CHAPTER 10

As get up from the poor boys side, smell of iron permeates the air. Once the shock wears off, I start to notice all the blood. I start to feel that euphoric adrenaline rush start to rise from my chest, and I fucking hate myself for it. Yea, it's great during a fight for my life, but here I am, basically getting pleasure from this poor boy’s death. I fucking hate myself sometimes.

I go over to the side of the ship and pull up a bucket of water to rinse my blood soaked trousers. I look back at the boy and see he's about five foot tall. Without asking for permission, I go down to where they keep the extra sail cloth. I cut a eight by six foot rectangle of the material and grab up several yards of twine. I grab a rag as well. On my way back up, the men were solemnly going back to work. I guess we were still running for our lives after all. Be side the boy was Billy, trying to hold back tears but not very successfully.

He turns to me with red puffy eyes, “What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna clean him off, wrap him in canvas, and take him down below. I'll pay for him to be buried on New Providence.”

Billy sighs with relief, dropping his shoulders, “Oh, I thought you were gonna wrap him and give him to the sea this close to port.”

I just chuckle, “Go get me two buckets of sea water and a bucket of sand Billy.” As he leaves, I look up to Zijde beside the helm. He looks at me thoughtfully, and he smiles at me with a look of solemn gratitude. I pick the boy up and let Billy splash the blood with the bucket of water, sending most of it over the side. I sigh in relief, as the blood going over the side makes it easier to suppress that feeling. I use the rag and wipe the blood off the boy's face and body the best I could. Once finished, I wrap his body several times over in the canvas, tying it up tightly with string. Then I find a clean spot below deck to place his body for now.

Coming up the stairs, I see Billy throw sand on the wet parts of the deck. Looking around, I also see the foremast is bent at a forty-five degree angle towards the bow of the ship. The men are just cutting the sail from it to make sure it doesn't catch any more wind. Without it, we were crawling slower than ever. Fortunately, the galleon hasn't fired on us for the last fifteen minutes. I guess the position of the ships isn’t letting the mortar fire without hitting their own rigging. I turn, walking towards the captain to see what he needs.

As he meets my eye, his face softens, “Thank you Utah, I wasn't sure who to take care of the poor lad. His name was Duncan. He signed on with us the last time we took a British prize. He was a pressed powder monkey. He seemed to really enjoy sailing with us, he was treated rather poorly on the last crew he was on. By the way, I want to help pay for his grave.”

I shake my head, “I've got it Cap'n, I really don't mind.”

His face hardens into a strong, stern look, “Utah, I'm not asking. He was apart of the crew I lead. I'll be damned before I allow someone to say I don't care for my crew.”

I guess I wasn't thinking about it like that. One of the things about being a captain, When someone dies, ultimately, it was your orders that killed them. I didn't think about the guilt he must be feeling.

“Yea Captain, I understand. We'll get him something nice.”

His face softens into a warm smile. It's now I notice the ever so slight redness of his eyes.

“Watcha need me to do Cap'n?”

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

“Get close enough to hear Alfred, and relay whatever he says as loud as you can. We damn sure don't need to mess up again.”

Thirty minutes later, we had come out of the strait with no further problems, but things go downhill faster than one would hope. The 'Meurte Dolorosa' had already made it around the outer island, and she was gaining fast. I guess she had seen our fucked up mast and decided not to waste anymore mortar shells.

The tension in the air is stifling. The galleon is doubling our speed and will be upon us in just a few minutes. The looks on the crew are of utter defeat, and Zijde is at a loss of words. The only person that's still looking for a way out is Alfred. I’m not sure if it’s his will to live or that fourth mug of rum, but he is on the bow looking fervently for another strait to cut through.

Although, there isn't a strait like that for hours. We only have minutes. The only thing saving us, the galleon has to stay in our wake. Slowing down so they don't ram into the back of us and destroying both ships, they are still making steady progress directly behind us.

*Clank*

We all look back to see a grappling hook bouncing off our rear hull. I look back to see a couple of The Spaniard's crew throwing hooks trying to close the distance. Beside them, a dozen men with muskets aimed at us. They throw another time, and this time it lands on the deck. It's jerked back catching on the rear railing of the ship. One of the crew tries to cut the rope, but the hail of musket fire makes it suicide.

As they get within earshot, Alfred turns around giving me a drunken smile. He calls me to him. When I get within arms reach, we hear him scream, his voice breaking halfway through, “Forty-Five degrees port, reef off the starboard bough.”

We feel the ship lurch to our left as the helmsman throws the wheel. The galleon, apparently hearing Alfred, does the same thing. Then he slaps me on the arm and tells me, “Run and tell the Cap'n eighty degrees port.” I start to yell it, and Alfred slaps the back of my head, “I said 'run' and tell him. Quietly.”

Not sure what to think, I just follow his orders. I sprint over and tell the captain but he just looks at me crazy, “Are you sure Utah?”

We look back to Alfred, and he is waving his hands to the starboard side so hard he loses his footing and falls. Zijde shrugs his shoulders and nods to the helmsman. After getting over the shock, the helmsman breathes deep reaches as far over on the wheel as he can, and throws the wheel spinning wildly clockwise. The ship now lurches so hard to the right almost everyone loses their footing. The sail catches the wind and slams over, tilting us dangerously over to our left side. The helmsman catches the wheel and holds it for about ten seconds. We hear some light scraping on the left side of the boat before the helmsman straightens us up. We get to our feet and look back at the galleon, just before we see it slam to a full stop.

The galleon's masts jar like they were hit by a transfer truck, the snapping of it's hull sounds like gunshots, and all of that is quickly drowned out by the sounds of men screaming as they die.

We all stare at the wrecked galleon for a few more minutes, not understanding what had happened. Then as if given a verbal order, everyone looks at Alfred. He standing there drunk as a skunk and grinning like an idiot. Like a God-damned beautiful idiot that just saved all of our asses.

We start pulling away from the wrecked galleon, slowly but surely. After about thirty minutes we could no longer hear the screams of the men mauled by splintering wood and 2000 pound cannons crushing anything in their path. By then, we were certain they could no longer hit us with the mortar everyone relaxed. After we were in the open channel, away from the danger of slamming into reefs ourselves, we all started going apeshit over that plan.

Alfred's name is being chanted all over the ship, usually coupled with, “Break out the rum for Alfred!” I guess that's basically this crew's 'Three cheers for Alfred', I can't help but join in. Alfred is soaking it all up. Gone is the meek navigator from a few hours ago, replacing him is the drunken savior of the 'Going Swiftly'.

As everyone not currently working crowds around Alfred, the chanting for rum comes to a stop as Zijde walks up to Alfred, wearing a stern expression.

“Alfred, that was the most dangerous, irresponsible, and half-hazardly thrown together plan I've ever seen concocted.”--Everyone around was looking shocked at Zijde-- “I will have to impose a strict punishment...” He twists the edge of his mustache, “Well, despite the blatant disregard for my ship, you did save everyone on board.”-- his mouth turns up into a sly grin.-- “I guess we will have to break out the rum.” The crew cheers so loudly I feel it in my chest. Zijde holds his hand up to talk, “However, if you ever do something so reckless again without it being absolutely necessary I'll... take your rum away for a week.” Everyone dies laughing at the drunkenly horrified look on Alfred's face.

While everyone is celebrating, I look around at the faces. Everyone is just happy to be alive, but I can't help but feel angry. I know that death on a ship like this happens all the time, and the crew is desensitized to it. I just can't get over the fact a child died less than 3 hours prior to this, and he's just below deck, waiting to be buried. I feel the anger in my chest rising up, and before I lose control, I make my way to Doc Zale.

As I walk through the door, Doc Zale looks at me carefully, “Son, there was no--”

“I know Doc, but I don't want to talk about it. I'm exhausted, and it's too loud to sleep everywhere but here.”

He gives me a warm but sad smile. He just walks over, hands me a little ball of opium and points to a bed, “Your face is starting to swell. It's gotta be hurting. Take this, and you can sleep on my bed. Toa and I will sleep out with the crew, and don't worry, I'll wake you when we get to port.

I nod, thankful that he understands. I throw back the opium before I lay down on the straw mattress. As they leave the room, the feeling of guilt and sadness become oppressive. I feel tears welling up in my eyes, and before they start to flow, I open my HUD and logout.