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

by James Schannep

  “Aye… but what if ye are?” he counters, wily-eyed.

  Can’t argue with that. The conversation over, Marlowe goes about assigning watch duties, which for you starts off with uncoiling and recoiling rope. It’s a menial task, leaving you plenty of time with your own thoughts. You try to imagine Jimmy—Cousin James—out alone for two years with his only friends in the world dead, with the other crewmates saying he was the cause of their misfortune. Then you try to imagine being avoided from the start.

  Eight bells sound, signaling that your watch is over.

  “Get some sleep, ya lot!” Marlowe commands. “Eight more bells, then ’tis supper, and back to it. So ya better get your shuteye while ’tis on offer!”

  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.

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

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

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

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Ill-Presentiment

  Seizing the opportunity to vent your frustrations, you continue, “They’re expecting more than they rationally should, yet trying to undermine any chances I have to get the hang of things. I swear, cousin, you were right that they’ve got it out for me, only I don’t know what to do!”

  The pair of you take your supper in a relatively abandoned corner of the mess. As the days have gone by, the common tars have started to avoid you as if you yourself were an omen of ill-foreboding, so it’s easy to find a spot alone.

  “I feel partly responsible. ’Twas my suggestion ye took, coz. I didn’t know jumpin’ the chain would make ya such a target,” James says after you’re seated.

  “If they gave me a fair shake, I could prove myself. I know I could!”

  “You’re as likely t’find a fair maiden aboard as you’re t’find a fair supervisor!” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “Hell, take me. Day in and out, I slave for this curmudgeon of a gunner, calls himself ’Monks,’ but he’s anything but. While I scour my flesh with sulfur, coal, and saltpeter, he just gambles with the surgeon and recorder!”

  Somewhere in your sleep-deprived memory, an image of the ship’s recorder rises to the surface. “The Scotsman? Argyle?”

  “That’s the one! Lord knows they’re in the ship’s magazine right now, rollin’ bones.”

  “The Captain turns a blind eye? I thought gambling was strictly forbidden?”

  James shrugs. “I doubt he knows. Who goes to inspect the magazine but the gunner?”

  After a moment, you reply,

  • “Who should inspect the magazine, indeed! I’ll not go down without a fight, cousin. And you’ve just given me a most brazen idea….”

  • “Bunch of bastards, the whole lot. I’ll just work harder, prove them wrong. Then I’ll be a fair and honorable officer, you mark my words.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Impresario

  For a telltale moment, the lieutenant’s eyes narrow after your response, but then he recovers to a more detached, hard-to-read expression. This leaves you with nothing more to go on than an indication: Dalton will remember that.

  “It’s best that you came to me with these concerns, Ward. Geoff was a crusty old seaman for a long time before he became a petty officer, and he retains that gruff sense of duty. I understand how it might rub you the wrong way, but that’s simply the way he is, I’m afraid,” he says at length. “Just make sure you come to me first from now on. That’s how the chain of command works, you understand. If you have a problem, we needn’t trouble the commander with every little trifle.”

  He waves his hand about as if any problem you might encounter would be no more of a nuisance than a housefly. Then a rapid pressure change falls over the quarterdeck and the men go silent before snapping to attention.

  “Cap’n on deck!” the Master-of-Arms shouts.

  Not much choice here:

  Follow suit and snap to attention. Best not to stick out.

  Impressionist

  For a telltale moment, the lieutenant’s eyes narrow after your response, but then he recovers to a more detached, hard-to-read expression. This leaves you with nothing more to go on than an indication: Dalton will remember that.

  “No, I would not agree. I would not agree one bit! And if you think that way about your new duties, well, I should say you might need to re-evaluate your chosen career,” he says at length. “Just make sure you come to me first from now on. That’s how the chain of command works, you understand. If you have a problem, we needn’t trouble the commander with every little trifle.”

  He waves his hand about as if any problem you might encounter would be no more of a nuisance than a housefly. Then a rapid pressure change falls over the quarterdeck and the men go silent before snapping to attention.

  “Cap’n on deck!” the Master-of-Arms shouts.

  Not much choice here:

  Follow suit and snap to attention. Best not to stick out.

  Impressive!

  You need to accomplish two tasks: Chiefly, you must fire the first shot. Once blood has been drawn, the duel is over, and if the Master-of-Arms were to line up a shot and fire after being hit, it would be treated outside the confines of the duel as attempted murder.

  Secondly, and more importantly, you must hit the man.

  If you miss, he’ll be able to take his time and carefully aim his own shot. Not an outcome that favors your odds of survival. Luckily for you, he’s not a particularly thin man. What’s more, he must have survived other duels in the past, because he stands with shoulders square and legs spread like a man unafraid.

  The ship sways, throwing off any real chance for accuracy. Still, you aim for the midsection, picturing his navel as a bulls-eye, and squeeze the trigger. The burst of sparks that comes from the flintlock force you to squint and turn away, but a loud twang tells that—unless by some miracle you hit his belt buckle—the shot went wide and hit some iron implement on the ship.

  When you open your eyes again you see only a plume of smoke between yourself and the Master-of-Arms. With certain dread, you know you’ve missed your one shot; a shot made all the more difficult by your unfamiliarity with both firearms and the sea beneath your feet.

  It feels like an eternity, but after a few moments the spent gunpowder dissipates, and the Master-of-Arms stands before you, unarmed.

  You’ve shot the pistol right out of his hand! All eyes look to you with astonishment, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to let your own jaw hit the deck.

  “The Ward’s a bloody dab hand with a flintlock!” Mr. Magnus says, voice full of awe.

  “A real crackerjack shot,” the ship’s surgeon adds, shaking
his head in disbelief. “Didn’t even see the need to draw blood, bless you.”

  “Geoff, do you yield?” Captain Longwick asks.

  The Master-of-Arms looks you over with new eyes and you stare back with a cold countenance, not wanting to dispel the notion that you’re a ringer with the pistol.

  “Aye, sir, I do,” he says at length.

  * * *

  Cousin James is over the moon when he hears of your victory. You have a reputation now, and as your cousin, he’s given a wide berth, accompanied by nods of appreciation from the rest of the crew. At recognition of you, however, the men of the ship touch their brow in salute as they would a full-fledged officer.

  Supper that night, though truly no different, is the best meal you’ve ever eaten. Men toast to the crackerjack of the HMS Hornblower and Lieutenant Dalton dares not chastise you for eating your meal out amongst the common sailors.

  Captain Longwick summons you to his cabin after you’ve finished.

  “Ward, at ease. I was hoping you’d like to join me for a glass of port,” he says, taking a seafoam-green glass bottle and pouring the deep red wine into two crystal cordial glasses.

  “Aye, sir. Thank you,” you say, taking your glass.

  “Do you know why they call it ‘port’ wine?”

  “Because it’s from Portugal,” you answer.

  His look shows the question was rhetorical, so he ignores your response, raises his glass in toast and continues, “Because port reminds us why we fight: For England’s exports and imports, foreign ports and home ports!”

  “Here, here,” you say, then share your drinks together.

  “That was a hell of a thing you did today.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That wasn’t entirely a compliment. Geoff offered his resignation as the Master-of-Arms, and Mr. Midshipman Magnus requested to be transferred to a new ship along with him. Whatever bad blood was between you three, well, they’re afraid of you now. And I find myself short two officers.” The Captain looks you over, trying to gauge a reaction, before going on. “The open Midshipman billet is yours, should you still want it.”

  “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

  “Tut-tut, don’t be too hasty. The offering comes with a catch. The men hold a great deal of respect for you now, I’m told. And the same can’t be said of our former Master-of-Arms or your predecessor, which I suppose means I owe you a debt of thanks. Even so, should you accept this promotion, I ask for your word of honor: no more duels. It simply wouldn’t do to have you throw your weight around every time there’s a disagreement with another officer. You’ll have to learn to work with the others. Do we have an accord?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” you say, still shocked by the day’s turn of events.

  “That will be all, then.”

  You salute and turn to leave, but he stops you. “Oh, one more thing. I was rather fond of those pistols before you ruined the one. I do believe you owe me a new set.”

  “Aye, sir!” you say, unable to keep the grin off your face.

  Outside the Commander’s Cabin, Lieutenant Dalton awaits. He approaches with some trepidation, wringing his hands together nervously.

  “Good evening, Ward. I… I would be honored if you would continue on my watch this evening,” he says.

  You let the moment hang in the air, so he continues, “I realize I may not have gauged your full potential, and for that I am truly sorry. I do hope you’ll give me another chance. I should like us to be friends.”

  Remembering your promise to try to work well with the other officers, you say, “Of course, Lieutenant. I shouldn’t think you’ll underestimate me again, only now, it’s Midshipman Ward.”

  Not much choice here:

  Go about your duties with a new lease on life. Well done! Click here to continue.

  In Good Hands

  “Yes, I suppose we’d best tell the carpenter to get started. I understand he’s apprenticed at the shipyard; building them from the ground up, as it were. He’s the expert, Ward. If he says it must be done a certain way, that’s the way it shall be done,” Dalton orders.

  “Very good, sir,” you reply, then salute and head off to find the carpenter and his mate.

  The carpenter is a stout, serious man called Woody. Whether his name is coincidentally Woodrow, or if it’s a none-too-creative carpentry nickname, you can’t say. Instead, you inform Woody that the time has come to repair the ship and ask what he needs to accomplish the task.

  He inspects the damage first, prioritizing the sites by their likelihood of springing a leak. While his mate fetches the tools, the carpenter has men bring up the extra timbers kept down in the stores. In a wooden world, the carpenter is often one of the most valuable hands on the ship. Highly skilled, his position can mean the difference between sailing and sinking.

  Taking Lieutenant Dalton’s advice to heart, you stay out of the way and simply observe. Woody replaces the badly damaged wood with custom-fit timbers, while his mate beats old rope known as “oakum” to fit an initial seal. By the by, Dalton comes by to inspect the scene himself.

  “How goes it, Midshipman Ward?”

  “Woody has it fully under control, sir.”

  “Indeed. If the other men knew their duties half as well as he, well, this ship could sail herself. Humbling, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, sir. I’ve got much to learn.”

  “That feeling never leaves, even as an acting commander. And it shouldn’t, not in any officer worth their salt. Always strive to better yourself.”

  You simply nod, continuing to watch. Perhaps your scholar’s habits will serve you well aboard a ship after all. If there’s one thing you know how to do, it’s how to better yourself.

  “Seeing as how Woody has the situation under control, I suppose we’d best get to scrubbing,” Dalton says. “Captain Longwick won’t even recognize the Hornblower once he’s back!”

  The “we” the lieutenant refers to are, in fact, the common men. Not an officer’s place to scrub the deck, even if that officer is only a candidate midshipman. But as you watch the seamen scour the decks, it’s with a renewed sense of pride. Soon, the captain will return, and when he does…

  • It’s time to celebrate! Hard work pays off, and toasting with the men is that very payoff. Captain Longwick promised to open the stores for victory, and the day has arrived!

  • Time to better myself! As an officer candidate, it’s my duty to learn everything one can about the workings of the ship. I’ll spend the night studying.

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Inner Circle

  The Red Kites native to Buckinghamshire may have circled in search of prey, but the birds on your island circle for a different reason. Once you make it to the interior of the island where they flit and fly, you see that they’re taking turns diving down to skim off the water’s surface for a drink—of fresh water! The birds only just barely touch the water, as if they’re evading a predator. When you burst from the trees, they scatter in response.

  Rushing forward, you find a clearing with a great pond, fed by a waterfall. The source must come from somewhere up the mountain, and though it’s no gushing river, it is more than a trickling brook. This water will sustain you!

  Drinking straight from the waterfall itself, you taste the purest water you’ve had since becoming a sailor. Possibly even the best water of your life. Untainted by civilization, purified by the rocks and the motion of the waterfall, this is pure mountain stream water.

  Well done! This source of water was an important find, and you mark it on your mental map as you head out to further explore the island. You’ll want to find a better place for a more permanent shelter than on the shoreline. After last night’s storm, you know it’s too exposed to the elements out there. You’ll certainly want somewhere close to this water source, and with a good view of the shore so you can watch for approaching ships. Somewhere elevated, perhaps.

  So you start hiking to explore your island. And wit
h the clouds rolling in, you’ll soon get to see how the rest of the topography fares in a tropical squall. You’re out in the open, hiking on a ridgeline with a perfect view of the coast where you were abandoned, when a “Boom!” from the heavens blasts apart a long-dead tree only twenty yards ahead on the trail.

  A great thunderclap accompanies the lightning only a moment later, and the hair starts to rise on your neck. What should you do?

  • Dash back into a forested part of the jungle to find shelter under the trees!

  • Retreat to the waterfall and leap into the pond. The safest place is to stay lower than ground-level!

  • Immediately drop down, knees upon the trail and head bowed before the Almighty. Pray to be spared!

  • Hurry to the exact spot where the bolt hit—lightning never strikes the same place twice!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Into the Crow’s Nest

  The offer to volunteer is one that’s readily accepted, perhaps too eagerly. You’re handed a musket and told to climb the mizzenmast. The sharpshooters assigned to the other two masts are not so keen to take on the duty, and you wonder if you might have offered yourself in haste.

  “What’re ya waitin’ for?” Midshipman Magnus asks. “Grab Brown Bess and give me regards t’the gulls!”

  It’s a high climb to the top, but that’s kind of the point. From up there, you’ll have an unobstructed line of sight on the enemy crew when the fighting begins. With Brown Bess slung over your shoulder, you head to the top.

  Once you arrive, you learn why the others didn’t want this assignment. It’s not the size of the mast that matters, it’s the motion of the ocean beneath. You’re on the tip of an inverted pendulum, in a sense. The rocking and swaying of the ship is amplified because of your distance from the source. A larboard dip of the hull a few feet into the sea turns into a dozen yards swaying through the sky from up here. It’s enough to give even the most seasoned sailor seasickness. You do your best to keep your eyes to the horizon line, but seasickness arrives nonetheless.