“Take ‘er hard to port, Mr. Roberts!” Captain Barney shouted above the crashing of the waves against the weathered boards of his ship. “She’ll not likely survive another round from the cannons!”
“Aye Cap’n,” yelled the first mate, turning the great wheel.
“Mr. Stanley, have the crew fire again as we come along side!” the captain ordered.
“Cap’n, we’ve been hit and we’re takin’ on water below,” came the reply.
A salty spray kissed the captain’s stoic face. He’d go down to Davey Jones’s locker before giving up his quarry. That Spanish galleon carried doubloons. He’d press on and give no quarter. Captain Barney Strickland had earned the title “Terror of the Seas” for a reason.
“Bring her about and prepare to fire,” he ordered as his ship lurched violently in the stormy waters.
“Cap’n Barney” called the first mate. “The tour’s leaving. Let’s go!”
“What was that Mr. Roberts?” he asked, turning his gaze from the galleon.
“I said, ‘The tour’s leaving’. Honestly Barney, your head is always in the clouds. Come on.” his wife Betty scolded.
Barney Strickland, Terror of the Seas followed dutifully behind his wife as the tour group moved on the the next museum exhibit.
Word Count: 200
[This is my entry into the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge, hosted by Alastair Forbes. Write a short story of 200 words or less from the photo prompt provided.
I wanted to pop in and see how my buddy Barney Strickland was doing. Last time we checked in, he was regaling his relatives with a story of his big kill. Check it out here: Big Game Hunter.]