Jack said out loud, and to no one in particular. All that had happened seemed mixed up in a great amorphous swirl of events: the hellish raking from the guns, his being struck down by the section of bulwark and lifted again by Maguire, the mizzen sail coming down, the Frenchman falling off. He could not think clearly enough to form a coherent thought beyond that one statement. But this was too good, like an unanticipated gift. Even if this sea fighting was some brave new world, Jack had long ago developed an innate sense for ships and the way they moved and the way they were able to move. He could look at the Frenchman, at Abigail, at the wind and sea and know in his gut how they might maneuver in relationship to one another. Even if he had not learned to anticipate where an enemy might wish to go, he could see exactly where he could go, and where he could not. Whatever problem the Frenchman had experienced to make them falter in their turn would buy the Abigail a minute or two, no more.
