With each of the contenders staggering drunk as the other, I was surprised Relando was able to keep the bottle on his shoulder as he shouted, “I’ll wager my best and only boots you don’t got it in you to chuck it halfway to me, much less hit the bottle, you sodden rat of a devil!”
Rubbing his hand over the coconut like it was a witch’s crystal ball, Dirty threatened, “How about I chuck it down your gob and fire it out your arse like a deck gun, you mutt.”
With the bottle still miraculously balanced on his shoulder, Relando laughed. “I’m not worried. For if’n you do miss—which is more n’ likely—I’ll be taking that hat you be cocking on your noggin’ every time we make port.”
“You’ll be my little cabin boy before you’ll be taking my hat, mate,” Dirty shouted as he chucked the coconut too far to the left.
Relando flinched and the bottle fell, but as he laughed, “Your hat be mine,” Dirty reached in his pocket, pulled a rock out, and chucked it at Relando’s face. As the unexpected ammunition hit him square in the mouth, Relando shouted that he lost another tooth and charged at Dirty, who pelted him with another rock.
Jumping off my rock, I ran over to break up their fight. Toby followed behind me, but the drunkards only ended up wrestling in the most pathetic way. Slapping Toby on the back, I chuckled, “Let them go, mate. They aren’t going to hurt nothing but the sand crabs beneath them fighting this way.”
The crew cheered and hooted as they carried on shoving each other’s faces in the sand, huffing with ridiculous insults until they each lost all strength to continue. While they both lay on their backs with heaving for air, Relando huffed, “I’ll just keep my boots and you keep your flopping hat. Let’s just shake on it and stay good mates. Shall we?”
Once they agreed to make amends, Toby snickered, “How about we get some water to cool them down, Captain?”
“Ah, you got a good head on your shoulders, boy.” I patted him on the back.
Rounding up a few men, we carried over a barrel of water and poured it all over the sweaty dogs to cool them down.
While those two stayed right where they were, the rest of us carried on in drink, shouting Merry Christmas and slurring hallelujah.
Eventually, my little Black Rose came alongside me and whispered, “I think we should sneak away for the night. Let’s go somewhere far enough that I don’t have to be quiet.”
Figuring I’d had enough fun at the party, I gathered up some supplies and led my lady across the beach. With the sounds of the party fading behind us, we shared a bottle of rum—carrying on with a party of our own as we walked. Like the first night I ever took her out, the full moon lit the earth before us—white sand gleaming beneath our bare feet, and the ocean roaring alongside us—but this time, we were allowed to be together, and we were free to do whatever the hell we wanted to do.
To celebrate our freedom, we drank and shouted and had a few mock sword fights along the way. The night was warm, but the breeze was soothing, and even dressed like a dirty sea dog, Black Rose Charlie was still the prettiest girl I’d ever seen.
Finally coming upon a nice cove that was far enough away from the crew, Charlie hooted, “This spot is perfect.” She tossed her hat and yanked off her coat. “I need to get out of these dirty clothes.”
I held my hand up to stop her. “Ah, slow down, slow down, sweetheart. Dance for me in the moonlight.” I plopped myself down in the sand and took a shot of rum.
Easily persuaded by my request, she slowed her pace. Swaying her hips and humming a sultry tune, she removed her baldric and slowly unlaced her waistcoat. Tossing the tattered fabric at me, she then dipped down low and pulled her shirt over her head. Once she removed the band she flattened her breasts with, I howled like a wolf—encouraging her to take everything else off. One by one, she dropped her pistols and daggers. With a trail of weapons behind her, she stopped in front of me and let her breeches fall to the sand.
Grabbing her bare arse, I got up on my knees and started kissing her all over. As I did so, she began removing my clothes. Once there was nothing but our skin between us, she tugged me out into the moonlit sea. While holding me tight, she pulled me underwater and kissed me like a mermaid from the deep. The feel of her hot, wet lips on mine intensified the carnal fire her provocative dance had already ignited in my blood. As soon as we emerged, I wrapped my arms around her and laid her down in the cool, wet sand along the shore. With the tide rolling up around us, I tangled my hand in her wet hair and smiled. “I caught myself a mermaid.”
Wrapping her legs around my back, she moved me close and sighed, “And I got myself a sailor.”
Her eyes gleamed like the moonlight, her skin glittered like the sand, and the sound of her sighs harmonized with the hum of the ocean rolling up around us as I loved her. Holding her hands, I kissed her everywhere, licking the salty flavor of the sea off her skin. Her movements seemed mythical. The sight of her was divine. She was beautifully wicked, like the Jolly Roger I had painted, and like the world ahead of us, she was all mine.
X
Written by Charlotte Bentley:
January 17th 1669
Here I am, starting off the new year on an island called Virgin Gorda. Apparently Christopher Columbus named it that because the profile from the sea looks like a fat lady lying on her side. Lost in my opium daze upon our arrival, I was unable to take in the view, so I am looking forward to seeing it when we sail away. So far the visit has been nice. My days have been a drunken blur, full of hard work and tremendous amounts of laughter, while my evenings have been spent adventuring the island with Sterling. One eve we found a skull-shaped boulder. The ghastly thing had two holes that looked like eye sockets, and a hump the perfect shape of the bridge of a nose, but where the mouth would be was sunk into the sand. Sterling loved it, but I preferred the massive pile of boulders covering the south side of the bay we are beached at. The paths between the rocks are filled with water, and as the tide comes in, the pools fill up like bathtubs.
I love it here, and with all the things Seminole Joe has been teaching me about the island’s natural resources, I have been imagining making our retirement home on this piece of land. Medicines, dyes, decorations, and foods, Seminole Joe sources them all from The Great Garden. That is one of his names for the earth, and I am certain he knows his way around the plants that grow from her soil the same way I knew my way around the aisles of the market in Port Royal. “The earth is our mother, and The Great Garden is our home,” he would say, and sitting here with my bare feet buried in the cool wet sand, I certainly feel at home.
Black Rose
X
“Are you sure you want to leave?” Charlie asked as she put my journal in our sea chest.
“I told you a hundred times, I’m not staying on an island without a ship.”
“Ah, why do we need a ship when we have running water to drink, beautiful beaches to admire, boar to hunt, and fruit to pick? We could be like the lovers of Ile De Amoreoux.”
“Pack it up, Black Rose. We voted to sail out by noon.” I shooed her along.
“All right,” she dramatically pouted.
While taking down our tent, I asked her, “So how do you like the new look of our Wicked Rose?”
She perked up. “Oh! I love the black hull, and that blood red stripe streaking down her side makes her look like a wicked bitch that will eat her enemies alive.”
“Aye. That she will, and like the teeth of a lion, these ghastly men will chomp on the prey she devours.”
“I do like these men we’ve been working with. Most of them, anyhow.”
“I like most of them rather well myself. Though we’re few, we’re strong, and I have faith in the power underlining our mutual drive for freedom. I know it’s still early in my reign, but so far it isn’t looking half bad being captain.”
“I can tell the men like working with you, Sterling. You do a great job leading them. You work just as hard as them—if not harder—and your dedication to our ca
use sets a great example.” Folding up the last of our canopy, she lowered her voice. “Though everyone seems keen on having Rolland as quartermaster, I feel the need to warn you about the flaws of having him in office.”
Laying the canvas over the sea chest, I asked, “What do you mean? He works without complaint, the men respect his command, and I know I can trust him.”
She hiked up her half of the chest, and as we lugged the heavy thing across the hot white sand, she explained, “All valid points, but you must remember, all this work ashore is average sailor duty, and that is just what he is, a master sailor. As long as he is on our deck, Wicked Rose will be on top of every knot her sails can bear, and that’s because he loves what he does and it is easy for him to manage his men in tasks he is passionate about. But problems will arise when it comes time to raid.”
“Tell me why you think this.” We hoisted the chest into our longboat.
Plopping down onto the bench, she let out a long exhale. “As you know, I grew closer with him than I should have, and well, in that time he confessed to me that he has no interest in robbery. Though I am confident he will do what he has to do to survive, he is far too stout in his convictions to command other men to do the very things that he himself has no fancy for.”
Rowing along through the aqua bay, I agreed, “I knew all along that Rolland’s career in piracy would be limited by his moral judgment. Ah, I reckon he’d be savvy to step down if’n anyone else were to step up for the position.”
Trying to sound sly, she hummed, “Do you have anyone else in mind?”
“What about Jameson?” I suggested. “He’s courageous and honest.”
“Too honest and too by the book. You saw the way they coerced him into participating in that shark hunt. He could never handle that bunch.” She shot me down as quickly as the crewmen had the last time I’d nominated him.
“All right,” I laughed. “Do you have any ideas?”
Her list of traits making for a good quartermaster were all too familiar, reminding me of her last plea for the position. Just to annoy her, I let out an exhausted huff. “Well shit, Charlie, each man has his good traits, but not a one of them fills all those standards.”
Trying hard to contain her irritation, she calmly stated, “There has to be someone.”
“Well, Yakob is strong, and his views are similar to mine. Maybe I could nominate him?”
“If you want the crew chopped to bits before we get to Tortuga,” she snipped.
“You’re right. What about Inappropriate Jon? He knows the ship like the back of his hand and seems to get along with everyone.”
As it was becoming more difficult for her to keep a solid poise, she gritted her teeth and explained why he was not the best choice. Having all too much fun making her crazy, I finally suggested, “How about Edward? He has—”
“Have you lost your mind, Sterling Bentley?” she interrupted. “Edward doesn’t even speak English!” Standing up, she pointed at me. “You know damn well I have been running this crew all month. Even though they know I am a woman, they turn to me for guidance. They honor my word and respect my work. But for some reason you still don’t see me as an equal, and your lack of respect for me makes me want to whack you upside the head with this oar!”
I knew she was going to snap eventually, but I hadn’t foreseen her wishing harm upon me. Not wanting the men to hear her yelling this way, or threatening me with violence, I tried to shush her. “Calm down, love. I was only—”
“You are only being an unreasonable arse!” she shouted. “I have been waiting patiently for you to gain respect for me, but apparently you never will, no matter how hard I work. Even with my injured arm I have been painting, careening, and sweating like a hog cooking that damn boar meat by the heat of the boucan!”
“I’ve noticed,” I admitted.
“But you don’t give a shit because I am a woman and I will always be less than you in your pompous eyes.” She growled as she sat back down.
I took her hands in mine. She tried to yank them away. Holding them tight, I looked into her eyes. “Ah, you’re not just a woman. You’re my woman. And if anything, the fact that you are an injured female, working hard as you have been, I reckon I respect you more than any one of those dirty men out there.”
Relaxing her rigid posture, she stared at me with a silly little pout. “You mean it?”
“Do you think King Bentley would ever admit to such a thing if’n he didn’t mean it?”
Shrugging her shoulders like a shy little lassie, she giggled. “So you won’t stop me if I nominate myself?”
Kissing her on the cheek, I chuckled, “I won’t stop you.”
“But will you vote for me?”
“Don’t push it, sweetheart.” I cocked a playful brow. “I will give you this, though.” I handed her the shark tooth.
Eyeing theB I had carved into it, she sighed. “It’s beautiful. I love it. Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe you can put it on one of your necklaces.”
“I will. And even if you don’t vote for me, I will forgive you because I know you love me.” She kissed my cheek.
X
Written by Sterling Bentley:
January 22nd 1669
I never wanted to be captain again, and I never thought I’d marry. Yet here I am, leaving Virgin Gorda as captain of the Wicked Rose, with my wife as my quartermaster. Damnation seize my soul.
B
You will not be sorry. I promise.
Love, Black Rose
Chapter 3
For The Love Of Rum
As Told By Charlotte Bentley
“Gone? As in no more?” Jameson asked with a squeak in his voice.
“Not a drop left.” Leo held his mug upside down. As he had said, not one drop of rum fell from the empty mug.
“What about the wine?” Black Bob sat up in a panic.
The day was hot, and being but one of the many windless afternoons we’d experienced since we left Virgin Gorda, we once again huddled under the shade of the limp sail—drinking ourselves drunk to keep amused. But if the liquor was truly gone, we were in trouble.
“The wine’s all gone, too,” Rolland calmly stated.
A few of them insisted on searching the hold again.
“I’m certain you blokes can make it two more days without rotting your brains with rum,” Rolland hollered over his shoulder as they walked away.
“They rot without it!” Jameson cried from where he lay flat on his back on the planks.
“Since when have you become a raging drunkard, Jameson?” I chuckled from the barrel I sat upon.
“I am not a drunkard. I am a sunburnt man who wishes for a drink to ease his pain.”
Looking over his lobster red skin, I snickered. “I don’t know why you ever took your shirt off to begin with. You are far too fair to endure the sunlight.”
“Because it’s hot! And there’s no wind!” he wailed. The others followed suit.
Fanning myself with a little fan I had acquired from the prior captain’s belongings, I listened to their bantering, and thought of how I should be the one crying. Unlike them, I had to keep myself well covered no matter what the weather. “You blokes cry like little lassies. Worse I reckon.”
“Worse,” Seminole Joe grumbled while sharpening his spear.
Just then, Yakob and Robinson returned from the hold, bearing the dreadful news. Just as Rolland had said, all of the liquor was gone. Every bit of it. The current state of agitation intensified into a war of pointing fingers.
“Look how drunk Harold is. He must have finished it off,” Robinson accused while shoving at the half sleeping man next to the empty barrel.
Opening one eye, the ol’ grouch mumbled, “Ah, I just had a sip. It’s Black Bob who’s been drinking all that fancy wine.”
“No, no, no.” Black Bob tried to clear his name by pointing at Jim Hawke. “We wouldn’t be out if’n you hadn’t wasted all the rum on that blaggard
ol’ shark meat!”
“Aye, and it didn’t even get me drunk.” Leo belched. “Tasted like my ol’ boots probably taste, anyhow.”
Harold stood up. The rum deprived group followed his lead. Circling around the cook like wolves, they snipped and snarled at the man who had been cooking their meals. As they drew near, Hawke patted the meat cleaver he kept in the pocket of his dirty apron. “You bastards voted for the flavor that day. Don’t forget that part. And if you come any closer I’ll chop you to bits and pickle your parts in rum once we refill the barrels.”
“No one’s chopping anyone up!” I jumped between them.
With Rolland behind me, we pushed the angry men away from each other.
“Go get the captain, Dirty.” I nodded my head towards the cabin, where Sterling had been working on his charts.
That blasted ol’ Harold mocked me with a pitchy voice, “Go get the captain, she says, go get him to wipe up my wee baby tears.”
Harold had fought on the opposing side of the mutiny that earned us this ship. Beyond the fact that I just plain didn’t trust him, his relentlessly sour attitude bothered the hell out of me.
“How do you know I’m not calling him to come wipe up your blood after I smash your guts all over the deck, aye?” I chuckled, only half joking. “Come to think of it, don’t bother getting the captain, Dirty. I can handle this just fine on my own.”
Shaking his head in disgust, Harold spit on the deck I had just sanded. “Well, if that isn’t the biggest pile of raw and utter shit from the horse’s unwarshed arse. You can’t handle a hot pile of vomit, Black Rose, and if’n I hear you threaten me again, I’ll backhand you into your place.”
“My place?” I questioned, trying to keep calm. “Why don’t you tell me more of this place you speak of?”
“How about I show you?” Thrusting his hips vulgarly, he held his hands out as if he was grabbing my arse.
Gunpowder & Gold (Justified Treason, Book 4): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 3
