“Hoist the sails!” a gruff voice called out over the roar of the sea. Its command caused the deckhands of the sailing vessel The Devils Cutlass to spring into action. Using rough hands to clasp rough hempen rope, strong and salted backs heaved their weight to draw the waiting sail from its rest to taste the wind once again. More nimble and dexterous crewmen took the slack of the ropes and guided their ends to waiting cleats. WIth precision and well practiced movements, the coils of wild rope were twisted and formed into perfect knots to keep the sail aloft. With a clack, the sail reached the top of the mast and began to fill with ocean air, unveiling its macabre insignia, a red devils face laughing above a large red cutlass. A young deckhand paused to take in the foreboding sight, a warning to anyone roaming the sea that this crew wasn’t your friend.
“Weight anchor!” Came the voice again, its gruff and commanding presence a match for its owner. This voice belonged to Captain Silver Tooth, a 200 lbs wall of pirate… and…
“No that’s not right, maybe it should be…” Jacob said to the air around him, as he tapped his chin in contemplation. “Maybe it should be stone instead of pounds.”
The youthful male ragamuffin possessed an air of untamed energy and carefree spirit. His light brown hair, kept in a short tail, appeared tousled and unruly, as if he had just emerged from a playful bout of adventure. Tanned skin, kissed by the sun's rays, gave him a hint of a roguish charm. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity and mischief, as if constantly seeking out the next thrilling escapade. Dressed in a mishmash of mismatched clothing, he wore threadbare trousers and a patched-up shirt that hinted at a life spent exploring the world rather than adhering to conventional societal norms. With a mischievous grin on his face and a perpetual twinkle in his eye, Jacob returned to the pages of his newest adventure and applied his corrections.
“Weight anchor!” Came the voice again, its gruff and commanding presence a match for its owner. This voice belonged to Captain Silver Tooth, a 200 lbs wall of pirate… and…
“Weight anchor!” Came the voice again, its gruff and commanding presence a match for its owner. This voice belonged to Captain Silver Tooth, a 200 stone wall of grit, gunpowder, and pirate and…
“Good Heavens!” A rather confused and disgusted sounding voice called out from over Jacobs shoulder, “ I say, you’ve gone and made this Silver Tooth fellow an elephant!” Rathbone gave Jacob a rather upset stare and shook his head. Jolly and playful beyond what his years really should have allowed, Rathbones jowls, pot belly, and wild gray mustache jostled and jiggled in time with his disapproval. It seemed to Jacob that the hardy seafaring life that kept most other members of the crew toned, fit, tanned, and trim seemed to have the opposite effect on his cannon duty partner. Jacob laughed and gave his crewmate a playful shove.
“The captain's weight has not been officially decided yet!” Jacob said as he placed the old man in a playful headlock, dropping his paper and grease pen. Rathbone tapped Jacobs arm a few times, prompting Jacob to release him. “Alright, alright, alright you’ve made your point!” The old man said as he laughed. The two separated and moved to either end of the last cannon in the line of three cannons they were instructed to clean. Rathbone used a long iron nail and slid it in and out of the cannon's fuse hole while Jacob treated the inside of the cannon with a bundle of cotton cloth on the end of a stick.
“Do you believe these cannons will ever get to fire?” Jacob asked with a sigh.
“I hope not.” Rathbone said,blowing a puff of air across his work surface, his breath sweeping across the freshly cleaned fuse hole, producing a faint toot. “I work too hard keeping them clean. If we have to fire them, then I have to clean them sooner.”
“I know, but,”
"There you go again! I know your kind," Rathbone interrupted, his voice adopting a swooning, high-pitched cadence. He fluttered his eyes playfully. "Oh, woe is me! I don't want to toil on a farm anymore!" Rathbone turned away from Jacob, dramatically flinging himself backward across the cannon. "What shall I do? Lord help me! I'm terrified of cows! Oh, Mummy, no!" Rathbone rolled over onto his stomach on the cannon, buried his face in arms, and playfully kicked his feet while pretending to cry. Suddenly, Rathbones weight caused the cannon barrel to tip forward. He slid down the cannon, hitting the wooden deck and rolled to a sitting position. Then in one fluid motion, he sprang to his feet, quickly turning to face Jacob again. He crossed the floor and grabbed Jacob on his arms with both hands and continued.
"Wait! I've got it!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with mockery. "I shall become a pirate!” Rathbone turned to stand side by side with Jacob and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, slowly panning his free hand from left to right as he spoke,” Sailing the seven seas, crossing swords with my fairy tale hero, swinging from deck to deck on a rope, and engaging in swashbuckling battles with real pirate captains! And, and,” Rathbone released Jacob and bent his leg to raise one of his feet behind himself, and clasped his hands together resting them under his chin,” a princess shall come to my rescue on her majestic unicorn!" Jacob rolled his eyes and chuckled at Rathbone’s performance.
Rathbone placed his hands on his hips, planted his feet firmly beneath himself, and gave Jacob a stern look, maintaining his comical mimicry. "And we shall live happily ever after in our enchanted kingdom!" he declared dramatically.
"You know how you prevent that from happening? By firing cannons!" Rathbone continued, reverting to his normal voice. "You're earning just as much money without firing them anyway, aren't you?"
"It's been a year and a half, Rathbone. A year and a half! The closest we've ever come to a real fight was when we hid behind a reef and watched two ships exchange fire," Jacob whined, frustration seeping into his words.
“And that’s as close as we should ever be. Scooping up what gets left over and selling it may not be the pirate's life you dreamed of or want to write about, but there’s a line between real and make believe. And make believe doesn’t put food on your plate.”
Jacob let out a groan, “I know, I know.” There was silence between the pair as they finished the last bit of swabbing. As they stowed away their supplies Jacob chuckled to himself.
“What?” Rathbone asked as they began to head back to the top side of their ship.
“Pigs,” Jacob said, smiling as he climbed the short staircase to the top deck of the Warbler. “It was pigs, not cows.”
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She was a scrawny, patchwork shell of a proper boat, weathered by countless voyages on treacherous seas. The Warbler, her name etched haphazardly into the ship's wooden hull, appeared as if it had been carved by an inebriated hand with a reckless hatchet. Large boards were missing from the top deck, leaving gaps like missing teeth, while the sails, fashioned from what seemed like sewn-together linen sheets, bore the scars of age and countless repairs.
Perched atop the mast, a crow's nest served as a permanent roost for a tenacious seagull, a loyal sentinel overlooking the ship's adventures.
As the Warbler sailed through the open waters, she carried with her a crew that mirrored her appearance—a motley assembly of downtrodden and eclectic individuals. Each member seemed to possess their own unique story, woven together by the threads of fate that had led them to this ramshackle vessel. Their attire, much like the ship itself, told tales of their misfit nature. Captain Barnaby Finch, known to his crew as Ol' Jelly Bones, embodied the pinnacle of cowardice, a man who clung to landlubber clothing salvaged from sunken ships along the coast. His frock shirts, fished out of the sea's depths, showcased faded colors and worn fabrics, while his breeches barely reached his knees, revealing the well-worn boots that carried him across the decks. His crew was only to refer to him as captain in close confines and only in whispers, lest any mischievous spirit carry his name to The Royal Navy. The crew, adhering to their peculiar standards of rank and file, were required to follow Barnaby's eccentric fashion choices. Any individual assuming the role of first mate aboard the Warbler was expected to don the captain's idea of pirate captain attire, an extravagant display that transformed them into peacocks of the sea. Due to the outfit and responsibilities involved in pretending to be captain for Ol’ Jelly Bones, the first mate position was taken in shifts. This curious rotation of first mates further emphasized the ship's sense of unpredictability, as leadership shifted and personalities clashed amidst the backdrop of this ragtag crew and their enigmatic vessel.
"There's an eastborne wind blowing, captain. I've got news of a scuffle brewing up the coast between some brigands and a man o' war! Could be a tidy profit to be made, sir!" Barnaby proclaimed in his toothless candor, marching up to Rathbone and Jacob.
“Oh! That sounds,” Rathbone said as he and Jacob looked between each other, trying to determine who was captain this week. “Lovely?”
“I wasn't addressing you, Rathbone! You were captain last week. Jacob's the captain this time," Barnaby clarified. Rathbone sighed in relief and his whole body seemed to go slack for a second. Jacob only groaned as the green tricorn hat with several feathers of several different species of bird stuck into it was foisted into his reluctant hands.
“Oh god.” Was all Jacob could get out before the persian carpet like coat was draped around his shoulders. “No no no! Oh god! It smells!”
"Right! Now, give us the order, Captain," Barnaby insisted, completing Jacob's ornamentation like a Christmas tree. Jacob, now clad in the pungent old coat, eccentric hat, mismatched black and brown polished boots, eyepatch, and an ornate cutlass, let out a weary sigh and drew his sword.
“Crew, hoist the sail and turn her east.” The words rolled out of Jacobs mouth like a teenager repeating a lesson to their teacher.
“Right, lads! You heard the captain! Set sail eastward bound!" Barnaby bellowed, amplifying the orders with unwavering enthusiasm. With a damp thwap, the Warbler's sails unfurled, and the ship and its crew began their journey, propelled eastward along the coastline.
Jacob stood attentive, focused at the wheel. Taking in the vibrant colors of the turquoise waters, swaying palm trees, and sandy beaches that lined the coast. Doing his best to focus on anything that wasn’t the itchy and incredibly smelly coat that he was forced into moments before his stewardship. The Warbler crested small waves and seafoam, the first mate keeping an eye on Jacob’s distance from the shore
“Hold! Sails down!” Jacob called out, giving the ship's wheel a spin. His new course used the tide and momentum from the wind to guide them into a sandbar on the edge of a reef. Warbler's hull touched down into the white sand with barely a sound. Captain Barnaby’s source, whoever they were, had been correct about the scuffle and the Warbler had found the pair of wooden titans in the throngs of battle. The cacophony of noise from the seafaring battle and the bright flashes from the cannons were so close that the only thing between the Warbler and grape shot was a simple cloud of smoke. Jacob could feel his heart thumping in his ears from the blasts, a symphony of Spanish black powder, heavy, fast flying lead and the cracking of thick timbers buckling and shredding from the impacts. The orders heard over the explosions sounded more and more English and the screams and broken timber more and more Spanish. Suddenly there was silence. Then two loud whistle blasts cut through the air, met with cheers, the commands to weigh anchor, and the groaning of wooden beams giving out under immense weight. The loser of the battle’s bow emerged from the smoke as the damaged piece separated itself from the bulk of the obliterated vessel and plowed into the reef, sending sand, coral, and the crew of the Warbler sideways.
“Captain?” Barnaby whispered his question as he tugged on Jacob’s foul smelling coat, “Orders?” Before he could respond a new sound cut through the ambience of post battle silence, the sound of several pairs of oars slapping sea water and growing closer. Jacob gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. He knew the order the captain wanted him to give, but the call to abandon ship refused to leave Jacobs throat.
He turned to Barnaby and forcefully shoved the unwelcomed hat and coat into Barnaby's chest.
“Give your own orders for once, Captain Jelly Bones,” Jacob said with a scowl as he drew the ornate cutlass from his belt and began to move across the deck. As he moved he shouted back to the crew, ”And as for the rest of you, if you want to make it out of this mess alive, get ready to man your stations and follow orders.” Captain Barnaby's breath caught in his throat and he began to pale. He was sure that boy had just done him in, done them all in, by saying his name out loud like that. The rest of the crew looked from Captain Barnaby to Jacob and back again. A few of them shrugged and hopped off the port side onto the beach and ran as far and as fast as they could. The rest watched as the runners were met with the crack and hot lead of flintlock rifles ending their run for freedom.
“Man the cannons! Loose the sail” Jacob shouted with ever mounting frustration. As if pulled from a daydream, the crew sprang to their stations. More cracks rang out and the whizzing of bullets filled Jacob’s ears. With a wet thwack, the sail unfurled and caught the breeze, pulling the surprisingly light ship out of the sand bar. Warbler was on the move and clipped a pair of row boats as she made her way out to sea and into the cloud from the battle still hanging in the air. The soft thud of floating debris striking the hull and rowboats being pushed aside came a few more times as the Warbler gained speed. More cracks and flashes behind the clouds produced more clouds and more whizzing projectiles. A few of the loads struck the steering wheel, casting splinters into Jacobs face.
As the ship emerged from the battle cloud the unwelcome sight of a pair of rowboats burst onto the scene overshadowed by the oppressive, towering bulk of the man-of-war. The crew could feel the eyes of the sailors on them and heard a long blow of a whistle. Jacob pulled hard on the wheel and turned the Warbler in an arc that kept the man-of-war close and along her port side. Cannon fire rang out from the behemoth narrowly missing the Warbler and raising a spray of water from the sea. As the warbler approached the man-of-war midship point, two more shots rang out, one creating another salty plume of sea foam, the other clipping the Warbler's mast at its top, dropping the main sail to the deck and claiming the crows nest and its occupant.
“We're doomed!” Captain Barnaby cried out as he lashed himself to a barrel. “Abandon ship! Abandon ship!” Captain Barnaby threw the barrel and himself off the stern of the ship, floating out of sight as the Warbler continued her course, headed toward a high stone outcropping.
“Nail that sail up! We just need a bit more!” Jacob yelled over several more shots from the man-of-war. A sailor shouted in confirmation and shimmied up the mast with a hammer and piton. In a flash the sail was back up, hammered into place and catching the ocean breeze once again. A coward's ship, patched together with the cheapest material, stained in mismatched colors, manned by a crew of misfits, a lot of bad things could be said about the Warbler but the one good thing everyone could agree on? The Warbler was built to run away, and fast. In mere moments the Warbler had gained so much speed and momentum that she was practically skipping on the surface of the water like a stone. Seconds later Jacob and the crew were out of sight behind the outcropping and were skipping down the coastline to pu
t as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible.