Pirate's Redemption

by Camille Oster

  "Perhaps best. A sharp implement in such close confines might be a terrible idea if we are bumping into each other constantly. But no rush." He rose and rolled up his bedding before pulling on his boots and coat. "Take care of your toilette first, then I will seek some privacy after."

  She was sorry to see him go, suspecting he would seek to place distance between them during the day. Rising from the cot, she quickly dressed, then ordered her blankets. She ordered her hair with the comb he'd brought her—a wooden one—and wove a simple braid down her back.

  He was standing outside when she emerged and they changed places. As she turned her attention away, she noted that the ship swayed slightly more than before. Walking down the hallway, she reached the stairs. The wind caressed her face as she emerged on deck. It was gusting.

  "Careful now, madam," the captain called down to her. The statement stopped her short. The captain thought they were married, or assumed they were. They had no rings to prove it, and maybe the man didn't believe it, but gave her the benefit of a doubt. "It blusters today."

  Looking up, she saw him standing on the quarterdeck, his hands clasped behind his back. The skies were gray behind him. In fact, there was no sun this morning; it was gray and the breeze had a freshness she hadn't felt in quite a while.

  "We should see land soon enough," he said. "Care to take the helm?"

  "Can I?" she said with a sharp intake of breath. The idea of taking the helm was beyond exciting. She would steer the ship.

  "As long as you don't steer us aground."

  As they were nowhere near land, that was hardly a risk, but she quickly made her way up to the quarterdeck and approached the massive wheel. Was he really going to let her take the helm?

  "Are you any good at following directions?" the captain asked.

  "I expect I can garner sufficient understanding," she stated, unsure whether she was insulted or not.

  "Then we best take her to the port side a slight," the man said and Sarah started to turn the wheel. It was heavy and she had to strain. She could feel the water pushing on it, willing it to turn. "The other way, perhaps," the captain suggested.

  "Right," Sarah said and started turning the other way. She was steering the ship and a smile broke out across her mouth. From here, the ship looked enormous, stretching out in front of her and she was steering it. The wind beat at her back as if it sought to push her forward as well.

  "That's it," the man said. "Perhaps come back now, three pegs."

  She complied, using all her might to turn the heavy wheel, and then didn't know what to do as no further direction was forthcoming. "Now what?"

  "Now, we hold her steady. Can you manage?"

  "I am sure I can." She beamed her best smile.

  "Excellent."

  The pirate emerged down on the deck, clean shaven. She wasn't entirely sure whether she preferred him that way or with the growth. He looked handsome both ways. His eyes traveled around the deck as if he sought her, finally finding her in a place he didn't perhaps expect.

  "I'm steering the ship," she stated.

  "I can see that."

  "Doing a magnificent job, as well," the captain added.

  "It blows," Havencourt pointed out.

  "Aye," the captain said, more somber now. "It does and the skies are darkening."

  Sarah looked around. It was gray everywhere, but she couldn't escape the seriousness in the captain's voice. Why that concern? Why was there concern?

  The pirate studied the skies, his expression hard.

  "Is there something wrong with the weather?"

  "The winds are growing stronger," the captain said. "Nothing to worry about."

  He smiled and she smiled back, her gaze traveling to the pirate, whose expression wasn't quite as reassuring. It wasn't that he looked concerned as such, but he was studying the horizon.

  Once relieved of her duty, she wandered down on deck, over to where Havencourt was standing further ahead at the bow. His arms were crossed and he was looking ahead.

  The skies were darker now on the horizon. In the other direction, land could be seen in the distance, stretching as far as the eye could see through what she assumed was rain fog.

  "Is the weather growing worse?" she asked.

  "It is. And we are sailing closer to shore because of it."

  "Not too close, I hope."

  "No, not too close," he confirmed. "We will see how it develops. It is probably nothing more than rain. It is the wind we must worry about. If it picks up, we are in for a rough night."

  As he said it, fat drops of cold water started to fall. Sarah felt one on her cheek, then soaking into the material on her shoulders.

  "Perhaps this signifies a good time to see what the galley has in store for us today," he said, "and we'll see how the afternoon progresses."

  He led her across the deck and she saw the captain retreating into his quarters ahead of them.

  They sat around the table, which swayed more than before. Not enough to be a concern, but there were moments where Sarah was worried her glass might topple.

  The beef had been dried and reconstituted, making it tough to eat, but she tried her best. Salt and spice made it palatable, but it wasn't the best meal she'd ever had.

  The rain grew heavier and she heard it pelting down on the deck above their heads. As he finished, the captain donned a heavier coat made for rain, and returned to his station above them.

  "It grows worse," she said when it was only the two of them.

  "Yes," Havencourt confirmed.

  "Do you think it's a storm?"

  "It might be."

  Chapter 21

  The weather grew worse as the evening progressed, the boat swayed in every direction, which proved the waves around them were growing more fierce.

  Concern made Miss Lancaster's eyes large and dark in the swaying light of the hanging lantern. She sat with a bucket in her lap, her face pale and colorless. Even the most unperturbable stomach would falter in movement like this. She hadn't relieved the contents of her stomach yet, but she felt the need to, he could see it in the pained expression in her eyes.

  "Will we be alright?" she asked.

  "Ships are built for harsh weather," he assured her. But they had their limits. He saw no point in frightening her by pointing that out.

  He would suggest she lie down, but in swaying like this, it was better to sit upright.

  A bang was heard, which meant the bow was crashing down hard over waves. The captain screamed orders, but the wind carried most of it away. Joshua knew it was hard to be heard in winds like these. The sea was angry, showing a fierceness beyond anything else on earth. This storm was intensifying and Joshua was more worried than he let on. It wasn't so bad yet, but if things grew worse, they could run into trouble.

  He felt torn between seeing to Miss Lancaster and helping with the ship. The crew was experienced and well trained, and the captain was old enough to have lived through a storm or two.

  A sharp roll almost had his chair shifting across the floor and he grabbed the edge of the table. That was enough to finally send Miss Lancaster over the edge and she leaned over the bucket, heaving. She looked miserable when she looked up again and he wished there was something he could do for her.

  "I prided myself on never getting seasick," she said.

  "Movement like this has the most experienced sailors hanging over the side."

  The ship swayed again and she clenched the bucket.

  "I think it is best I get rid of that before it covers the floor," he said, taking the rope across the top of the bucket. "Stay here. There is a risk of waves crashing over the bow and carrying people away."

  "Perhaps you shouldn't go," she pleaded, a look of concern in her eyes. Her concern made him pause. Was she actually concerned for him?

  "I'll be fine. You can't be a pirate without knowing how to handle yourself in a storm."

  Starting for the door, he had to cross step as the ship shifted again, landing
harshly. Automatically, he sunk low, absorbing the impact and movement as he continued to the door. Wind would have ripped the doorknob out of his hand if he hadn't held on and the air blustered into the cabin. His main concern was that the appearance of the wind might frighten the girl, which was probably not what he should be most worried about at the moment. Water flowed across the deck, white and foamy, which proved that waves were spilling over the bow.

  Making his way to the side, he emptied the contents of the bucket into the darkness, gripping the balustrade as the ship shifted again, rolling sharply to the other side. As he turned around, he saw the captain at the helm, fighting the wheel. The forces on the rudder would be harsh and it would be hard to keep it straight. It was too windy to say anything and be heard, so he only nodded and walked back to the captain's quarters. Men hung onto everything they could find, winding their limbs into rigging and gripping tightly. A fresh spray of water pelted across the deck.

  If things grew worse from here, they would be in trouble. The concern was more real now and he returned. Miss Lancaster sat on her chair, clasping the end of the table. She looked tired and exhausted.

  "Perhaps you should lie down," he suggested.

  "I don't think anyone will get any sleep tonight."

  "No, probably not."

  *

  Hours passed and they sat quietly, at times stopping the table from sliding across the floor. The storm raged, but muted morning light slowly seeped through the windows at the stern.

  Exhausted men were screaming above, a tone which made him worried. Turning his head up, he listened, trying to understand what had changed. "I better go see what's going on," he said.

  His gait was uneven as he walked to the door and opened it. The wind had not abated, was perhaps even more fierce as it gripped his clothes. The sight that greeted him was concerning. They were close to land, too close. The sails had been taken down during the night as the harsh winds would rip them to shreds, but the wind had pushed them close to shore and just how close had only become apparent with the morning light.

  Men were running across the deck, untying the ropes around the bundled sail. The captain was raising the sails again, which meant he had to try to steer the boat away from a hazard. This was urgent; it was bad.

  Joshua could see the man frantically yelling orders which the wind stole away, but all hands were raising the sails. Fighting his way to the bow, Joshua tore at the ropes that kept the foresail tied. It was soggy to the touch, which made the knot hard to budge, but with enough force, the knot gave and the rope fell to the ground. He repeated with the next, until all ties were gone. He then joined the men pulling the sail up.

  The wind caught it, threatening to rip it out of their hands. Jumping up, Joshua grabbed the rope and added his weight to the effort. How long the sails would hold in winds like this, he didn't know, but there was a reason the captain was ordering them raised, a reason serious enough to risk the sails.

  It took an effort to tie off the rigging once they had the sail up. Turning back, Joshua saw men up on the top mast, untying the mainsail, shifting sharply overhead. A man lost his balance and was thrown into the sea. Unfortunately, they had no way of rescuing him, having little control of the ship. In weather like this, the brutal reality was that the welfare of the men on the ship outweighed the man who went overboard. The man would likely be drowned before they reached him even if they tried. Few sailors actually knew how to swim.

  The mainsail came down with a whoosh, but it wasn't tied off and whipped violently above their heads. Getting control of it would take all their efforts. But they didn't get a chance to; the impact of whatever submerged reef they hit threw Joshua across the deck. The pitiful groan of the ship, screamed like an injured animal—wood crushed, sharp rocks ripping into the ship's side.

  Sharp jerks and they were free-floating again. Joshua tried to rise, but she ship slowly shifted to the starboard, relentlessly shifting sideways. The ship wasn't going to right itself; it was compromised. There was a breach in the hull and the ship was taking water, making her increasingly gait to the side.

  Panicked men ran around him. There was no saving the ship as it relentlessly rolled, the waterline breaching the deck.

  Sprinting across the rising deck, he tried to make his way back to the captain's quarters, where she was, no doubt being chased by a heavy, tumbling table. The deck rose and rose, higher until his boots couldn't grip anymore, his feet slipping and his body falling down toward the approaching water.

  The cold water hit him, making him gasp uncontrollably. Rigging tangled around him and he hung onto a rope which held his head over the water for a moment. The deck didn't stop; it kept rolling, encroaching on top of him. The ship was capsizing fully, the sails crashing down on the men in the water, heavy and uncompromising.

  Sticking close to the deck's surface as it came down on him, Joshua swam toward the captain’s quarters through foam and bubbles obscuring everything. Slowly clearing, he could see objects sinking below him, into the depths. It wasn't actually that deep. Forty feet perhaps. He could see the uneven seafloor below him. Barrels, tools, ballast out the hole in the side and even large sacks of whatever cargo they carried sank down into the depths, along with men, drowned and sinking in still silence.

  The door to the captain's quarters was easy to push open, which meant it was filled with water. An air pocket in the corner allowed him to draw a quick breath, before searching for the girl. The table lay upside down on the ceiling below him, but there was no sign of her. He searched frantically, swimming around to catch sight of her. The force of the water had knocked in the windows and there was a chance she had sought to escape out them. It was what he would do and she might have had the same instinct.

  His lungs burned as he swam to them. The ship had settled in its upside down position and everything grew more calm, except his lungs and the threatening panic in his mind. Calm was what would see him through this.

  With searching eyes, he scanned where he could, his eyes wanting to see more than his mind could take in. Objects floated on the surface over his head, but he saw no floating girl.

  A movement caught his eye and he saw down below, seeing her near the sea floor. She'd been dragged down, looking up at him, her face looking unearthly and deathly pale in the water. Panic showed in her eyes.

  Swimming to the surface, he took a breath, before plunging down, diving after her. She was still conscious, watching his descent as she fruitlessly struggled against what held her down. Rigging had gripped around her feet, holding her down with them. Her eyes followed him as she stopped struggling as if the sight of him calmed and reassured her.

  Seeking her mouth, he shared his breath with her before she lost consciousness. After, she bent down and tried to release the rigging around her feet, but they held tight. Forcing himself down farther, he tried to undo the knot the rigging had tied itself into. His lungs started burning again and the water pressed painfully in his ears.

  The rigging wouldn't give and for a moment he worried he wouldn't be able to free her, that she would drown because he wasn't strong enough to shift this rigging. Gripping the rigging, he tore until his fingers bled. A grudging shift and he tried to force her foot out. With his knife, he cut the leather straps and shifted her foot out of the boot. The other was easier to untangle and she was free. With panicked arms, she tried to swim to the surface, but her efforts were fruitless; the wool dress was so heavy, it weighed her down.

  Gripping her hand, he used his other to pull them upward. Blackness was encroaching, but he had to push it away. They had to reach the surface, which seemed an impossible distance. They wouldn't make it. He could see her realization of the same in her eyes and she tried to wangle out of his grip, urging him to leave her.

  No, he wouldn't. Turning back to her, he ripped the front of her dress until the buttons gave, tugging the material over her shoulders. It gripped as if refusing to release her, but he tugged until she was free. Without the weig
ht of the wool, she was free to swim in only her light chemise, sluggish strokes taking her higher. She was failing, losing strength and consciousness. Taking her hand again, he urged her up, using the last of his strength, until they finally surfaced.

  Air rushed into his screaming lungs, making him cough violently as water spray drew in as well. Waves were still crashing around them and he had to pay attention or they would be pushed down again with a wave crashing over them.

  Debris floated across the surface of the water, some just under the surface. An empty barrel floated nearby and he swam to grab it, pulling it back to her. Although breathing, her exhaustion made her sluggish as she tried to grab the barrel, her arm reaching across it.

  Cold wind pushed into his ear and prickled along his face. Luckily, it wasn't icy or they would be succumbing before they ever reached shore, but it was cold enough to leech their heat away.

  Grabbing around the barrel, he willed his legs to swim them to shore. She tried as well, fighting the swell until they reached jagged rocks that tore into their numb legs and knees. The waves drew them off and scraped them along the rocks until they got enough purchase to haul themselves out.

  Waves skimmed across the top of the rock as Joshua lay on his back, recovering his breath. Dull grayness filled the sky above him and he heard her ragged breaths next to him. They had made it to land. Another wave washed over the rocks and he knew they had to move before the sea claimed them again.

  The rocks were sharp and brutal, and he carried her so she wouldn’t tear her bare feet to ribbons, until they reached a pebble beach. Debris was washing up on shore, but no one else seemed to have survived as far as he could see.

  "Where are the others?" she asked breathily.

  He didn't want to answer, so he didn't. "We have to get out of these clothes," he said instead. "We have to find shelter." But there was nothing but desolate coastline as far as he could see, grassy wilderness rippling sharply in the harsh winds.

  Chapter 22

  There was nothing around, only wilderness. How in the world were they going to survive? The wetness of Sarah's chemise drew heat out of her and he suggested she take it off. How was that an improvement? It was too wet for a fire. The earth was wet, the grass was wet. Even the wooden things that washed up on shore were too wet to burn.