzles of the cannons filled the 114 gun positions.
As a gust of wind billowed through his sleeves, the raised right hand swept down in a simple gesture.
“Fire!!!!!!!!”
A thunderous roar, like a bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder, echoed across the sea.
The distant horizon instantly erupted in a thick, impenetrable white fog, like the mystical clouds of the Bermuda Triangle, swallowing the pirate ship into the unknown.
With a gust of wind, the fog slowly dissipated, leaving the sea calm and empty. It was as if there had never been anything there.
Only a few pieces of floating wood remained, a reminder that something might have been there once.
(End of Chapter)