Studying the munitions, it suddenly occurs to you—the ship has been rigged to blow! If someone were to light that fuse from above, the Deleon’s Revenge would explode from inside, killing all aboard. Clearly Rediker does not intend to be taken alive.
Well, unfortunately for him, that is precisely your intent. Ducking inside the magazine, you find an old knife which must have regularly been used by the gunner as a tool. It’s not the sharpest blade, but it’s good enough to saw through a fuse. Just to be safe, you slice through and separate a good three feet from the rest.
That should stop the trap from springing. But as you hold the fuse in hand, you’re given another idea for how to best sabotage the ship. Moving quickly, you pile together a mound of explosives of your own, rigging a smaller version of the trap. Once you’ve made your bomb, you deftly carry it towards the pump room.
All it takes is to light the fuse from the nearest oil lamp, then—bombs away!—you throw the explosive into the pump room and run for it. The resultant BOOM! is somewhat muted by the sounds of combat from above, aided by the fact that the pump room is in the lowest recesses of the ship. Hopefully, there weren’t too many sailors operating the pumps at the time, but now the newly careened hull should be leaking like a sieve.
But there’s more to be done. Out on the top decks, you see the pirates fully engaged in battle against the Royal Navy. In fact, the British are nearly on top of the Revenge! Maybe you can help slow the ship further?
Engaged in battle, the pirates barely notice you. They don’t anticipate an enemy in their ranks before they’ve been boarded, so you’re able to remove the brace from the capstan and drop anchor without detection. Then you take the gunner’s knife and saw at the lines holding the sails. All that seaman’s know-how you learned at sea now comes to use as you deliberately cripple the ship. The first sail flaps loose in the open breeze after you saw your way through the ropes.
“Saltboots! Ya right bastard,” Rediker calls out.
Not a bad run; destroying the pumps, cracking the hull, dropping anchor, and removing a sail—all before getting caught. You’d love nothing more than to cross cutlasses with Rediker, but well, he’s the only one with a cutlass. And four pistols, to boot.
Instead, you flee from the pirate captain, dashing across the ship as grappling hooks launch through the air from the Royal Navy ship, grabbing the Deleon’s Revenge in order to board her. One of the pirates makes to hack loose the nearest such line, so you plow into the man, tackling him from behind and launching the unsuspecting rogue out into the sea.
“I bring ya aboard me ship, rescued from bein’ marooned, and this’d be how ye repay me?” Rediker calls, pursuing you still.
Rising from the move, you continue to flee. Rediker brings his full attention on you, chasing you the length of the ship, from stem to stern. Finally, you’re cornered. Rediker holds his cutlass in one hand, a pistol in the other.
“Should have left ye t’rot, but I’ll remedy me errs directly. Say your prayers.”
“You may want to heed your own advice, fiend,” a gentlemanly voice cries out from behind the pirate captain.
Rediker turns back and you get a good look at your rescuer He’s fair-skinned and fair-haired, unusual for those who spend their days at sea. A twenty-year-old member of the gentry, bred to keep a stiff upper lip. A lieutenant in the Royal Navy, no doubt, with a contingent of fighting sailors at his back. He holds a pistol aimed at Rediker, who now raises his hands in defeat.
“Damn your blood, Saltboots,” Rediker growls.
“Saltboots? Wouldn’t happen to have a relation; young lad goes by the name of Jimmy?”
“You know my cousin James?” you reply, dumbfounded.
“We shall see,” the lieutenant replies, then adds to one of his men, “Fetch the gunner’s mate.”
Click to continue…
Savage Stomp
Kicking, punching, resisting however you can, you fight off the jaguar. It lays its claws deep into your flesh, turning your clothes to ribbons. Yet, you survive. After landing a few blows to the beast’s head, it retreats into the jungle. Prey doesn’t normally fight back.
The creature might think twice before attacking you again. Though you came close to death, part of you feels like king of the jungle. You just survived a jaguar attack!
Granted, that could just be today. You’re still best to keep a roaring fire at night and look over your shoulder as you hike through the jungle. And watch your footing—nothing screams, “I’m prey!” like falling and flailing. Just ask that little piggy.
Although this final lesson you’ll have to learn the hard way.
* * *
You’re hiking through the jungle, looking for signs of a larger pork population, when the underbrush goes out from under you. Falling into darkness, you lash out for a handhold, but just too late. You slam down at the base of a natural well. It’s not a manmade trap, for there are no spines at the bottom. Still, the fall was incredibly painful and it’s pitch-black down here.
Anything broken? You don’t think so. Regardless, it’s best to take a moment to catch your breath before finding your way back out. What’s the best way out of a natural hole?
• Like a starfish. With your arms and legs spread on opposite walls, you can totter your way up.
• Leaning back. With your shoulders and hands pressed on the wall and feet out in front, walking.
• Leaning forward. Feet planted on at the rear wall and hands on the front, you can back slowly up.
• Try to dig your way out. By pulling down the earthen walls, you can make a ramp and climb to safety.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Scapegoat
You point the finger at Rediker and his conspiracy, hoping to take the pressure off yourself.
“That’s a bloody lie!” Rediker cries.
“I saw you out in the open, conspiring mutiny!”
“Tryin’ t’save your own skin, that’s all this is! Chips saw ya lay down the body-o’-the man ye killed, ain’t that right, Chips?”
“Aye, true enough,” Chips reluctantly agrees.
“And where exactly were ya, Rediker? At the time the killin’ took place?” Billy asks.
“I were down inspecting the hold. Hell, maybe I stole me an egg from the hens. Flog me if ye must, but a murderer I am not.”
“I were there, I can vouch,” Barlow says.
“Same here,” Marlowe agrees.
“That’s a double alibi,” Rediker says. “Last hand t’see the Cap’n alive is standin’ there covered in his blood.”
“Enough!” Billy roars.
That buys a moment’s silence, which Joe finally breaks. “Cap’n Greaves—as that is your title now—consider this point: when we make landfall at Boston, the Admiralty should want t’know what happened with Cap’n Bullock. Be that as it were, ye should have a suspect ready t’hand over. Let the courts in Boston handle things from there.”
Billy’s brow wrinkles and he looks at you with genuine regret. But that doesn’t stop him from ordering you placed into irons.
No further evidence comes from any subsequent investigations, which likely aren’t performed anyhow. With two less hands to work the ship, it’s lucky that the men remember to feed you meals. You’ll spend the rest of the voyage in isolation, as well as your time in Boston. The trial will be brief—a formality, really, leading towards your sentencing to death for committing a murder most foul.
THE END
Scholastic
Partway through your studies, Captain Longwick returns, but you’re so engrossed in the books that you don’t even notice the Master and Commander’s presence.
“I admire your temerity, Midshipman Ward. I don’t want to dampen such enthusiasm, but I had hoped you’d join the officers for a celebratory dinner. No, no. Stay seated. Don’t let me tempt you away from your studies. I shall have my steward bring a selection of books from my personal library. The very ones I used on my examination for lieutenant. I d
on’t imagine you’ll have a chance to meet the promotion board until after we return from our next mission, so there’s plenty of time, but it’s always good to let out canvas when the winds of inspiration blow, eh?”
Thanking the captain for his kindness, you excuse yourself to continue reading. Perhaps a single night of celebration would have been prudent, but no matter. Now you’ll be seen as a go-getter with upper-management written all over you!
Finding a quiet spot to read by candlelight is easy, for the officers dine in the captain’s cabin while the men sing and dance upon the deck. You find space, but not quiet. Still, perhaps that’s good officers’ training in its own right? Learning to think while distracted? Not often will the distraction come in the form of gaiety, laughter, and celebration, but the point stands.
For now, your only company is a chapter defining rhumb lines.
* * *
The next few days are a flurry of activity. The morning starts off with funeral rites 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:
• “Understood, sir. His emotional connection might cloud his judgement. I shall learn what I can from Cousin James and use against these pirates. Would you prefer their leader be taken dead or alive?”
• “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.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Separation Anxiety
“A good plan,” James says, not without a twinge of disappointment. “You find the carriage home, and I’ll find the liquid courage t’head home with ya, and face me mum…”
He trails off, looking away, lost in thought. Seeing your curiosity, he continues, “Never did have her blessing, d’ya know that? ‘A boy-o’-sixteen playing at a man’ she called me when I told her my intentions. Said no son-o’-hers would ever have salt on his boots. So I signed up as none other than Jimmy Saltboots, and sent a letter to her by post using that very name. That bit make the family gossip?”
“No…” you admit, slowly. “Though it does explain her insistence that I bring you home straightaway.”
“Aye, you’ve always been one of the good ones, coz. Honorable to a fault, as they say. Go find your cabbie, then look for me in there.”
He points down the muddy promenade to a far tavern, where you can just barely make out the sign. SPENCER’S FREE HOUSE. Offering a curt nod of understanding, you part ways, seeing your cousin painted in a different light. No wonder he’s so keen on a drink. Those high spirits are simply an act. He may look like a man of the world now, but at the heart of it, he’s still a boy nervous about disappointing his mother.
“You ain’t no Londoner, nor a sailor,” a harsh voice croaks out.
Turning, you see a haggard-looking man. The boils on his flesh make James’s scars look angelic by comparison. Hunched in such a way as to hide his great height, perhaps even from a long ago mis-healed wound. Presently, he grins at you through a maw of chipped and missing teeth.
“Matter-o’-fact, I’d say what you is, is lost. Plain obvious—more outta place than tits on a fish!” he crows, laughing uproariously at his own joke.
“My business at the port is nearly concluded, thank you,” you say, trying to hide your nervousness around the man. “Once I find a carriage, I’ll be on my way.”
“Taxi service? Well, why didn’t you say so? Me mate runs the only honest cabbie in port. Richard, they call me. Spotted Dick to me friends. Come, follow your new friend. Dick’ll make sure you get in safe. Can’t trust the ruffians ’round here.”
• What good fortune! Take him up on his offer and say, “Much obliged, so long as your friend doesn’t mind a longer route. My cousin and I are headed back to Buckinghamshire this evening.”
• Turn your nose up at the man. Say, “Indeed, not. Why don’t you and that foul stench leave me be and return to whatever hovel you crawled out from?”
• Turn him down politely. Go find a carriage in the cobbled streets after you say, “My business is nearly concluded. And so, sadly, I must make haste. Ta-ta!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Setting a Bad Precedent
You take the tool and hand it back to the carpenter’s mate. The Master-of-Arms laughs to himself in disbelief. “Are ye daft? Was sort of in the middle-o’-somethin’ here, in case ye couldn’t tell!”
“I’m aware,” you answer, coolly. “I’ve listened to you berate this man long enough.”
It has the intended effect. The Master-of-Arms chokes on his laughter and sputters out, “I—I’m in charge-o’-bloody shipboard discipline, damn you!”
“As you’ll holler at anyone unfortunate enough to be within earshot, yes, I know. I waited patiently just over there for you to finish, but this mockery went on beyond what good sense would tolerate.”
“You… you little… wait—ya didn’t just happen by—you were spying on me!”
“I was doing no such thing! I was performing my rounds, as ordered.”
“Like hell. You’re intents be easier t’see than that of a shark drawn to the sounds-o’-battle!”
The shouts have attracted Lieutenant Dalton and Mr. Magnus, and they now intercede.
“What’s all this, Geoff?” Dalton asks. “What exactly is going on here, Ward?”
• Perhaps there’s another way out here. If you challenge him to a duel, he’ll have to back down! Say, “This man is calling me a liar! I demand satisfaction!”
• Tell these men you think you got off on the wrong foot and want to start over. Say, “Gentlemen, please. This is all just a misunderstanding!”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Setting Sail
“The sirens call for this family in particular, it seems, and so I must answer…”
You pen the most eloquent, vociferous letter you can muster, though you know that won’t be enough for the family left behind in Buckinghamshire. Still, they managed to forgive J
immy—Cousin James—once he hopped ship and left without permission, so perhaps they will do the same for you in two years’ time.
“…like Odysseus, though I may voyage to the ends of the earth, I shall never forget those back home.”
* * *
The next morning, once you’ve sent your letters and settled your affairs, Billy the mate meets you on the waterfront. The merchant district is a sprawling metropolis in its own right, and you’re thankful to have a guide bringing you to your destination.
The docks creak in a chorus of cranes, which load and unload ships. A blue man, like an explorer from Neptune, walks before you, colored this way from his labors in the indigo trade. Warehouses store mountains of the dye-stuffs, more valuable than ingots of gold.
There appears to be enough treasure in this port to make every family in England wealthy. Passing this quay, the air becomes fragrant with tobacco. The next, with the vapors of rum. The spice of peppercorn and the acres of cork, copper, and timbers. Goats bleat out and sows squeal.
Passing unfathomable treasures, Billy brings you aboard the Cooper’s Pride. She’s a sleek and clean ship, loaded with fresh supplies ready for the colonies. The figurehead on the front is an enormous carved octopus, or more likely, in this case, the legendary Kraken. With a fearsome glower the beast stares ahead, ready to ride forward atop the waves, a pair of swords held out in its multitudinous arms.
When you climb aboard, the first thing you see is a group of four seamen bound upon the main deck. You look to Billy for explanation; a guilty countenance washes across the man.
“We’re happy to have ya volunteer, but sadly, we had t’recruit in other, less scrupulous ways,” he confesses.
“Were these men… pressed into service?” you ask.
“That’d be the Navy. We use crimps in the merchant service, but ’tis more-o’-less the same,” Billy replies. “Bein’ pressed’d be far worse, trust ole Billy on that account! This here’s a payin’ job with little chance-o’-bein’ fired upon by the dagoes.”
MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison) Page 30
