A shadow shrouded in darkness, a warship seemingly pieced together from smoke, dense fog, and various debris, was charging towards the approaching Sea Swallow with the White Oak.
It was different from what he remembered, but Lawrence recognized it immediately—even though it now appeared battered, twisted, and peculiar, it still stirred his memory, just as it had in every dream.
It was the Black Oak, there, just as it had been the last time they had set out together, sailing alongside the White Oak.
Suddenly, a loud blast of a steam whistle came, interrupting the old captain's bafflement and reverie. The sound came from that phantom-like ship, as if to remind Lawrence that now was not the time to daydream.
Howling cannonballs fell from the sky, relentless barrages from the Sea Swallow, and Lawrence turned sharply to see a fireball striking the bow of the White Oak.