Blood of the Clans

The constant roar of the cannons had the men pulling as hard as they could to battle speed. The guns of the Justice were battering down the walls of Knock, as shot after shot of solid iron kept crumbling the blocks apart, while other shot burst into flames when it hit. The birlinns kept racing towards it, the men readying arrows and lighting a fire in a steel pot. The larger, heavier galleys lagged behind their smaller counterparts, but made as much speed as they could.

A lookout in the Justice's crow's nest yelled down again and again that sails were approaching them at great speed, but the constant roar of cannon fire drowned him out. Finally, after dropping his spyglass right beside the lieutenant, he gave the alarm and pointed back at the approaching sails. The lieutenant quickly informed the captain, who ordered the anchors raised and the sails set. The guns were silenced, as the sailors hoisted the iron weights and had them moving, but the birlinns quick speed had the distance closing quickly.

The battle cries of every clan rang out together, as they closed on the frigate and prepared to fire upon it. Nearing Knock, hearts sank, as the devastation of the castle was evident. Flames shot from the roof tops and windows, as bodies, still in flames, were hanging out of them. The carnage that was left had a riot of fury stirred in each man as they passed.

Grayson scanned the area hard for signs of survivors and saw little sign of life present. His heart sank heavily, knowing most of his kin and clansmen had been erased from the list of the living. As hard as he fought it back, tears crept to his eyes, finding their way down his cheeks. The rage boiled inside him, wanting his birlinn to catch up and put to death any and all aboard the vessel in front of him.

"Row men, row harder and catch they bastard English in front of us. I want the heads of every man on board, not one tae be saved, but the captain's head is mine." he raged out, venting the madness starting to consume him.

Iain's had his men row and sail to the fastest speed they could get to, wanting Grayson to know he was keeping his oath and leading the attack. Captain Roberts stood stiff and set on the aft deck, watching the smaller boats slowly catching up. He had spent many years fighting aboard a ship and knew the tactics involved in an attack from the rear. He ordered the men to load chain shot in the aft cannon and waited till they were close enough to make sure they hit their target. The men aimed their sights and waited for the order to fire. Roberts gauged the distance to Iain's birlinn coming closest to him and mentally counted the time out.

"Fire!" he yelled and the projectile blasted from the cannon, beginning to separate and spin.

The chain wrapped around the mast, halfway up, as the balls smashed the wood into splinters, toppling the mast and sail on top of the men below. Several were killed outright, by the heavy beam, the dragging oars disabling them completely. The birlinn slowed to a stop, the others behind swerving and colliding trying to pass it. Remorseful faces were looking at them, knowing they had to fend for themselves. Hands were raised in unity of strength to them, honouring their losses. Iain raised his hand back to them, then went to tend to the wounded, as they cleared the mast and sail away and now rowed for the shore at Loch Hourn.

The galleys slowed and stopped to aid them and a decision was made to unload the horses of one at the far side of the loch and take on the dead and wounded. Horses were forced to jump from the side of the galley into the waist deep, frigid water, before a quick trot onto land. The riders made the same chilly trek with the expected screams, as their prides suffered the instant chill. then gathered the horses together and mounted up. Once they were ready with arms, they rode at full speed, east along the glen from Eilanreach, through the mountain pass towards Loch Duich twelve miles away. The galleys slowly made their way up the sound towards Kyle Rhea, watching the birlinns tacking back and forth behind the frigate. As much as they wanted to make more headway to them, the light winds and heavy cargo made their journey anxiously slow.

Roberts ordered hot shot to be made. He had full reign to use any method he chose to take out the enemy and enjoyed showing them what he had come with. Bellows fanned the coals in the small, steel oven, making the iron shot glow to white hot. The men shovelled it into the cannon barrel and spun it back around, taking aim at the next birlinn closest to them.

Liam O'Bannion saw his birlinn ready to be fired upon and ordered a sharp turn to starboard. Roberts saw his attempt at evasion and ordered the men to fire. The multitude of shot glowed brightly, as it whizzed through the air towards the boat, burning through anything it touched, including the men as it landed. Smoking holes were left in them, as they died with horror in their eyes, The birlinn quickly caught fire, the sail becoming an inferno that blanketed the men as it fell upon them. Shrieking screams of pain were all that the others heard, as they passed the floating pyre.

Grayson was closing on the port side of the ship and had his men open fire with arrows at

the men on the cannon, who then moved back, staying out of range from them. As fast as they could, they reloaded and fired arrows again and again, keeping them from using the cannon. Coming closer, they prepared to fire flaming arrows at the sails, Unseen by them, soldiers were at the ready undercover along the gunwale, the wheelocks of their muskets cocked and ready. As Grayson's boat came within range, he gave the order to fire at the sails. As the flaming projectiles made a swift flight into the canvas, the soldiers jumped up and took aim at the clansmen. Looks of wonder came across them, some never seeing a firearm yet, as the barrels were aimed at them. In moments, the roar of exploding gunpowder released the iron balls and five men dropped in spinning and flipping moves, as the shots tore into them and pulled them along their trajectory. Before Grayson could give a command, five more men rose up and took aim towards them.

"Hard tae starboard, ram the ship!" he bellowed back to the helmsman.

He pushed the rudder hard to starboard, bringing it on a collision course with the side of the ship. The cracking of larch wood on the bow, caused splinters to shoot off, injuring the men with them and almost tossing Grayson into the water. The muskets roared again, but missed their marks, as the collision threw them off balance. The birlinn ricocheted away towards the rocky coast of Skye, as they approached the narrows of Kyle Rhea. The frigate's size commanded it's approach into the straight, as it prepared to exit the Sound of Sleat and into Loch Alsh. Grayson's boat recovered its course, but the damage had water coming in through the gaping seams, filling it up and weighing it down. The dead were moved out of the way, so the men could return to rowing, while others stripped away clothing from them and began patching the gaps as best as they could.

Captain Roberts smiled to himself, seeing the trail of death and carnage he had created. Smoke from the burning wreckage of the O'Bannion birlinn rose into the sky, marking his destructive powers. Far back, he could see the galleys were still coming, but the MacLean birlinn, broken mast and sail tossed overboard, was passing them, the craft under the strong arms of determined men, determined to never stop until the last man died in battle.

Roberts watched as his sailors cut down the burning canvas on his ship and tossed it overboard, stopping the damage before it became serious. The shortage of sail caused them to slow, but Roberts knew he had control over the birlinns chasing him. He had his gunners load spice shot, a mix of nails and shards of metal, into the cannon and waited for the next victim to come within range. With a mile left to the end of the kyle, all the birlinns could do was stay back far enough out of range, until they made their way into Loch Alsh and spread out again.

Slowly they wended their way, until the open waters of the loch were made and the frigate turned to starboard and made its way east to Donan. The birlinns started closing the distance rapidly, catching the fair winds coming from the sea and began to race along, keeping out of distance of the aft cannon, as well as the larger ones along the sides. Arrows were lit, as the birlinns closed in on the frigate, eyes scanning the rails, looking for signs of barrels. Sorely made his way at an angle to the frigate, closing quickly to firing range and out of range of the small cannon. When he knew it was time, he had the archers stand quickly and fire at the sails, the streaking shafts showing a true trajectory.

The archers quickly ducked back under cover and re-armed, just as the musketeers raised up and shot at them. The heavy targes blocked the shots, but some splintered and broke from the hits, exposing the men behind them. Before the next volley could be fired, the birlinn was pulling away to safety, while seamen worked desperately to put out the burning canvases in the rigging. Taking a chance, several rose up and fired at the men that were exposed to them. Two men dropped to the water dead, while another clung on for his life, an arrow deep in his leg. Musket shot rang out, but the distance had the projectiles going wide of its mark.

Iain's birlinn had made its way out of the Kyle Rhea and was closing in on Grayson's floundering boat. They pulled close along side and an exchange of men was

made to lighten the burdened birlinn and help row the mast-less one. The two battered boats began making their way along the loch, watching the others hunt and chase the slowing frigate. The large, flat island, that saw the demise of the first MacRae's, was now the same spot where the wolf pack would begin circling their wounded prey. Captain Anthony Roberts took stock of his sailing capabilities to manoeuvre his vessel for battle, the passage he was taking, afforded him little error in judgement. Two miles away, Eilean Donan sat proudly waiting for him, waiting to test its walls of stone against the eighteen pound balls of iron fired from his Culverins, that were loaded and ready to fire.

The large point of land jutting out after the Kyle, made the north side of the island the easiest way for the frigate to take. The lighter, faster birlinns made the turns easier, their speed increasing as they prepared to cut off the frigate on the far side, hoping the cannon wouldn't take them out before they passed it. Ten cannons were readied in their ports, the men knowing any one of them could take them out instantly, no matter what shot was used on them.

What the pack was unaware of, were the five birlinns now sailing out of the long bay to the west of them, after staying out of sight until they could surprise them from behind and attack. Blair MacRae stood at the prow of his birlinn, looking around at the others preparing for attack. He spotted the two ailing vessels coming out of the kyle and sneered to himself. He knew one of the lagging birlinns was MacDonald's and that made this attack all the more enjoyable.

Faster they closed on the birlinns, the MacDonald's and MacLean's both spotting them and readying for attack. MacRae had his boats spread out, wanting to take them from all sides and negate any defences. Grayson stared back, looking at the lead boat and the man at the prow. Even from the far distance, he could recognize Blair MacRae and his blood boiled at the sight of him. He ordered his boat to come around and slowly his waterlogged boat listed to port, as he came about, trying to keep as much water out as he could by turning on his good side. The men rowed hard, gaining speed, the north wind giving them an edge. Iain had his men hold oars on the port side, while the starboard side rowed hard to bring the birlinn around in a tight turn. It took away most of their speed, so all men worked to their limits to bring the vessel back up to speed. They were both aiming for a close pass, or at the least, a head on collision and a battle aboard sinking ships.

MacRae had his archers at the ready, as well as ovens of hot metal shards, stoked and ready to throw by shovelfuls at the sails and men in passing. Grayson's archers had twelve flamers ready, six for each side, but he wanted two to take aim at MacRae only. The distance closed faster and faster, as each opponent raced across the water with all speed. A row of men with targes, waited down low behind the main shields, ready to spring up with the archers for better defence. Grayson's eyes widened, as he saw the enemy archers, then shovels of glowing metal waiting to be tossed at his boat. He called for oars back and the men let the oars trail behind. He called for them to be raised out of the water, letting the enemy rowers oars take the hit of his birlinn.

As the bows started to pass, he called for oars out, sending them into the other galleys, just as MacRae and the others ordered the men to fire and toss the hot shot at them. Blair saw the oars careen and bounce over the shields and strike the men. The shot was spilled over the deck of his own birlinn, immediately setting the wood on fire. Grayson's archers rose and fired into the sails on both sides, setting them ablaze, while some aimed for the interior and made the men become torches. Grayson watched intently, as his men took aim at MacRae who was huddled into the prow for protection, then let their shafts take flight. The first took MacRae by his kilt blanket, holding him fast and setting it afire, while the second found the side of his chest.

Grayson roared in murderous glory, as he saw Blair MacRae fall to the deck, but ended up hanging by the other flaming arrow. The flames began to lick at his clothes and men threw water on him to put them out. Grayson watched as best as he could, to see if he saw MacRae rise, but lost sight of him. The rudder went hard over, bringing them around, as the water sloshed over the deck, up the side and back to where it came from. The opposite side lowered their oars quickly and stayed them in place, turning the birlinn on its axis.

The twin roar of MacLean's small cannon's, blasted holes through the light wood of the two birlinns he passed between, shattering them into pointed splinters. Men on both sides, were pierced and gored, dying instantly or bleeding out profusely. One ball struck the MacRae birlinn on the other side, going through two men, before exiting out into the water. The nearly severed bodies slumped and crumbled to the deck, entrails spilling everywhere. The hot metal spilled onto Iain's deck, but the sloshing water taken on from the loss of their mast, kept it from doing any damage. Several men had small shards burn their way into their flesh, charring them instantly. Blades were drawn and tips gouged into the smoking craters, digging out the glowing pieces. Grayson made his way over to Iain, making sure they were okay.

"Are ye in need of aid?" Grayson yelled to him.

"We'll be alright, Grayson. We're reloading and coming around wi' ye. They're making fer the castle, but these ones, there's no fight left in them. We'll take them out as we pass and then make fer the castle." Iain said, with a smile of sheer joy at the thought of butchering the enemy, written clearly in his face and eyes.

Grayson found a moment of camaraderie and smiled in kind back, before giving the order to row hard and make for the battered birlinns and the men aboard. The MacLean's and MacDonald's plied the oars in long, hard strokes, a pittance of the speed they could travel at with a sail. Coming broadside to the smashed boats, they opened fire with arrows, before tossing grappling lines over and pulling the boats together. The clansmen scrambled over the oars and cut down any men still alive, no one to be spared. They returned to their boats bloodied and screaming, wanting to stain their blades with more blood.

As they made their way, the galleys were coming out of the kyle after rescuing the survivors of the burning O'Bannion boat and passed the wreckage and human carnage left by the men. The ten other birlinns were in hot pursuit of the frigate a mile and a half ahead, charging and firing flamers and arrows at it, crisscrossing behind the stern, but taking hits from the aft cannon. Buckets of water were poured, soaking canvas, making it fireproof from the flamers, as the Justice neared its destination, the sailors and soldiers taking cover along the sides.

Sorely remembered the area around the island and made a bold decision to try a foolhardy thought. Noticing the angle of the ship and the inability of the guns on that side to fire down at an angle, he could see he was safe from cannon fire and only needed protection from arrows and shot. He called Colla to come closer and told him of his plan. Colla looked at him in wonder and then at the frigate.

The other birlinn leaders saw the two talking and then saw Sorley's birlinn make speed and pull towards the ship's aft on the starboard side. The men who weren't sailing, used a shield in each hand to protect himself and the lives of the rowers as well. They had barely come along side when the projectiles rained down on them, the men canopied, were safe from them, but a few were hit. They continued forward on the ship, until they were level with the bow, the men knowing the dead or dying couldn't be helped until they had finished what Sorley had started. Flynn Kennedy twirled the grappling hook in his hand, gauging his aim and distance to the bowsprit. Letting it loose, it sailed over the beam and into the mooring lines, then Flynn held the rope fast and began pulling it back in.

The hook caught on the ropes and Sorley motioned for Colla to get in place in front of him. As Colla's birlinn passed, they tossed their bow line to them and they tied it to their aft post. In moments, the line snapped taut and then the line between Sorley and the ship did the same. Using rowers on the port sides only, they started to pull the large ship off course and on a heading with the sandbars. Roberts ran forward to the bow and saw what was happening. He ordered a man to go forward onto the bowsprit and cut them loose. The deckhand scrambled over the bow and onto the bowsprit. He lay over the wooden beam and began shimmying towards the grappling lines. One of Sorley's archers took careful aim and released his missile. In a streaking flash, it was sticking in the side of the man's chest, making him roll sideways with the force, then dropping under the bow of the ship and disappearing underneath.

The two birlinns continued to drag the larger vessel off course towards the shallows, preparing to strand the vessel. Roberts had the wheel thrown over hard the other way, his sails angled to push him away, but the drag of the two birlinns was greater and kept them on course with the sand banks. The other birlinns tried to take advantage of it and charged towards the troubled Justice. The aft gunner aimed his spice shot at one of the MacDonald birlinns and fired as they passed close behind. The shot tore through sail and

men, killing four of them instantly. Blood poured like a fountain from arteries severed by the shards, as men tried to tend to their wounds and others to sailing for safety.

Arrows whistled from all sides, as the birlinns closed in, shooting quickly and veering off, making themselves harder targets to hit with the main guns. One of the O'Bannion birlinns came to the starboard side to fire at them, only to be greeted with muskets blazing at them. For all their inaccuracies, one of the shots found the forehead of Liam's son, Gleason, sending him twisting into the water, blood and brains pouring from the gaping wound through his skull. Another found the chest of the tiller man, the birlinn going wildly off course on its own, putting it in sight of the cannons. The last two aft cannons roared with billows of smoke and an instant after, the birlinn blew apart in shreds of wood and flesh, as the large canister shots exploded on impact.