His crew appeared in the same frame of mind as himself, as each of them cast nervous glances over their shoulders. There were a scant few on deck at this hour, the rest having not yet risen from their wild night of rum and fiddle music.
“We be in enchanted waters, Cap’n,” a dark voice intoned as Smee appeared beside him like a ghost. Moreau found himself resisting the urge to jump out of his skin. The doctor of the ship enjoyed his night the most of all, making him the last person Moreau expected to see before noon. Moreau never thought the old man stealthy enough to startle him—rum sloshing in his blood or no.
“’Tis only a fog, Mr. Smee.” He sighed, then added truthfully, “But I must also admit I feel something amiss. Pass the word to wake all hands, but tell them to walk softly. We must be ready for whatever comes our way.” Moreau gave his quiet order and watched as the old Irishman disappeared below the decks to rouse the others from their drunken slumber.
The Roger had yet to catch up with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. In his haste to flee the island, Blackbeard hadn’t waited for his other ship, as if he assumed Moreau would catch up to him within a few days’ time. It was an inaccurate assumption. So far there wasn’t any sign of the Anne and her frightened capitan. Moreau found himself wishing that Blackbeard had waited. Two ships to battle the unknown may not hold any greater odds, but it would have made him feel better in these quiet moments when the loudest sound to be heard was the pounding of his own heart.
Moreau had been on the sea for most of his life. He began as a lad of eight years old, hauling powder to the cannons, earning his first title of powder monkey. In the following eighteen years that he spent on various ships, he acquired many more titles, though none so grand as the one he held now. He worked hard for a long time, and was proud of his command of the Jolig Roger, but with that title came the responsibility of watching over every soul on the ship. He wondered if perhaps that was the reason for his unease. After all, he had seen many foggy mornings that bore no ill warnings and he wasn’t one to scare easily. Still, he was a man who trusted his instincts and right now he was certain that he had never felt such a feeling of foreboding from a calm sea.
Something was coming for this ship, and the deep feeling of dread that lay in his bones told him that whatever it was, it came for him.
Meanwhile, below decks, Smee was swatting sailors from their cots, informing them to be quiet and mind whatever manners they possessed, however few they may be. The groggy pirates hit the floor, cursing. The majority of the crew slept in hammocks or cots, easily within his reach to flip them out on their heads should they not rise on his command. Four pirates had the luck of having private quarters and all were awake and on their way up to the deck, with the exception of the navigator, whose quarters lay the farthest away.
Harper volunteered to go wake Jameson, and at Smee’s nod, set off toward the map room.
AWAKENED FROM HIS deep slumber by the tense silence, Archie stumbled from his quarters. He was bleary-eyed, but somehow he managed to sheath his rapier to his side without skewering himself and made his way to the door. Though he never heard the partiers across the ship, he had gotten accustomed to the creaking boards above his cot and the muffled curses of those on deck.
The silence was so unnerving that he jumped, smacking his head on the doorframe as Harper materialized out of nowhere. He was too quick-footed, Archie decided, cursing under his breath as he rubbed the sore spot on his forehead that was in the beginnings of forming a knot. He managed to glare at Harper as his eyes watered.
“’Tis a fog.” Harper hissed at him, not bothering to wait for Archie to berate him, as he started toward the deck. “Smee says it’s magic water we’re in. We’re to get up top, Moreau’s orders.”
“Well, that can’t be good,” Archie said, following Harper up the steps.
“Be quiet,” the boy whispered, looking over his back to scowl at Archie. “Do you wish to wake the dead?”
Moreau motioned Archie to join him on the quarterdeck and gave his orders to his waiting crew. “Ready the cannons.”
Archie joined his captain, watching the crew load the cannons and roll them into place. Ready for whatever the silence and fog hid from them, the crew of the Jolig Roger waited. A few torturous moments passed, and then someone began whistling.
“Find him,” Moreau hissed to Black Caesar, who nodded and stalked down the length of the ship, whip clutched in his hand.
Smee stood beside Archie, a deep scowl lining his face. “Bad luck,” the Irishman muttered so low that Archie barely heard him. “’Tis always bad luck to whistle up a wind. The man is a fool.”
Black Caesar made a complete circle, checking each man as he passed. He returned to Moreau, hands up in a shrug. He hadn’t found the one who dared to break the silence.
The nervous whistling continued and the crew became even more anxious. Moreau frowned, listening to the haunting, ghost-like whistle.
“It doesn’t come from our ship. We are not floating in this cursed fog alone.”
Archie watched different decisions pass across his captain’s face. Seconds later, one settled itself permanently. He turned to Archie, “You shall have command when I am gone, mon ami. There is another ship out there that bears the man whistling that tune. I shall take one of the boats and find her. With a bit of luck, we may board and find them surprised.”
Archie nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Moreau leaned closer, fixing him with his brown eyes, “If anything—anything—should go amiss, blow them out of the water.”
“Aye. You have my word.”
Moreau took off across the deck, gathering eight of the crew along the way. The creaking of the ropes that lowered the longboat was the only sound that mixed with the haunted whistle.
Moreau turned, giving Archie a slow, final nod as they set off. The words replayed in Archie’s head. You shall have command when I am gone.
Surely he meant to say “in my absence,” Archie thought. The captain’s words had such a sense of finality that he wondered if perhaps Moreau thought his plan ill-fated and decided to bequeath his command to his navigator in the event of his impending death.
No. To think such things is pure folly. Moreau would be back presently. My command will be a short one. Archie shook his head, clearing the strange thoughts from his mind and set to watching the men in the longboat row. A slight noise beside him caught his attention.
Harper stood at the cannon nearest to him, shifting from one foot to the other. Normally in the rigging, this was the first time Archie noticed the squirrel pressed into the duty of gauging one of the ship’s guns. While all the other cannons were gauged upward, Harper’s was pointed down at the sea.
“All is well,” Archie whispered to his friend in hopes to ease his worry and didn’t mention that his cannon seemed to be pointing in the wrong direction. In the event that there happened to be a whistling sea monster of some sort, Harper’s cannon would be in the prime position to do the most good. Archie smiled at him, and then turned his attention back to Moreau as the fog enveloped the small boat. The tension amongst the crew doubled.
“Be ready to fire.” The warning was whispered down the line of cannons. Uneasiness had every man waiting, ready to blow their charge in an instant.
A sudden wind stirred as if in response to the whistle that picked up in cadence. The quick burst of warm air cleared enough of the fog that the longboat appeared. They were just short of engaging their surprise attack on the merchant ship that floated near them. A single flag, striped in yellow and red, fluttered in the breeze, giving the only color in the bleak scene, and revealed the man who had done the whistling. Standing below the flag, stood the Spanish sailor that stirred the wind. He stopped in mid-tune.
Time passed slowly for one grueling second, as both crews stared at one another in shock. Realizing the extreme danger they were now in, Moreau managed to fire a single shot in the same instant that Archie screamed his first command.
“Fire!”
; A bright crimson stain spread across the chest of the man who had done the whistling, and he fell into the sea. Moreau’s shot found its mark, but in return, the merchant sailors returned a volley of shots and peppered the longboat. No one was left standing, though from a couple of strangled cries, there was one or two who might be saved if someone could get to them. A body lay floating, face down, near the longboat. The curly, dark hair and familiar clothes marked him as one that wouldn’t be saved. Moreau was dead.
I’m captain, Archie thought numbly as the Roger’s cannons fired and set his ears to ringing. These are my men and this is my boat now.
“Your orders?” Harper yelled as the last cannon fired. Bits of wood flew around them. Their first shots hit the merchant ship.
“Fire at will!” It seemed like a good order, but then, Archie hadn’t ever commanded a ship before. As his message was relayed down the line, he watched his men as they began to load the cannons and ready for another shot, and then he turned his attention to the other ship. They managed to catch the merchant ship off guard with their first blast, but now the men scurried about on her decks in an effort to ready their own cannons and return fire.
We need to board that ship, Archie thought. If we could take another longboat, victory could be ours. Moreau’s instincts seem sound, and if I’m wise, I should follow his lead.
Another cry echoed across the water from the first longboat and sealed the decision. There were survivors that needed rescuing, too.
“Bring any man not on the cannons to the longboats,” he ordered Caesar, who hadn’t moved since Moreau had left. “We’re taking that ship.” At that, Caesar smiled and set off across the deck. Archie turned to Harper. “The ship is yours until I return, my friend.”
He received a toothless smile in return and then set off for the boats.
Two longboats settled into the water with Archie at the head of one, and Caesar at the other. “Go and rescue anyone you can,” Archie told him as they began to row away from one another in an attempt to be harder targets for the merchants. But Caesar didn’t stop by the first boat, choosing instead to disobey and head straight to the merchant ship, leaving Archie and his crew to work harder and backtrack to the longboat that still bobbed amongst the floating bodies.
“I’m glad he follows orders. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” Archie cursed under his breath as he decided to ignore the longboat that held Caesar and focus on what remained ahead of them in the water.
Six out of the nine men were dead in the ocean, floating about like bits of driftwood as they bumped against the boat, coloring the water red with the blood. One man was dead in the longboat. The last two moaned in agony beside him.
As luck would have it, Smee was one who jumped into Archie’s boat. The ship’s doctor was taking note of their wounds as another volley of cannon fire flew over their heads.
“Best let me and a few other lads row this other boat back to the Jolig Roger,” the old man said loudly to be heard over the shots, “They be dead men if they stay out here much longer and I can’t help ’em while Harper is blasting his cannons about over me head.”
Archie nodded his consent and Smee and five others got into the other longboat and started to row back as quickly as they could.
A loud groan erupted from the merchant ship, and a few waves caught at the longboat. “Hold steady, lads,” Archie said, looking at the massive ship ahead of them as it creaked and settled lower into the water. A gaping hole barely showed at the surface of the water, proving there was unseen damage below. Only one cannon had been aimed so low to have made that hit. Harper’s shot was sinking that ship.
Archie grinned. He planned on making Harper a permanent fixture on the cannons from now on, since he was giving them the upper hand in this battle.
From the clashing sounds of metal he heard, Caesar and his party had boarded and were making progress of a sort. There hadn’t been any more cannon fire from the merchant ship. Harper must have noticed it, too, as he ceased to order the crew to fire any other shots, though it was possible he had spotted his own party trying to board the ship and didn’t want to blow holes in his own people. Either way, Archie was happy the boy had the faculties to stop blasting the cannons.
It’s appreciated, Harper, I assure you, Archie thought as he sent a final look over his shoulder to the Jolig Roger. He grabbed one of the ropes on the merchant ship and began climbing. He couldn’t think of a worse outcome than to be shot by his own ship on the first day of becoming its captain.
He pulled his way to the deck and was rewarded by the sight of several merchant sailors holding their hands up in surrender. Caesar was stalked about on deck, snapping his whip on any in his path, treating the merchants much as he did his own crewmates, while his own men battled the few who refused to back down.
Archie pulled out his rapier and stuck it into the belly of one seaman who was running at him with a sword poised over his head. It made a strange sucking thlunk and jarred his hands as it sunk into the man’s body. It was an odd sensation, not the hard feeling of the thin metal as it sunk into flesh, but rather the taking of the man’s life. For many years, he practiced, but it had been exactly that. Practice. Never had he killed another. Fortunately, he didn’t get to ponder the meaning of life much longer as another merchant came screaming from above him on the quarterdeck. He jerked the rapier out of the first man and barely had enough time to slide it into the next one.
The second body fell to the ground at his feet. His hands becoming accustomed to the force that it required to pull the rapier free, he jerked and spun around, the fine point of his weapon aimed at the throat of the man behind him.
The man was holding his own rapier out, hilt first. “Go on, take it. We surrender,” the merchant captain said in halting English. When Archie didn’t move, the captain took a step back and thrust the gleaming handle at him again as if he were worried that Archie would rather skewer his neck than accept his surrender.
“Tell your men to stop fighting,” Archie said, never taking his eyes off him. He heard the clank of steel and knew the battle wasn’t over quite yet.
The captain was sweating, tiny drops of perspiration popped out on his forehead, as he shouted. Archie translated the Spanish in his head, “Stop. We are surrendering.” A few curses were mumbled from the merchants. Not all wished to give in to the pirates, but none disobeyed their captain.
“We accept your surrender,” Archie said, taking the rapier from the captain. “Now, in case you haven’t noticed, your ship is sinking, so I shall make my terms quickly. You and your crew can either join us, or we can leave you here.” As the captain’s pallor turned chalky, he added, “In a longboat, of course.”
The captain’s lips clamped tight in a thin line, as if he were thinking over his slim options. Then, he spoke, “I shall tell my men, but I will stay in the longboat. I will not join such people as you.” The pointed glare Archie received, made him feel as if he were the most depraved human in existence, which felt nice for once.
Archie grinned. He was pleased that he had been recognized as a pirate, and a good one, at that. “Spread the word, no harm befalls any who wishes to join or stay. One longboat for each party, divide them as they wish,” Archie ordered Caesar, who gave him an even better glare than the captain had. The look wasn’t as appreciated coming from a subordinate. Archie’s voice dropped octaves. “I am your captain and you will obey or suffer the wrath of your own whip.”
Caesar didn’t answer, only stalked off with his hands clenched at his side.
“Cap’n, you might have a look at her cargo.” Boggs rolled up suddenly, looking out of breath. “This ship is sinking faster, and there be more bodies to worry with than just the crew.”
“What cargo are you speaking of?” Archie set off after Boggs, who led him to a grate covering the hold. Dozens of dirty, starving faces stared up at him.
“Indians,” Archie muttered in awe. “Their cargo was Indians?”
The sh
ip creaked and rocked further to the side, causing him to slide. Catching his footing and his wits, Archie said, “Boggs, get them out of there. They are coming with us. We aren’t leaving them to drown.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” came the reply as Boggs flipped the grate open. The Indians were hesitant at first, but then began to scramble out as the water began sloshing around their legs.
“I wish to take my effects before she sinks.” The captain of the merchant ship appeared at Archie’s elbow. “They are in my cabin, I will return in a moment.”
The man’s eyes shifted uneasily as if he were hiding the truth. At Archie’s nod, the captain set off in a near run and disappeared below the deck.
“Follow him and see what he’s up to,” Archie whispered to Boggs, and then kept his watch as the longboats filled.
Moments later, the captain reappeared, followed by a knife pressed in the small of his back. Boggs followed him, looking smug. “This ’un was going after his gold,” he said, handing Archie an ornate, wooden box.
Archie nearly dropped the thing it was so heavy. Setting it down on the deck, he flipped the lid. Hundreds of Spanish medallions sparkled in the midday sun.
“There be a barrel of silver dust down there, too.” Boggs shrugged. “I sent one o’ the lads after it. Dunno why anyone would make dust out of silver, but it’s there just the same. It be worth something, I suppose.”
It took two more longboats to carry the Indians, the barrel of silver, and the newly joined crew back to the Jolig Roger. One longboat stayed behind, holding the furious merchant captain and those of his crew who stayed loyal to him.
From the safety of his quarterdeck, Archie watched the merchant ship sink. As the last trace of the ship disappeared under the water, the enchantment was broken.
The instant the sea claimed her prize, a strong wind came to fill the sails.
9
The Challenge
THE IDEA OF keeping Indian slaves in the hold was not setting well with Harper. “But what are you going to do with them?” He asked for what seemed the millionth time.
The Untold Stories of Neverland: The Complete Box Set Page 11