There’s a great crack as the ship lurches again; one of the ties breaks loose—sending several full-sized water casks careening towards you. No time to move; you take one of the barrels in the chest, ribs snapping under the blow. Another water cask slams into you, then another, and another until you’re crushed to death.
THE END
Good Town Company
Hollering at the top of your lungs, you sprint towards the town guard.
Calls of “Lily liver!” and “Run, Nelly, run!” and “Go to the Town Rats, you weasel!” and “What a dandy!” fill the air behind you as you go.
“What’s this, now?” one of the pair of guards asks as you arrive.
“Yeah, what’s all the hullabaloo?”
“Those men thought to assault me!” you protest.
“There, there, you’re safe now. Tell us where you’re staying in London and we’ll make sure you make it back safely. That’s enough excitement for one night, I’m sure,” the second guard says, comforting.
“Well,” you admit, sheepishly. “I’m not staying anywhere in London.”
“Poor planning,” his partner offers. “But I’m sure we can find you an inn.”
“I don’t have money for that. I can’t even afford a carriage anymore.”
With a sigh, the first guard says, “Then I suppose we’ll just have to put you up for the night.”
“Really? You’d do that?” you say, somewhat dumbstruck by their kindness.
“Well, of course! In fact, we’re required to by law, ain’t we?” he replies.
“That’s the way of it,” his partner agrees. “Ever since the Vagabonds Act was passed back in 1597, we’ve been giving a free holding cell to any and all vagrants.”
“Vagrants!?” you protest, but it falls on deaf ears.
Not much choice here:
Go directly to jail, do not spend $200 on a place to stay, and await your sentencing!
Governor of the Island
Billy nods as you explain yourself, then holds up his hands to silence the murmurs of the crew. “What Saltboots says be true—we don’t know for certain who killed Cap’n Bullock. All can be said, the man ’tis dead and there weren’t no witnesses.”
“Billy, come now—” Chips starts before Billy continues.
“That’d be Cap’n Greaves now, bless my soul. Never thought the day’d come and God knows I’d rather it hadn’t. And, well, that’s what I’m sayin’ here, Chips. God only knows what happened, or why. So leave Justice to the Almighty, we must. As men-o’-the Pride, we can’t prove this one way nor the other, and I won’t condemn an innocent, but won’t let a murderer roam free neither. That leaves one solution as I can see it. We’ll make Saltboots here the Governor-o’-the first island lacking habitation we come across.”
Until now, his words have been directed at the gathered crowd. The men solemnly nod, and at length, Billy—Captain Greaves—turns his gaze towards you.
“Marooned, in a word. If innocent ye be, God will provide,” he says.
Then Billy motions and Robin clasps you in irons.
* * *
“Land ho!” the cry comes, three days later, letting you know the time has finally arrived.
It’s Captain Billy Greaves himself who comes to release you from confinement. He throws a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder, allowing your heart to entertain the fleeting notion that he might free you. Then Billy speaks in a low whisper.
“I believe ya, Saltboots… but me hands be tied. Do what ye can to survive on the island, and for my part, I’ll try t’discover the true killer. If the Almighty favors us both, I’ll come back for ya on our return journey.”
Before you can respond, he steps aside and Robin arrives to escort you to one of the jolly boats. This time crawls by wordlessly, as the pair of you are hoisted down into the waters and Robin rows you ashore.
As he rows, you stare at the island as it grows in size. The shores are made of soft sand, a thick tree-line abutting right up against the surf. It’s hard to grasp the scale of the island from down in the jolly boat, but the center appears to rise into a hillock or small mountain.
Do what ye can… Billy’s words echo in your mind as you look towards the prospect of surviving all alone in the wilderness.
The boat makes landfall, the sudden stop jarring you from foreboding thoughts. It’s been over a month now since you left the earth and took to the sea, and a feeling of vertigo washes over you as your world suddenly stops swaying in tune with the sea.
Robin helps you out, unclasps your irons, and hands you your leather-bound journal, a quill, and a pot of ink. “Last will and testament, for those might happen by.”
Then he offers a pistol. You look the weapon over, wondering just what he intends.
“One shot, to end it,” Robin says, and, passing a fifth of rum, adds, “And for the courage t’do so.”
Then he pushes the boat back into the sea, leaving you alone—Governor of the Island.
You look at the pistol in your left hand, bottle of rum in the right, trying to comprehend the final words spoken to you. Does the man think you a murderer? Is this his way of dispensing justice? Or was this a mercy? Does he know of untold horrors lurking in the forest?
• No. I will survive this ordeal. I am innocent and I will prevail over this tribulation.
• Better a quick death than starvation (or worse). Down the rum for courage, then.…
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Gravesend
“All hands! Up anchor! Ahoy!” the bosun calls, and men rush out like a colony of ants surging forth from the earth. So it is that they swarm the capstan, and push her ’round to weigh anchor.
The Cooper’s Pride is loaded with manufactured goods ready to sell in the New World, hopeful to return with her belly full of raw, exotic treasures. If all goes well, you should be halfway across the world and back in less than half a year’s time.
If all goes well.
“Ain’t ye part of all hands, Saltboots?” Billy calls, pointing your way then to the capstan.
Offering a clumsy, “Aye!” you rush over, man one of the beams and push the nautical equivalent of a millstone, raising the anchor cable with each turn of the wheel. Once that’s finished, more commands are bandied about, but they might as well be uttered in Greek for all you can understand. Actually, given your education, you’d likely understand Greek better than this Sailor’s Pidgin!
But the rest of the seamen heave to and pull at the rigging, adjust the sails, and get the Pride underway. You help where you can, offering extra muscle on ropes or holding this in place while that’s tied down.
Before you know it, the ship is on the move, gliding atop the River Thames with an effortlessness of locomotion you’ve never felt on land. Why, yesterday’s carriage ride was downright barbarous compared to this ethereal slip across the damp.
The Cooper’s Pride sails through Westminster, His Majesty somewhere beyond. Then the Temple and York Buildings glide past. The ship continues, unrestrained by the shoreside aristocracy, cruising beyond the Admiralty Office; where they’re certainly conspiring to press more men into service at this very moment. The Tower of London stands starkly on the horizon, almost as if appraising the merits of your journey.
The streets and narrow lanes of the sailors’ neighborhood of Wapping in London’s East End passes by, offering sights of gin, ale, and music houses interspersed with shops, markets, and workshops. Then your view darkens as you pass the gallows. Blackened, decaying, crow-ravaged corpses hang in iron gibbets—a gruesome reminder of the punishment for breaking maritime law.
“All hands, cease!” Captain Bullock commands. “Cast your eyes ashore! See these brigands? Launched into eternity for piracy, felony, and mutiny. You’d best do well to remember the rewards for such fraternity! To swing in the open air for all to see.”
The Cooper’s Pride continues in solemnity, past Greenwich and the Prime Meridian, and beyond the Royal Naval College and those plo
tting war against Spain. Finally, London disappears after the township of Gravesend, and so too the last vestige of the River Thames, before it becomes the English Channel and the open sea.
“Aye, Gravesend, a right name as e’ery sailor knows,” a seaman named Marlowe grumbles, low.
“But is it grave-send, for us today? Or graves-end, for those who return only in memory?” Rediker asks.
“Are those me only options?” Barlow replies with a wily grin.
“All right, ye lubbers! Enough loafin’ about,” Billy cries. “Form up into the watch, so I can add our new recruits t’the rounds! We do four watches here aboard the Pride, active and rest, larboard and starboard. Bell rings every half-hour, so at eight bells, your four hours are up!”
The men separate into four groups and Billy adds the crimped sailors brought aboard with you—Rediker, Barlow, and now only one other—a man in a white-and-blue striped shirt—one to each watch. In this way, those malcontents forced into service are separated amongst the trusted crew, outnumbered three to one.
That leaves just you. Swallowing the first signs of seasickness, you await assignment. It would make the most sense to add you to the fourth group, but more likely, Billy knows you lack the skills necessary to make a difference, so he simply calls, “Saltboots! You’ll switch about weekly ’til ye learn the ropes. Go on, then, step to the first group, meet your chums, then back to work, ya louts! The Pride won’t sail herself t’Boston!”
The thought of the vast oceans between England and the colonies swirls your stomach, but you try not to let it show as the sailors look your way. It’s not like you know any of them, though there is a familiar face in each group. So… which of the watch will you join first?
• The group with Barlow. He’s Rediker’s man, and might have something to say.
• The group with the “other” crimped sailor. Time to meet some new faces!
• The group with Rediker. Something tells me I should keep an eye on him.
• The group with the tattooed hulk, Robin. Could be worth getting on his good side.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Great Compromise
“I need you both, dammit all!” you say, hoping the unfamiliar swear will resonate with the seamen. “We need all hands to get this ship sailing.”
The Cooper’s Pride groans, further listing as if to emphasize the point.
“Ya heard the Cap’n!” Billy cries.
“Go on, ya louts!” Rediker adds to his loyal men.
The crew runs back to their stations to regain control of the ship. By some miracle, it would seem, you got the two parties to work together to right the ship in the nick of time. The Pride sways violently for several minutes, even once the men take control of her steerage. That was too close.
Captain Bullock’s body is thrown over the side, with those who so desire given the opportunity to say a few words of respect. The mood is tense aboard the ship, and you fear another mutiny could arise at any time. To celebrate your survival, Billy suggests opening a few more rum casks. A decision Rediker seconds, only adding a further suggestion, that the casks instead be the late Captain Bullock’s private brandy selection.
Neither of them partake that night, but it does much to increase the crew’s morale after such a trying day. It will be a tense journey, if it’s to be a journey brought to fruition at all.
* * *
“Twelve-mile lighthouse!” Billy calls, pointing out the landmark and handing you the spyglass.
You’ve nearly arrived in Boston. Being short-handed has left little time for further dissent among the ranks, and truth be told, having the least-experienced sailor serve as captain was a blessing to the ship. You gave Dudderidge the cook free-rein to give the choicest provisions to the crew these last few weeks, so that the stores are nearly barren by the time you arrive in port. Case in point was just this very morning, when Dudderidge gave you a cup of coffee so foul you spat the first sip in a spit-take.
“What the bloody hell is that?” you had asked.
“Coffee. Moreover, burnt toast steeped in hot water, Cap’n, which ’tis a bit like coffee,” the cook replied.
“How, pray tell, is this supposed to be anything like coffee?”
“Looks a touch like coffee, if ya squint.”
Presently, Castle Williams appears on the horizon, signaling only three miles to your destination. The great fortification raises a pinnacle flag in greeting, but your eyes are drawn to the cannons upon the mighty walls. If they knew what you really were—a pirate in the eyes of the law—they would not offer so friendly a reception.
The Cooper’s Pride sails beyond the fort, past a narrow channel, before entering the great wharf of Boston Harbor. Hundreds of ships navigate in the shadows of the fort, from great man-o’-wars to numerous schooners and tiny dinghies.
Though not quite as grand in scale as London, Boston is impressive in her own right. Everything seems new, and growing. The port is large enough to merit its own Admiralty courts; the merchants who made this boomtown into a success must be cunning businessmen indeed.
“Billy and Rediker will come with me to shore, whereupon we shall discuss the sale of goods,” you say.
“Cap’n, a moment?” Rediker replies.
For this private chat, Rediker ushers you inside the captain’s cabin, where he grabs a pair of dueling pistols. For a moment, your heart rushes with adrenaline, but your spirits are becalmed once more when he simply hands you one of the pistols.
“The merchants’ suspicions oughta be aroused when Bullock don’t show. Like as not, some company man’s already prepared to reload the ship for London. We need t’sell these goods on the black market and make for a quick turnaround ’fore we’re found out. Still, the black market brutes could be just as perilous as the authorities. Best we take care.”
“Good thinking,” you say, stowing the pistol in your waistline.
Rediker hesitates, then adds, “I don’t know if ye truly killed Bullock… but I hope ye did. If not, there still be another murderer aboard this ship. I’ll not ask if it be true—and don’t tell me! For we need the men’s fear-o’-you and their trust-o’-me. They respect what ya did; freeing us-o’-Bullock, the tyrant. Yet fear only goes so far. With me as your quartermaster, and my trust in ye, they’ll in turn trust that ya have their best interests in mind still, for future voyages.”
“Future voyages?” you ask.
“Aye. D’ya think a man like Billy Greaves will just let us live in peace should we return t’London? We’re marked, surely ya can see that. There ain’t no normal life waiting for us. We’re pirates now, Saltboots.”
Before you can reply, there are a series of loud knocks upon the cabin door. Without waiting for an answer, the Bosun opens and darts inside.
“Cap’n! We’ve docked—” Joe starts.
“Excellent.”
“No! Billy’s jumpin’ ship!”
The fear on the Bosun’s face is clear. If Billy means to sneak away… what does that mean for the rest of you?
• Appoint Rediker as quartermaster, have him sell the cargo. You’ve got to stop Billy!
• Forget Billy. He’s got no heart for this business. Help Rediker sell the cargo, and leave with haste!
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Gun Runner
There can be no mistaking their intent; the larger English warship is chasing you. As if the intercept course weren’t obvious enough, she’s used her signaling flags to ask you to slow. Thinking the point was missed, they’re now firing on you as they give chase.
“Warning shots, Cap’n. Aiming wide,” Marlowe reports.
“Steady, man. We’ll lose her in the shallows.”
“There!” Joe reports. “An inlet, Cap’n.”
He points towards a bay. Does it go through? Many of these islands have outcroppings where you could lose the warship. If only you’d had more time to familiarize yourself with these shores. CRACK! The ship shudders with the impact of cannon shot. Sever
al others splash in the water nearby.
“Final warning…” Barlow grumbles.
Now what?
• Into the inlet! They can’t follow; it’s too shallow.
• Follow along the coastline. Full sail! We’ll lose them around the bend.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Hang Separately
Rediker appears downright flabbergasted at your order. The would-be pirates upon your deck lose their devil-may-care attitudes and look to their recruiter with equal measures of shock.
“Cap’n, a word,” Rediker says at length.
“No time! Get these men off my ship. Go with them if you must, but the Cooper’s Pride is leaving without these ruffians. Joe! Robin! Prepare us for departure.”
The Bosun and Gunner get to it, the former piping out commands on his whistle and the latter untying the ship from the wharf and ordering your skeleton crew back aboard. Rediker, however, stands stock-still, as if struck dumb.
“Didn’t you hear me, Rediker?”
“Aye, Cap’n… Only ya appointed me your quartermaster, which means I speak for your crew. By all rights, we get a say in this next voyage. Ya ain’t even told us nothin’ ’bout where we’re headed! Not a man here wants t’go back to London, I can say with certainty.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Rediker. You found a dozen new hands to supplement the dozen already aboard, hoping I’d be too willing to increase our ranks after the near-fatal voyage here.”
“Of course, Cap’n—”
“But once we were at sea, you’d hold a new vote for captain, isn’t that right? And with those new loyal dozen, and your men already on the Pride, it would be no contest,” you say. Rediker can’t even look you in the eye, so you continue, “You new men, I don’t know what Rediker promised you, but he did so without the authority to back up his word. Get off my ship!”
MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison) Page 14
