“In an honest service there is thin commons, low wages, and hard labour. In this, plenty and satiety, pleasure and ease, liberty and power; and who would not balance creditor on this side, when all the hazard that is run for it, at worst is only a sour look or two at choking? No, a merry life and a short one shall be my motto.”
- Bartholomew Roberts
OOC and Sign-ups
Off the coast of St Thomas
The Prophet’s Avenger
“Won too many times, cap’n.” Baron “Knochenmark” (as he styled himself) said, looking out to sea with his spyglass. “They seen us loiterin’ so long, I do bet a pistole they be boarding us.”
“We take ‘em.” Captain Mullawath said, tapping his knuckles on the hard wood. “Look, they’re coming. We are lee.”
“Two Kriegsmarine warships, cap’n?” the Baron said. The bosun agreed. “We be having astern-raked ‘fore we know. Say we run, there’s still room.”
“Jack, you forget what we here for.” the Captain said, striding across the quarterdeck, pulling “Pepper” Jack with him. “We going nowhere. We agreed to this, mate, we find arest somewhere, an’ you an’ the men can find safety there and can play with yer pepper all ya want- we old, Jack.”
To the Quartermaster, the Baron, he said, “We seen the navy men here, they will have nothin’ on us. All floatin’ around in rum, mark my words. Stoner!”
“Cap’n?” The First Mate, of Aemen origins- having joined the crew long ago from a capture of an Aemen merchant- stood to attention.
“Prepare one broadside and ready fo’ boarding. Tell Pfeyler to ready his too.”
“Aye aye, cap’n!”
“Wensworth, we fight the rear sloop from range with yours.”
Wensworth gave a quick salute and marched to the gun deck. Muttawath stayed with the coxswain, a short Chennese man who joined the crew after Muttawath came across a Canton-bound junk.
“Capten, wan to lee to cut off our we-treat.” he said. “But sai’ing funny.”
On the other hand, The Prophet’s Avenger handled just fine, obeying Muttawath’s orders with the smoothness of a well-trained crew, used to being slightly hungover, which had been together for years, over thick and thin, having known what it means to lose and lose badly that all actions were taken with utmost precision and discipline.
Just as the carronades were being manned did the first warning shot fly across the bow of The Prophet’s Avenger. The pirate ship had seemingly maintained steady course and was now warned by the Wankan sloops to prepare to be boarded. The two ships closed while the third Wankan warship awkwardly sailed to lee of the pirate in an attempt to sandwich it. between them.
Rapid-fire orders were barked by Segel, the Sailing Master.
”Kla’ zu Wende!” coxswain Maigo said in broken Wankan; the crew had learned basic commands from Segel who could not manage with English.
”IS KLA’!”
”REEEEE…”
The Prophet’s Avenger suddenly turned into the wind and within seconds was picking up speed while sailing near upwind, aggressively gaining on the closer Wankan sloop.
“By the Lo’d Jesus.” the Quartermaster said, observing their enemies’ struggling attempt to make the same move and keep its edge on Mullawath’s ship. The second sloop was now far away.
“We stern-rake ‘em if they take any longer.” Mullawath said. “STONER, PREPARE THE PORTSIDE BROADSIDE!”
“Aye, cap’n!” Stoner gave the orders and the gun captains began barking out. It took over a minute for the 8-pounder guns to be loaded, with powder having to be rammed in, then wadding, the shot itself as the primer was readied and the gun run out and aimed…
Mullawath had timed it right. It would be no stern rake, certainly, but a devastating shot it would be.
“Ready, cap’n!”
“FIRE THE PORT BROADSIDE!” Gun after gun went off as smoke billowed and the metal balls launched toward their target.
The Wankan warships clearly had not been prepared to be so aggressively attacked, though one might say they should’ve known better, in such pirate-infested waters- though it was usually the case that pirate simply went their way fleeing leeward, as little of value was usually found in the cargo holds of patrolling warships and were too well-armed to bother with. Usually.
The Prophet’s Avenger was closing in fast while sailing upwind, though they’d still have to take a broadside. The Wankan sloop was shaken and its stern mast had been damaged, its rigging flailing, though it would remain afloat for a while to come. The return fire ripped through The Prophet’s Avenger with vengeance. At least the gunners had not been drinking too heavily the night before.
Carronades and swivel-guns took over as the two ships closed with musket fire exchanged between both sides. Mullawath held on as the old ship rocked with each impact, fearing for its well-worn structure, even if he trusted Bolzmann- the master carpenter- to keep it afloat with his life.
The Kriegsmarine sloop now tried to steer away as it faced a ready and eager horde of bloodthirsty buccaneers waiting to jump it while their back-up was still trying to reach the scene. But in vain. Only a few more chain-shots were needed before two of its three masts lay broken, the rigging of the third falling and blocking the sight of their own guns. With a roar and through the coughing smoke Stoner and Pfeyler, the Master Gunner, led some eighty men with cutlass and pistols across the side. Captain Mullawath trusted his men with taking over the enemy sloop, even if they were outnumbered; his seasoned veterans would be more than ready to take on some malnourished, impressed Wankan boy.
So the pirate ship, now with the Jolly Roger flying, disengaged from its deadly embrace of the Wankan sloop, proceeding to turn hard to meet the second enemy ship which was coming up its rear, hoping for a stern-rake of its own. Wensworth had his broadside ready as the two sloops passed, delivering a far more effective blow than that of their counterparts, whose shots either went high or splashed the seas, falling short.
Meanwhile, the battle raged on on the boarded Wankan sloop where a bloody cutlass fight left men and guts spilled on the main deck, though Mullawath could see that Stoner had secured the rudder and was steering the sloop to assist its mothership. Soon after, the surviving sailors- cornered on the port or beneath deck, surrendered, some leaping off into the treacherous seas, preferring to risk death by drowning in the cold water than awaiting fate at the hands of the buccaneers.
The Prophet’s Avenger and the remaining Wankan sloop were now side-by-side, some fifty yards apart, engaged in a fierce cannon duel.
”FIRE AT WILL!” Captain Mullawath ordered. He watched, pleased, as his crew fired their shots at nearly twice the rate of the enemy, and that soon became apparent as the Wankan gun crews took its casualties which further reduced their gunfire. The Captain was just about to consider boarding when the Baron shouted in excitement, “We got ‘em! They surrendering!”
A cheer went up from the exhausted crew as they saw the enemy sloop strike the colors of the Wankan Empire.
“Baron, you take our newest prize. Be safe, forty men.”
“Aye aye, cap’n.”
The Wankan Far-East Squadron had been significantly weakened, which was Captain Mullawath’s intentions. From an original of four sloops-of-war and two frigates, it was now two down, with the rest (he had found out) on a mission in the western straits or on orders around Hespera. The Hesperan Gulf itself was now meanwhile practically unguarded. Ironically, the first Wankan sloop was less fit to sail than the second, though the latter had received more fire from Captain Mullawath’s guns, as the first sloop’s masts were rendered unusable. The second, the SMS Meerfrau, was taken over by Second Mate Wensworth and thirty men as it sailed toward Prince’s Island the next day.
What happened with the captured crews? The process was quick and well-rehearsed. The option, especially for the carpenter, sailing and gunnery masters, was to join Captain Mullawath’s crew, which two dozen did, offsetting the eight dead and twenty wounded that the pirates suffered. Officers, cabin-boys and midshipmen were taken aside, intended to be ransomed as they usually came from well-off families and the nobility, while able-bodied healthy men were picked out to be sold as slaves. The pirates then made the captured men throw the rest- the weak, sick and wounded- overboard, killing those who resisted with a quick beheading. It was good business.
Adventure Cove Inn
Saint Antonio, Prince’s Island
Situated a little northerly of the town itself, with a view of the Santo Antonio inlet and the ships docked there, as well as looking far into the horizon of the calm waters of the Hesperan Gulf was Adventure Cove Inn (and bar). Ever since anyone could remember it had been own and run by the Deckers family, merchants wealthy from the Aurus gold trade whose patriarch one day decided to settle on the Island. Through various intrigues and unlucky occurrences, due to some quite justifiable jealousy amidst family disputes their fortune had significantly diminished with time, though the Adventure Cove Inn continued in its business, regardless of how the wind blew. For decades it had seen seamen of various types, from soldiers to Admirals to Ummayads and Demetish and not few buccaneers, come and go. Prince’s Island was a stopover for some, but it had been outcompeted and pushed into seeming irrelevance as other islands nearby gained prominence as major trading hubs. It was perhaps due to the island’s shallow waters which did allowed neither many ships nor any with a draft deeper than a sloop.
It was a nice little home, for now, Henry Marcher thought. A gun captain on The Prophet’s Avenger, he had been entitled to one and a half shares of the ship’s treasure, which had in total amounted to over 200,000 pounds worth of silver coins, sovereigns, guineas, Marks alongside jewelry likely destined for the Kings of Meridia. Of that he had received 1,100 pounds which was, indeed, considerable, when one took into account that a navy captain who’d captured a well-laden prize received the same amount which was enough to forward him to a comfortable life and to the upper echelons of society.
On entering, he was not surprised to find three of his fellow mates in it, a bottle of rum each and playing cards, while keeping a lingering eye- and probably making not very discrete remarks- about two ladies by the bar, who clearly looked uncomforted with the arrival of the newcomers. Marcher thought ladies, because unlike the rest in the bar, they were neatly dressed and made-up and he could make out an amber pendant on a silver necklace on the taller girls’ neck.
The shorter one made to leave while the one with the necklace stayed. Marcher approached, seating himself a good meter away, ordering a whiskey.
The woman was staring at him. Marcher looked back curiously. She looked about twenty though she seemed older, at least from the air of superiority with which she moved, as if the whole world belonged to her.
“Are you with them?” she said in english without a trace of accent, tilting her head in a motion pointing at the three in the corner. Kunrat, Rainer and Hack were their names. Wankans, who liked showing it.
“The name’s Marcher, Henry Marcher. Seaman, from around.” Marcher said by way of introduction.
“I’m Joanne.” she said, “And I take no liking to you nor your company. I see men destined for Execution Dock.”
“Ma’am, don’t be concerned of ‘em. They won’t do no trouble, not us gentlemen.” Marcher said, turning to the barman. “Whiskey for milady here, on me.”
“We serve the Crown and we serve ourselves. We do business like anyone else and now we looking to rest.”
“I see a pyrate when I see one, Mr. Marcher.” she said. “Imperial law exists here, and you may be aware of the punishment of piracy.”
“One Kingdom’s pirate’s anothe’ Kingdoms hero. Pirates, letters o’ marque, traders, boys in blue, their flags be different, but tis a man to himself, all same.” Marcher said. “Where you from abouts, Joanne?”
He noticed, in the background, another three men watching intently, at their own table; armed with cutlasses, they looked like marines. Officers, probably, of some low grade, having been ordered to this unlucky rotation, away from any action where the wealth and fame lay.
Joanne crossed a leg and said, looking as if she was balancing an object on her chin, “The Empress’ own; Nürnberg, close relatives to the royal family.”
The drinks arrived. Marcher smiled, handing the barman a sovereign, which he took in surprise. “Joanne of Nürnberg.” he said, “To Wanka.”
“To Wanka.” she smiled for the first time and her chin came down, her head tilted in curiosity.
In the background, something moved. From the shadowed tables of the rear of the bar the three men abruptly rose at once and strode for Joanne and Marcher. The latter had gotten off his stool. The leader of the new trio looked young and baby-faced, and slightly red from liquor. If inexperienced, Wankan marines were still well-trained, and Marcher didn’t fancy his chances with three of them.
“That’s enough.” the one in front said in accented english. Joanne looked up in protest. “We know ‘o you are. We’re no looking for tra-bel, bad für bizness, but know and tell your capitain you not velcome hier.”
“Marcus!” Joanne said. The officer ignored her and took a threatening step toward Marcher, who held out a hand. “Gentlemen. Ma’am.”
Slowly, he walked toward the trio, who parted to let him through. He could hear voices behind him.
”You don’t need to scare off any one I talk to. I can take care of myself, Marcus, now out of my way.” he could hear Joanne’s angry voice.
“I’m doing as your father ordered, for your sake, Joanne.” a small, almost apologetic voice replied.
As Marcher passed the table of his shipmates he could feel their eyes on him, and could swear one of them snickering. Feichling, he heard, which he knew meant coward. Marcher didn’t care; it wasn’t as if they’d been any much help. He made his way back to The Prophet’s Avenger where a token crew under the command of Bolzmann busily repaired the damage from the altercation of the other day. The other sloop, the SMS Meerfrau, remained anchored off the coast, its hostages on board. Perhaps it would reassure the Governor if the Island. The Imperial flag flattered in the winds on both ships.