MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  “Captain Bloodbeard!” the man shouts. “We have heard the fate of the Dos Santos when she resisted. We offer full surrender and beg mercy!”

  “Your reputation precedes you, Cap’n,” Joe says.

  “Let’s cement it then. Rediker, strict orders—no harm will come to the crew or captain. We want to encourage this sort of behavior.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Rediker says.

  Grappling hooks are thrown to secure the two ships to one another and walkways erected as a way to ferry goods from one to the other. There’s a wary standoff, but it seems the Portuguese captain is true to his intentions.

  “Sails!” the cry comes.

  “What is this?” you say.

  “I swear, I do not know,” the Portuguese captain replies.

  “Spanish!” the watchman adds.

  A tide of uncertainty washes across both crews. This is especially disturbing news, as Spain is at war with both England and Portugal, but furthermore, pirate ships are perhaps the most hated enemy of the Spanish Empire.

  Taking the spyglass once more, you see an enormous Spanish warship, marked as the Elige tu Veneno headed your way. Without a doubt, the warship has 2-3 times your numbers in crew, and likely 4-5 times your firepower. This is not a fight you can win.

  As captain, yours is the sole voice of authority during action. What are your commands?

  • Hold the Portuguese ship hostage! Spain may be both our enemies, but this is a civilian ship.

  • Abandon the merchantman and make to escape in the shallows! A warship of that size is not to be underestimated.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  The Big Guns

  Robin considers your arrival, then replies, “Carriage guns in need-o’-cleanin’.”

  They don’t really, at least not by your inexperienced eye, but it seems more likely he’s using it as an opportunity to familiarize you with the big gun’s components. He shows you how to swab the bore, and discusses cartridges of shot, which are stored down below to help weatherproof the gunpowder. He shows you the “brass monkey” ring where the cannonballs are stored on deck next to the guns—doesn’t matter if these thick iron balls get wet. He shows the cordage keeping the cannons in place for firing, and how to “run them out” to return their position after recoil. Looks like quite a bit of work and heavy lifting, which may help explain his gargantuan stature.

  Making small talk, you ask, “What do you think of the captain?” but either Robin doesn’t hear you or chooses not to respond, opting simply to continue with the duties.

  “Have you sailed with Captain Bullock and Billy long?” you try.

  “Cap’n knows the ship. Billy knows the men. I know the guns. That be enough for me.”

  That’s all Robin has to say about that. He continues on, trying to help you know your place aboard the Cooper’s Pride, and you don’t test his patience further. An undeniable queasiness permeates through you, worse than yesterday’s carriage ride. What a difference a day makes….

  Eight bells sound, signaling that your watch is over.

  Robin addresses the watch before departure. “Headed right into a storm, I’d wager. Eight more bells t’get some rest—long night ahead.”

  The afternoon was more draining than you expected—both mentally and physically—so time in the hammock could be exactly what you need.

  * * *

  “Up! All hands! Up, or we all perish!” the cry comes, shaking you from your slumber.

  How long were you asleep? It’s impossible to tell, and in the commotion, it doesn’t much matter. Now that you’re on your feet, you feel the violent rocking of the ship that the hammock had countered. You rush up with the crew, ready to lend a hand to prevent the threat of death.

  Thoughts of seasickness are replaced by sheer terror when you reach the open air. Lightning arcs across the sky with the dreadful crack of thunder only an instant behind. The sea rollicks like an open flame and foams upon the deck—beating her with great waves, threatening to pull all asunder.

  One such wave nearly knocks the ship on her side, and a man who was up in the rigging of the mainsail is thrown into the sea. You recognize him as the third crimped sailor, the one in a white-and-blue striped shirt.

  “Man overboard! Jack’s gone in!” the sailor Marlowe cries.

  Billy throws a rope, but when it hits the water, it disappears into the inky sea, and now he watches with a sort of helpless indifference as the sailor struggles for his life. It’s clear the man has no idea how to swim and will soon drown.

  • Say a prayer for the poor seaman; nothing else you can do.

  • Tie a length of rope around your waist and leap in!

  • No time! Dive in and help crimped Jack back to the ship.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Billy

  Interesting choice, Dear Reader. Not sure if you just weren’t paying attention during all those campfire ruminations, or if you’re trying some sort of bluff, but here’s how it plays out:

  “The killer was none other than… Billy Greaves,” you say.

  There’s a moment of shocked confusion, then a smile breaks over Rediker’s face.

  “Seeing as how the man’s final words, just ’fore I strung him up on the yardarm, were, ‘Damn ye all, bloody murderous pirates, you’ll pay for your crimes, Rediker. I will have justice; Captain Bullock will have justice!’—I think I can safely say there’s about as much veracity in your statement as a working girl in port claiming t’be a maiden. Are ye thinkin’ us for fools, Saltboots? We shall see who has the last laugh. Boys, do what ye will with the castaway here. Just make sure there ain’t no breath left when you’re done.”

  We shall see who has the last laugh, indeed.

  THE END

  Blowhard

  “It’s that Billy Greaves, damn his blood!” Butch says, too loud.

  “I’d mind my tongue, were I you. Robin and Billy seem rather close,” you warn.

  “Bet ya would! But I been a butcher too long t’fear a slab-o’-beef like Robin. All men are meat, as ya seen when that crimped man went and got himself crushed. Now watch’s a man short, so Billy says. Says, I couldn’t save the man’s foot, least I can do is take his bloody place! The nerve!”

  “What does the captain think?”

  Butch rubs a thick hand over his ruddy face in frustration. “How the devil should I know? The whole point of a mate, mind ya, is so folk like us don’t go askin’ the cap’n what he thinks for every little dispute. No, I’m just made t’suffer, is all. Lost me shop, lost me wife, now ole Butch lost the privilege-o’-bein’ a surgeon. Made a mockery by bein’ Doc in name only. Christ Almighty, what else could ye throw at me? I’d wager Job himself ain’t suffered more.”

  On and on the man goes. It’s all you can do to tune him out and focus on the horizon—which seems to be rising and sinking with a greater disparity than ever before. Didn’t Robin say something about rough seas ahead? They seem to have arrived. Your stomach protests against this new state worse than Butch does against his own.

  Time passes slowly in this manner, winds picking up and sea rollicking, but the time does pass. Eight bells sound, signaling that your watch is over.

  Robin addresses the watch before departure. “Headed right into a storm, I’d wager. Eight more bells t’get some rest—long night ahead.”

  The afternoon was more draining than you expected—both mentally and physically—so time in the hammock could be exactly what you need.

  * * *

  “Up! All hands! Up, or we all perish!” the cry comes, shaking you from your slumber.

  How long were you asleep? It’s impossible to tell, and in the commotion, it doesn’t much matter. Now that you’re on your feet, you feel the violent rocking of the ship that the hammock had countered. You rush up with the crew, ready to lend a hand to prevent the threat of death.

  Thoughts of seasickness are replaced by sheer terror when you reach the open air. Lightning arcs across the sky with the dreadful cra
ck of thunder only an instant behind. The sea rollicks like an open flame and foams upon the deck—beating her with great waves, threatening to pull all asunder.

  One such wave nearly knocks the ship on her side, and a man who was up in the rigging of the mainsail is thrown into the sea. You recognize him as the third crimped sailor, the one in a white-and-blue striped shirt.

  “Man overboard! Jack’s gone in!” the sailor Marlowe cries.

  Billy throws a rope, but when it hits the water, it disappears into the inky sea, and now he watches with a sort of helpless indifference as the sailor struggles for his life. It’s clear the man has no idea how to swim and will soon drown.

  • No time! Dive in and help crimped Jack back to the ship.

  • Say a prayer for the poor seaman; nothing else you can do.

  • Tie a length of rope around your waist, then leap in!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Boarding Party

  They consider the offer, and your crew. After sizing you up, the Portuguese captain finally replies. “Fear not, men! Look at these ragged sailors in their torn breeches. These are desperate desperados, not the pirates you fear them to be!”

  “Looks like it’s going to be the hard way,” Rediker says.

  “Hard way it is, then,” you say. “Show them who you are!”

  Here, the boarding party throws grappling hooks, drawing the prey in ever closer until they can leap aboard. The Portuguese crew does their best to cut the ropes binding the two ships together, but they only slow the progress, not stop it. Once your first men leap onto the prize ship, the enemy crew scatters, heading below decks.

  Despite their leader’s blustering, it appears the crew of the Dos Santos fears this battle after all.

  “What d’we do now, Cap’n?” Barlow asks.

  “Could smoke ’em out?” Marlowe suggests.

  “No. We don’t want t’start a fire on a wooden ship,” Chips says.

  “How about we rig up some grenadoes? Can ye do it, Robin?” Rediker asks.

  The hulking gunner nods. “Might blow a hole in the ship, though, if the magazine’s open.”

  “I say we hack our way in. Break down the door and make ’em pay for resistin’!” Butch offers.

  As captain, the say is yours.

  • Break down the door! A few axe strokes and you’ll be inside.

  • Have Robin rig up some grenadoes and blow your way in.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Brawl!

  Your hands ball up into fists, and you send a right hook into the man with the puckered lips, aimed right at that same bull’s-eye. An unpracticed boxer, you’re signaling your attack and could probably be easily dodged, but the drunken man’s reflexes are too slow and you ring his bell with more strength than you knew you had in you.

  A terrible crack sounds out and you’re not sure if it was your knuckles or his cartilage. Either way, a new fountain flows from his face and he curses you as he backs away.

  Stunned that you even knew how to throw a punch, you look to James is if he knows what should happen next. As it turns out, he does. James whales on the other sailor with fast and angry fists. The whole tavern erupts into fighting; a powder keg that you just lit the fuse to. Glass shatters over heads, chairs crack against backs and shoulders, and fists generally let fly.

  The man you punched comes back to his senses and dives at your legs for a tackle. You fall with him atop you, then beat your fists against his back while he holds tight. You’re not sure what he’s playing at, until he fishes a dagger from his belt.

  “Fight fair, ya lily liver!” James cries, kicking the man’s hand and sending the dagger flying.

  The other assailant wraps James up from behind, and another seaman sucker-punches your cousin in the gut, just because he can. You go back to wrestling the phantom kisser, groaning, “Who’s the buggerer now?” which only makes him clench tighter.

  “Town rats!” someone yells.

  “Press gang!” cries another.

  “Run for it!” sounds the general refrain.

  The commotion intensifies, and someone gets thrown through the front window. Several others are stabbed, beaten senseless, or bludgeoned to death around you. It’s total chaos, but you can’t get up, pinned beneath this sodden attacker. Wrapping your arms around the man’s head, you squeeze, hoping to incapacitate him.

  At length, he finally goes limp, and you make it to your feet. Another pair of arms goes to grapple and you deliver a fearsome punch—right into the face of one of the town guards. Shocked, you simply stare at the man, mouth agape, until his comrades take you in irons.

  Not much choice here:

  Go directly to jail, do not pass go, do not assault officers of the peace and make matters worse.

  Bread and Toasts

  Captain Longwick does indeed remove his previously imposed limits on drink and the men hurrah and imbibe with great abandon. But rather than hitting the rum and grog yourself, you’re surprised to learn the Master and Commander wants a dinner with his officers—yourself included. The invitation comes from the steward, Akuchi, who also brings an offer to help you prepare your uniform for the occasion. Grateful, you accept.

  The ship’s stores, now resupplied by the fleet’s larders, proves equally up to the task of preparing for a fine feast. You’re greeted with a full spread, and it takes a moment to think back to your proper upbringing and table etiquette after weeks at sea spent shoveling slop in the mess.

  “Remember, we still have our watches to perform,” Lieutenant Dalton whispers as wine is poured for the table.

  Wine, beef, and freshly baked bread! What a feast indeed. Once you’ve eaten to satisfaction, Captain Longwick calls for toasts.

  “To His Majesty the King!” Lieutenant Dalton starts off, and you all raise your glasses.

  “And to His Royal Britannic Navy!” One of the other Lieutenants, named Saffron, adds.

  “To our fallen comrades,” the surgeon continues.

  “To the Hornblower!” you say.

  Round the table it goes, until Captain Longwick finishes with, “May we be true to our uniform, and uniformly true.”

  “Hear-hear!” all say.

  * * *

  The next few days are a flurry of activity. The morning starts off with funeral rights for the fallen in battle, then goes straight into resupply. Once the ship gets fresh water, provisions, and timbers, the Hornblower heads out towards Caribbean seas and an urgent mission to the West Indies.

  Weeks go by in this way, the ocean gradually changing from indigo to turquoise as shallower seas, reefs, and sandbars threaten the ship’s path. The sun hangs longer in the sky, giving warmer, near-equatorial heat, and rain becomes a welcome relief for an English sailor.

  It’s a particularly hot day when you’re to make for port. You’re sailing along a series of islands, and the men are practically frothing at the bit for some shore leave. A change of pace would certainly be welcomed.

  “Sails, ho!” Lieutenant Dalton shouts.

  “What colors? Spanish? English?” you ask.

  “No… she’s flying the black,” Dalton answers.

  Could it really be? A pirate vessel?! Best quickly alert the Master and Commander of the ship.

  Reporting in as you’ve been trained, you relay the sighting of the black flag with only minimal excited stammering. Captain Longwick gives the briefest hint of a nod, then rushes out to the quarterdeck. Examining the situation through a looking glass, the captain practically growls, “The Cooper’s Pride.”

  Something in your memory clicks. You’ve heard that name before….

  “A merchant ship, under the command of Arthur Bullock, or at least she was last. A draconian captain by all accounts, but still an Englishman.” Then, lowering the spyglass, adds, “Well, then, if the Pride has been taken by pirates, I suppose it’s only proper we take her back.”

  “Sir, my cousin last served on that ship,” you say. “I’d like to lead the attack on the pirates
, with my cousin in the boarding party.”

  Captain Longwick shakes his head. “Too personal. Your cousin’s the gunner’s mate, is he not? Find out what you can from him, but he stays here. You will lead the attack, sure enough, Ward. Pray to the Almighty your cousin can tell you something useful.”

  He’s waiting for you to acknowledge the order. Say:

  • “Sir, all due respect, the first task you assigned me was to question the veracity of your orders. Cousin James will serve better by my side on the front lines of battle than he would in the back of my mind.”

  • “Understood, sir. His emotional connection might cloud his judgment. I shall learn what I can from Cousin James and use it against these pirates. Would you prefer their leader be taken dead or alive?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Breaking the Seal

  The tide pool provides! After a meal of mollusks, you dip down and cup your hands to drink from the shoreline oasis. Though the water is salty in the extreme (it is seawater that was caught in low tide, after all), it’s at least wet, so that goes a ways towards quenching your thirst.

  Now then, where to?

  Wait, not yet. Seems you have the urge to relieve yourself, so first it’s time to make to the nearest patch of vegetation to micturate. Ahh, that’s better. After you finish urinating, you look about for where to head next, but the tidepool catches your attention once more.

  Oddly, you’re even thirstier than you were before! Well, what could another drink hurt? As it turns out, it could hurt quite a bit. This is where the phrase “water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink” comes from. Saltwater can be deadly to humans.

  Here’s why. Your kidneys need to flush your system of toxins (in this case, excess salt), but even at its saltiest, human urine contains less saline than seawater. So, in order to compensate, you’ve got to drink more water. If you had a source of fresh water, your body could dilute that extra salt into extra urine, but when you replenish your thirst with the ocean, you’re engaging in a vicious cycle.