About halfway down the eastern coast of Britain, a small promontory extends about eight

miles from the Yorkshire coast.

It's called Flambeau Head, not too much to see there to be honest with you, unless

of course you were among the thousands of people gathered on the shore in the evening

twilight on the night of September 23rd, 1779.

Now on that particular night, the British subjects living on Flambeau Head saw something

that few people have ever seen and which none of them would ever forget.

Just after 7pm, a series of brilliant orange flashes lit the surface of the ocean 14 seconds

later came the deep-throated booms.

And for the next four hours, a strange, man-made blue cloud hovered over the ocean drifting

slowly to the north, constantly lit from within with brilliant flashes of orange that would

sometimes backlight the sails and rigging of two worships locked in a death struggle blasting

each other to splinters at point blank range.

Now certainly there could be no doubt about one of the combatants that dread pirate

jones.

Flambeau's distributed up and down the length of Great Britain showed just who they were

dealing with, a giant of a man with broad shoulders and muscular thighs.

He straddles a loose cannon like a colossus, a pistol raised in one hand and a wickedly

curving cutlass in the other.

Paul Jones the pirate, looking out over his dark, curly black beard with the injured and

angry expression of a man who has just been deeply wronged and his intent on making someone

pay for it.

...