“And death it’ll be, for if I am killed, I’ve certainly lost me soul.”
“It’s a sacrifice worth taking. To die for such a cause, believing that you may save another at the cost of your own life! A just God has to take that into consideration.”
“With the exception of Sterling,” added Mayor Longfellow. “We have all felt the same guilt these many years. But hiding will not make it disappear. Even in hiding we can’t escape the fact that we’ve done what we’ve done. Sooner or later we will have to pay the price! I for one would much rather pay for it in this life, than the next. How are you willing to pay – in service or denial?”
Father Morgan just sat in silence as he pondered his options.
“After you committed these many crimes,” continued Mayor Longfellow, in a soft-spoken voice. “King Charles fully pardoned you, did he not? You were made Governor of Jamaica and still you continued to sin. God almost took you once by way of illness. You swore to Father Whittaker that you would follow God for the rest of your days, if he would only grant you a longer life to pay for your crimes. Well as you can clearly see, he has. Nineteen years so far! Not many men have lived to such an age. After your life was threatened, your men risked theirs to bring you to the Brier Wood. God’s been watching over you and you still can’t recognize it.”
“The Great Henry Morgan,” stated Mayor Longfellow, “now a cowering old fool! If you cannot see God’s hand in your life, you are a fool.”
“And no Father of mine,” stated Sterling angrily and without thinking.
“You’ll watch your tongue,” shouted Mayor Longfellow, in defense of his good friend. “We would’ve all been damned if it wasn’t for this man.”
Bringing the argument to an end, Father Morgan stood up and in the excitement, he broke wind. “Give me rest and leave me to my thoughts. In the mornin’ you’ll know my final decision. Now, leave me be!”
As they departed, Mayor Longfellow replied, “We are all willing to go and die if necessary! We, too, need this sacrifice, Henry.”
After lying on his bed, deep in thought, for about twenty minutes, Father Morgan stood up and walked to the fireplace in the next room. Strangely, a young boy, maybe nine years old, stood in the center of the room, staring at him.
“What are you doing?” asked the child.
Shaken from the unexpected voice, he turned. “Whose child be you and what are you doing here at this hour? You should be at home asleep, child.”
“What are you doing?” asked the boy again.
“I am attempting to decide my fate.”
“I can help. I know about fate.”
“You cannot help me. Why’ve you come in me home?” Father Morgan looked and saw that the door was locked. “How did you find your way in, lad? How long have you been here?”
“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about you right now?” inquired the young lad. “We all die. Do you really want to leave this world knowing you could’ve done something right for a change, but didn’t? Believe me; dying with regret is the worst fate of all. You don’t want to live with regret and guilt forever! Do you know what forever is like? I’ve seen grown men cry and they never stop. Not ever!”
“How do you know what I’m feeling? Longfellow put you up to this?” Father Morgan stood up and waddled over to the window to take a peek. As he looked back to question the young lad, the boy was nowhere to be found. “Lad?” he called. “Me lad?” Father Morgan checked all the rooms but found no one. The door was still locked from the inside. Father Morgan tried to dismiss the thought. “I must be going mad.” However the words of the young boy stuck. Father Morgan pondered on his words as he lay again in bed. He dozed off so fast and slept so well that when he awoke in the morning he was refreshed and ready for whatever the day was to bring.
He sat at the edge of his bed in the same clothes he’d worn the previous day, shoes and all. There, sitting at the foot of his bed was a cross, wrapped in papyrus. A chill crawled up his back when he realized he hadn’t placed it there and no one else was around to do so. In that moment he knew what he had to do. Father Morgan grabbed the cross, threw on his hat and walked to the front door.
Just outside Father Morgan’s door stood Sterling and Mayor Longfellow. Behind them were over twenty men, the youngest being about fifty-three years of age, aside from Sterling Wade, who was barely sixteen.
“Shall we go?” asked Sterling.
After a brief silence, Father Morgan smiled in the affirmative. “Aye, we shall! Now fetch the supplies and food for our departure,” he ordered, “We’re to leave at once!”
Sterling turned to the crew, “You heard the man! Fetch the food and supplies! Meet back here in two hours!”
When they were finally ready for departure they set out for the only ship the village claimed, which was docked at the St. Petersborough harbor and actually owned by Father Morgan. He named the vessel, the Brier Sea, after the village. As they walked toward St. Petersborough, the little boy that Father Morgan had spoken with the night before stood there waving him on with a glowing smile. Father Morgan walked over and asked, “I never did get your name, me lad. What’s your name?”
Pulling on his garment, the boy wished to speak in his ear. Father Morgan knelt, as the young lad whispered his curious answer. “Thank you,” said Father Morgan in a sincere heartfelt gratitude. And the men of the Brier Sea happily continued on their way.
“Whose child is that?” asked Mayor Longfellow
“I’m really not sure, but we had a meaningful discussion last night and you can thank the child for my decision to go.” Father Morgan turned to wave good-bye and found that the boy had gone just as quickly as the night before.
Once they reached the Brier Sea, they loaded the food and supply. The crew consisted of a tight bunch of senile, almost deaf and arthritic men. But they were fearless and skilled.
“We need a good young Captain,” said Father Morgan, looking to the geriatric crew. “I’m too old now. I break wind more than I break necks these days.” Looking to Sterling, Father Morgan whispered, “You’ll do just fine, Captain.”
Shocked at the honor, Sterling declined, “I’ve never captained a ship before. I’ve never even sailed.”
The crew was too old to hear what Father Morgan was talking to Sterling about. “You’ll do fine. All you need to do is yell out the orders. But remember to yell loud. We can’t hear a thing. We’ll take care of the rest. Trust me.” Turning to the crew, Father Morgan addressed them, “This will be your new commander, Captain Sterling Wade!”
Slowly the cheers sounded until the entire crew knew what was going on. Father Morgan told Sterling what needed to be said, before setting sail. And then Sterling bellowed out his first commands as captain. “Weigh anchor! And hoist the mainsail. We’re going to…” he paused for a moment, asking Father Morgan, “Where are we going?”
Scratching his head and looking down, he thought for only a moment. “Raven Bridges, but says you – ‘set sail for Raven Bridges’.”
“Set sail for Raven Bridges!” shouted Sterling, ever so innocently.
Sterling, Father Morgan and Mayor Longfellow went to the Captain’s quarters to discuss the articles of the Brier Sea. They drew them up and had everyone sign. A few of the older senile men put up a small fight assuming they were being pressed into service. Once everything was resolved, the articles were proudly hung over the cabin door, just below the quarterdeck for all to read.
Chapter XVI
Scurvy soon arrived at Raven Bridges, where Black-Hearted patiently awaited. Scurvy wasted no time, ordering Gunner, “Bring the wench to the main.”
The Rogue, being a frigate, was much bigger and therefore rose higher in the sea than the Weeping Lady. Ordering a ladder to Scurvy’s schooner below, Black-Hearted called for Katherine to be brought to his ship. Boarding the Rogue, Gunner, Stephen and Eric led the way, followed up the latter by Katherine. Gunner and Eric assisted Katherine through the gunnel gate and onto the deck fl
oor, restraining her from moving freely.
“I expect we’ll soon have company,” stated Scurvy, as he finally stepped on deck. “I’m sure they’re not far behind.
“Good,” replied Black-Hearted. “Run into any problems?”
Interrupting their dialogue, Lady Stirvin emotionally yelled, “You will have the most egregious problem of your life if you do anything to me!”
“We ran into a few bumps in the road,” replied Scurvy, ignoring Lady Stirvin’s outburst. “Nothing we couldn’t manage. Though, we did bring the Lady in one piece, did we not?”
“Do you know what my husband is going to do when he gets his hands on you?” Wheezing from exhaust, she stated, “You’re going to be hanged and shot and beheaded and, and you will be sorry. I swear it!”
Laughing aloud at Lady Stirvin’s empty threats, Black-Hearted replied, “Wow, all that just for me, huh?”
“You will let me go, Sir. Let me go!” Breaking-down, Katherine could take no more, as she began to sob and struggle in vain to free herself from Gunner and Eric.
“Tie her to the mast,” ordered Black-Hearted, “where she can be easily seen.”
“Bones and Teach betrayed us, siding with the enemy,” blurted Scurvy. “They almost got me killed. I’ve already replaced Bones with Red Jack. He’ll make a fine quartermaster, he will. I’m sure Bones has told the good captain where to find us, by now. Stirvin’s got four large frigates and hundreds of men.”
“I knew those two were no good. Red Jack will serve you well.”
“Aye, he’s a good man and a gifted sailor.”
“Nothing else matters to me right now, but for Isabel’s safety. Stirvin will make a trade before firing on us. We’ll have to be in position by then.” Black-Hearted then shouted out the orders starting with Captain Garrison, who was also aboard the Rogue, “Keep Roger’s Jolly out of sight ‘til you hear the roar o’ the guns. Scurvy, ready your crew. Stephen, Gunner, position yourselves on the Weeping Lady. Everyone else, ready the cannons and salt the decks, there’s going to be blood tonight!”
“Why are you doing this?” cried Katherine fearfully. “Let me go!”
“I will let you go as soon as Stirvin brings back my Isabel!”
“Please don’t hurt me,” pleaded Katherine.
“If Isabel is hurt in any way, you’ll have reason to worry about that. Until then, stop your annoying cries!”
As the Crimson Reef rushed toward Raven Bridges to meet her fate, Captain Stirvin stood expressionless and silent. The wind seemed to carry them above the water as they sailed smoothly across the ocean. The closer the English fleet came to Raven Bridges, the higher their adrenaline peaked. The crew grew feverish with excitement and no one spoke a word. The silence created a fearful mood.
As the sun arose to a blistering position in the sky, the men grew dry and hot. The reflection coming off the sea only added to the heat of the day. Sweating from both the elements and fear swelling within, the crew grew thirsty. Strict in discipline, the men had to ask permission to take a drink from their reserve. Upon gaining permission to take a drink from the reserve, a crewmember immediately spit it out again. “Salt!” he shouted. “The water’s been salted!”
Garland was confused and took a drink as well. Spitting out the mouthful of tainted water, Garland directed the crewmember to open a second barrel of water. Feeling the lid to be loose, he determined, “Someone has tampered with this barrel. The lid’s been undone and latched back on wrong.” Still confused and upset, Garland had all subsequent water barrels checked. They had all been tampered with and all had been salted.
Since Captain Stirvin did not resupply the ship, their ration of water was limited below deck. Scrambling to bring the last two barrels topside, each man’s portion was restricted to a much less than efficient amount than needed for battle under the hot sun. Moral on board quickly lowered.
Black-Hearted spotted the oncoming armada and immediately gave word to his men. Though, it was a bright and peaceful day, blood was going to be shed. There were a few clouds. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue and the seagulls were calling high above the Raven Bridges. The breeze was soft and calm, perfuming the air with a rich ocean fragrance. The Crimson Reef raced toward black-Hearted with great haste. Isabel was brought to the main deck where she could be seen. As the distance between the two fleets closed, there was no more room for fear. The time long awaited for the shedding of blood was finally at hand.
Within a short time they were finally face to face. The Rogue and the Crimson Reef sat port to port. The Weeping Lady was positioned on Black-Hearted’s Starboard side. The London and William’s Revenge were situated about twenty-five yards out, facing inward of Raven Bridges. Every heart pounded in anticipation of the battle. Captain Stirvin then looked upon Katherine, who was drenched in her own sweat and tears.
“Kate!” cried Captain Stirvin. “Kate, you’ll be home soon enough! I’ll shortly be following! I promise!”
“Isabel!” shouted Black-Hearted, “I’ll have you off that ship really soon!”
The exchange took place at the rear of each ship, one to the north and the other to the south. No one was to fire a shot until the woman were far enough away from the battle. Samuel Bellamy, a band new officer, volunteered to escort Katherine to Port Lorne, the closest dry land to Raven Bridges. Nathan Crapo, a worthy crewmember and pirate, was ordered to take Isabel to Port Lorne.
Waiting for what seemed like hours for the woman to be far enough away, Red Jack grew weary. “Let’s not procrastinate this further! Let every man stay his own fate! On with the battle, you fools!”
Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted gave each other the nod.
“To your stations! Push forward the guns!” yelled Captain Stirvin.
The London and William’s Revenge began to sail forward, following the Sentry. Scurvy sailed out from behind the Rogue to meet them.
“Pistols!” shouted Black-Hearted. “Fire at will!”
Upon reverberation of that sole declaration, every man was consumed with the rage of war. The voices in command bellowed forth like a thunderous storm again and again in fierce repetition, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
The rumble of each cannon shook the world around them. Pistols discharged at will, cracking and sparking spontaneously, like lightning amid a dark and stormy night. Clouds of smoke and ash filled the air. The day turned to night within minutes. The smoke was so thick that one could scarcely breathe. How could anyone live through such a barrage of steel rounds, profuse darkness and explosive power? It was amazing that every man wasn’t dead within the first five minutes.
The Crimson Reef was less than ten meters from the Rogue. Admiral Flynn and Captain’s Nokes, and Mac closed in from the north. Scurvy made his way around the Rogue to meet up with Admiral Flynn at the Eastern end of the battle. The Rogue, which was of equal size to a naval frigate, battled the Crimson Reef to the west and the London to the east. William’s Revenge was ordered to simply stand at the ready. A fresh supply of men and a vessel untouched would be extremely valuable.
Black-Hearted positioned Darby O’Dell at the bow as a sniper, using a long barrel musket. He knelt and leaned over the forecastle wall. His eye was trained on Garland, who was situated on the upper deck of the Crimson Reef. “Come on, a little to the left,” he muttered, “A little more.” As Garland took a few steps to his left, a cannon suddenly came into view. It was aimed directly at Darby. The gunner held the match just above the fuse and smiled, knowing that Darby was now aware.
Fear suddenly struck Darby. He knew there was no way out. He accepted his fate and again centered his thoughts on the second mate, who was still in his sights and kept him there despite the deadly threat before him. The gunner promptly touched the match to the fuse, but Darby smiled, as the second mate took an unfortunate step back, right into Darby’s ideal view. He quickly fired at precisely the same time the cannon exploded. The explosion echoed deep within Darby’s ear. He tagged Garland in the chest, dead
center. He stumbled backward, but managed to stay on his feet. Ready to die, Darby closed his eyes with that same smile, knowing he’d done his duty. Immediately, the forecastle wall burst into splinters. Darby’s body ripped apart on impact. He felt nothing. What was left of his body just flapped wildly about over the starboard side and into the water.
Garland stood there, holding his chest in disbelief as he staggered backward. Yet faint, he managed to pull out a second pistol. Black-Hearted looked over, but it was too late. Garland took aim and pulled the trigger, staggering off balance in the act. The bullet buried itself forcefully into Black-Hearted’s right shoulder. Black-Hearted twisted slightly at the waste but quickly sprang back with his pistol extended forward. Without taking aim, he fired back. It was a fatal shot to the Garland’s neck. His Adam’s apple erupted into a bloody explosion, spraying out in a gruesome mess. Still standing, he panted for air, squeezing the mortal wound. But to his failing attempt, he was dead before he hit the deck.
“Back to the devil with you!” yelled black-hearted.
Kenneth could do nothing as he sat in his cell, contemplating his narrow odds of ever seeing his Marisa again. Every blow to the ship’s hull shook the framework so hard that he could not seem to stay on his feet. He stumbled around the cell each time the ship took a hit, spraying him with specks of splintered dust. Kenneth covered his eyes with one arm, while at the same time trying to brace himself.
In complete contrast, Alfonso Rubio, still in the next cell, somehow slept soundly, snoring like a pig.
“Hearted!” yelled Eric, observing Mr. Black taking aim. “Hearted!” he shouted again. Black-Hearted could not hear him through the booming sound of battle. “Hearted!” continued Eric, as he approached the quarterdeck. Mr. Black had an unobstructed view and Eric knew it. Cocking his musket, Mr. Black fired, striking Black-Hearted in his cheek. Black-Hearted’s head flung to the side. He grabbed his face and doubled over. Assuming that Black-Hearted would finally fall, Mr. Black stood tall. “I did it! He’s shot! I hit him!”
Port of Errors Page 19
