1698
Warm, soft seaside breezes, wafting in-between flush palm trees carried hints of tropical fragrance. The abundance of flowers and citric plants which wrapped around the natural bay on which the port town wreathed in a wide arc gave an ever present air. An air, an atmosphere, of the truly sublime beauty of a tropic island country. A quant heavenly beauty arrayed from the dusty and busy wharfs, wooden frame buildings, and dull gray stone of the over watching fort, girdled the small beacon of civilization. A natural Garden of Eden that could be scarcely comprehended among the toiling backs of the citizenry. From the stench of tanning vats, to the aggressive shouts of dockside workers, to the trundling wheels of wagons carrying raw and manufactured goods.
Too and fro! Work was to be done! Too and fro! When rowin' or haulin', a seaman's loveth met only at dusk!
The hardly catchy tune, which bore no particular melody or even beat to be kept, echoed among the throaty hoarse jaws of the laboring Men at the wharfs. Working winches which manipulated wooden and iron cranes, worked along gangplanks, and even tended to docked ships themselves. An Imperial Navy frigate sitting in dry dock as a team of thirty men careened the vessels strong hull.
"Oi! Boy! Hurry up with the trolley why don' ya!" The voice which bellowed to the lazily drifting gaze of a boy sitting up on a short trolley could have been seen as harsh. If not for the snickering grin which accompanied it. The dull thump of heavy hide bound sacks hitting the back of the trolley. Tossed in by the older man. Came before the inevitable supplementary sentence, "Head in the clouds again, eh?"
"Sorry!" snapped the boy, no older than ten or eleven. His face worried that some berating would come from the man standing next to him. But the boy's eyes never met the older man's. At least for no longer than a heart beats pace. Instead, moving along to rest on the galleon berthed across the pier's wide wooden planks.
The older man's tone came again. But this time softer, "I remember when I was your age. Want'so damn bad to sail the pearly blue. That was before I realized what could be found out there."
The boy looked back and down, again not directly at the man, "What can be foun' out there?"
"Wonder. Adventure ah' plenty. Danger, things no man can easily forget. Its a big ole' dangerously beautiful world outta' this here town Jackie." A rough palm rested on the boy's off white tunic for a shirt. Its once white fabric soiled by toil and use even in his young age. Then a finger hooked his collar and pulled gently down. Revealing purple and blue marks.
"Ya pa' on a bender again?" Twinkling sadness glossed the older man's eyes. The boys downcast eyes was all that need be said for an answer. "You'll get outta' here one day lad. Just pinch ya pennies and get passage out somewhere."
"I want to sail, be a sailor like you were Mister Smith." The innocence in the boys voice could have made any man smile. Releasing the collar and patting the boy on the back the older man took a few paces forward. "I'll see what I can do Jackie boy. But you're too young to go out there," the older man indicated the open Sea. The twinkling blue waves holding his own gaze in rapture, "...at least for now. Capt' Jerome usually takes on young lads for crew every year. Maybe in a year or two he'll take ye' on."
"Ya' think so?" stammered the boy.
"I know so. Now come on, we gotta get these sacks o' wheat to Mister Montgomery's mill before sundown!"
* * *
One Hundred Miles South of Old Bermuda
S.S. Celinia
1707
"Sail!"
The call from the crows nest of the Celinia reached the ears of all the men on the main deck. Captain Jerome stroked his long waxed moustache as he pulled a brass spyglass from a doublet pocket. Extending the dull metallic device with a wisp of metal on metal. Raising the device to his right eye, face twisted in effort to garner what he was looking at.
The first mate, an aging man with a balding scalp, a Mister Telier, shouted upwards through cupped hands, "What heading Jackie!"
The crows nest occupant pointed due West and the Captain Jerome adjusted his gaze to follow the arm. His ebony eyes gazing at the distressing seen before him. A West Indiaman ship was visibly listing ever so slightly portside. No signs of life on her deck or mast nets.
Mister Telier was squinting himself out to Sea, "What ya see Cappin?"
"West Indiaman. Listing. Signs of battle damage. I don't see anybody on er' deck." Captain Jerome's reply could scarcely have been any more disconcerting to Mister Telier who instinctively made the sign of the cross on his chest. Muttering some Catheric prayer under his lips as he did so. The lines on his face growing out of the existential dread. Many a sighting would be taken superstitiously by the crew; sailors in general being a superstitious bunch.
Jerome lowered his spyglass and collapsed it back with another dull wisp of sliding metal. "Maritime law dictates we render aid to any survivors and try to salvage what we can. I'm bringing the Celinia about. Go up with Mister Silver and see if any other ships are in the area."
Telier protested almost immediately, "Bad omen Cappin'. We're scarcely a hundred miles outta Ole' Bermuda. Surely a Navy ship will pass by soon?"
"You have your orders Mister Telier," doubled down Jerome. The first mate nodded after a silent minute. Exhaling slowly as he shouted some brief orders of attention and to come about. While Captain Jerome took personal command of the steering wheel. Beginning to tack towards the vessel.
The crowsnest occupant watched this all from above, even though he could not hear any of the conversations below him, only the shouts from Telier and the sight of the older man clambering expertly up the rigging nets towards him at the center mast's crows nest. Coming to plop alongside the much younger man with a grunt.
"Ey lad. Got any other of those spyglasses whetya?" spoke Mister Telier. Jackie Silver handed off a spare as the latter returned to scanning the horizon. "I got a bad feeling about this Mister Silver. I really do."
"You always have a bad feeling for just abou' anything though."
"Well this ones extra bad, Jackie." Mister Telier readied his spyglass and joined his younger compatriot in scanning the horizon about them. As the Celinia closed onto the distressed ship that was indeed listing ever so slightly to portside. The Celinia's approach gradually offering more details of the ships circumstance. Bits of debris, bouyant in the dark blue water bounced off the hull and flotsam soon joined by even larger pieces of hull bearing shattered edges. The work of cannon and shot. Indeed, the hull of the West Indiaman was pockmarked with battle damage. Yet, where were the bodies? No bloated corpses hanging onto jetsam in the waters. No bodies on the deck or rigging? A battle without casualties was a curiously ironic thing.
Jackie craned his spyglass along the listing ship. The name of the vessel could be still seen in chipped gold paint. The Crown Rupert. The West Indiaman, itself a bit smaller than its East Indiaman cousin, was primarily operated by the Celestial Empire, the Kingdom of Aquillon, and the United Realms. Being the main seafaring realms in the West Indies and other lands around the American Sea. The latter among the sunken lands of the former American nation of eponymous name being a hive of scoundrel run ports and dark atolls amid sunken cities of yore. Order kept by a string of colonial settlements and forts. But that was many leagues to their West, past the Horn of Orlando.
The Celinia pulled up alongside The Crown Rupert as it raised sails and dropped anchor to hold itself in place. Gangplanks on hooks were drawn across by teams of four. While pairs of crew tossed grappling cables and began to provide additional stability for the two vessels. Several crew were pointing muskets at the other vessel while Captain Jerome, Second Mate Bartersmith, and thirteen crew crossed over.
"See anything about us Jackie? Jackie? For God's sake Jackie keep ya' eyes peeled!" spat Telier. The young man begrudgingly raised his spyglass and began to pan about. To nothing but open ocean. And such with a sign he began to occasionally dip his spyglass down to look at the happenings on the other ship. Things were pretty quiet as a second party of six crossed over to The Crown Rupert.
Then the Second Mate was seen rushing back from below decks. Pointing down the stair case next to the captain's quarters and gallery which sat to the aft of the stricken ship. Captain Jerome and others descended the stairs with weapons ready. Jackie heard Telier move behind him and raised his spyglass quickly. To keep appearances. Panning right, and then le—Jackie froze. There before him was a three-mast ship, a mixture of a Galleon and an East Indiaman in build that much he knew. Was heading straight for them!
"S-s-sh-SAIL! SAIL SOUTH! COMING RIGHT AT US!"
Telier whipped around to match his direction and began to shake, "S-sscs-Scarlet," the older man was paralyzed by a sudden case of stutter, while the blood drained from his face. Scarlet? The sails. That's what Mister Telier was referring too. Scarlet sails over a black hull. The menacing vessel was rapidly approaching, quick for a ship of its draught, and Mister Telier pushed past Jackie and began shouting a series of commands to the confused and shocked crew of the Celinia.
Jackie on the other hand kept his spyglass firmly fixed on the incoming ship as it struck its own colors. Skulls on Bones laid on a black field. The Jolly Roger. Pirates! But Mister Telier was already on it. Shouting about the incoming pirate ship as the vessel began to tack ever so slightly away. Coming along side the Celinia smoothly as Jerome and the boarding party on The Crown Rupert scurried back aboard. Jackie kept his spyglass fixed all the while, even as the newcomer drew closer, and could now make out the shapes of sailors on its decks. Its gun deck portholes raising to reveal its battery. The Celinia was sloppy in doing the same. Rolling thunder boomed as white smoke erupted from the guns of the newcomer. Ripping along the frantic and screaming crew of the Celinia. Managing to get off some hasty shots that fell harmlessly into the sea. Some guns failed to fire at all as casualties cried out below. Drawing the young Jackie's attention as he saw the cook of the Celinia laying in a pool of his own sloppy gore. Stomach torn asunder by a cannonball. The cabin boy Zechs fumbled about the deck dropping blood from a stump where his right arm used to be. Picking up the severed limb before falling on the blood slick deck around him. A second barrage and more cries. The pirates were dreadfully close now. Pulling alongside them.
That was when Mister Telier gripped Jackie, "We're no use up here. We ain't got guns. Come on!" The crack of musketry erupting below brought the young man to action. Following his older counterpart as they practically raced down the netting. Jackie spied Captain Jerome pull one of his pistols, a revolver, and begin unloading rounds somewhere onto the pirate vessel. The chipping whine of impacting enemy fire came in reply. But Jerome either through bravery or focus seemed to not mind. Barefoot touching the gunwale Jackie and Telier raced to the captains cabin to grab weapons.
"Aggh!" something heavy struck Jackie and sent him careening left, then slipped on the wet deck, desperately over correcting to the point where he stumbled and fell. Striking his skull. Darkness.
