MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison)

by James Schannep

  “Aye, that be the way-o’-it,” Rediker answers. “Found a derelict ship, and managed t’save the cargo ’fore she sank. Salvage rights and all.”

  “Of course, of course. And the ship’s manifest?”

  “Lost to Davy Jones, I’m afraid.”

  “Isn’t that always the way? In that case, I can offer seventy percent of market price.”

  “We’ll settle for fifty, if you drop what you’re doing and send men to collect now,” you offer.

  The merchantman’s eyes grow wide. “In a hurry, are we?”

  “Indeed. And we’ll take our business elsewhere, if that will speed things up.”

  Rediker puts a hand on your leg under the table to slow your pace, but the merchant nods.

  “No need for that. I’ll send them over now.”

  “Thank ye kindly,” Rediker says. “I can draw out a list-o’-cargo so we can tally payment.”

  All is agreed, hands shaken, pen and parchment fetched, and the finer details ironed out. There’s some commotion around the stage as the house prepares for their next show. Noting your attention, the merchantman reveals the purpose.

  “Slave fights starting up soon. Once I remit payment, we’d be happy to give you a discounted rate on a bet. Just pick your boxer and let me know.”

  The merchantman rises from the table to find your payment and you watch as several musclebound Africans are paraded into the room. They wear scars from previous brawls and are shackled, like men on the way to the gallows.

  “Slave fights?” you mutter.

  “Aye. Many a man ’board a ship might gamble on rat fights, or cocks, if they be lucky enough to have a good pair. They be uppin’ the ante here, t’be sure, though I confess I have no taste for such barbarity. Some men, abused by masters and mates, pay t’see another man bloodied in turn.”

  The merchant returns with several satchels of coin. “Payment, based on your manifest. Though you’ll kindly wait here until we’ve retrieved the cargo.”

  “Place me stakes on that big buck, third from the left,” Rediker says as he slides one of the coin pouches back across the table.

  The merchant takes the coins and leaves once more. Rediker downs his drink.

  “Thought you didn’t have a ‘taste for such barbarity’?”

  “That there be like a tip, Cap’n. Little extra grease t’ensure all the parts move smoothly.”

  A pair of slaves are unshackled and led into the ring. The Africans look intoxicated, though it might be a mixture of substance and bloodlust. From the whip scars on their bare backs, you can be sure they’ve been coerced into this life one way or another.

  Very little is said before the fight begins. The slap of meat on meat and the crack of bone on bone is enough to turn your stomach. This might be the most violence you’ve seen thus far in your brief career as a pirate.

  “Just can’t watch this,” Rediker says, shaking his head.

  “Agreed. Can we leave yet?”

  “I’ll say our goodbyes if you’re ready, Cap’n.”

  “Do it.”

  Rediker rises from the booth, removes his pistol, levels it at ringmaster of the fights and fires off his shot. The explosive crack stops the fight and all eyes look towards you both. That’s not quite what you were expecting!

  “Any man here wants a new life for himself, come join us on the Cooper’s Pride. But ye must strike first t’be free. Ship’s setting sail directly, so make up your minds toot sweet,” Rediker says. Then, turning back, whispers, “Best be on our way, Saltboots.”

  He scoops up the coins while you ready your pistol to cover the escape. A full riot starts in the saloon, slave rising against master, and drunken gamblers using the excuse to try to rob the house and reclaim any losses. It’s complete chaos. The merchant’s hired muscle is so overwhelmed that you make it to the doors without trouble.

  “Billy Greaves, damn his blood,” Rediker says, exiting.

  You step out, expecting to see the mate in the flesh, only to find fifty uniformed men marching down the wharf to arrest Captain Saltboots and the crew of the Cooper’s Pride. Most hold muskets at the ready, and the rest carry iron shackles to help transport your men to the gallows.

  * * *

  “Hostis Humani Generis,” the Reverend begins his remarks. The man is jowly, his white powder wig parted down the center, curls raised to either side. He struts in his black cloak before your crew, the magistrate, and the gathered crowds beyond the gallows, lining the near shore and perched atop neighboring Broughton Hill for a better view.

  The Reverend continues, “Enemies of all mankind. Nothing good can be asked of thee, save the lesson to others by your death. I will take your final admonitions, for though you are condemned to hang by the laws of man, prithee ask for the Lord’s mercy on your eternal souls. Jeremiah 31:20 tells us, ‘I will surely have mercy on them, saith the Lord.’ And now, in the last moment of your lives, if you do truly repent and believe in the Glorious Redeemer unto the saving of thine souls and the pardon of all thee sins, ye shall be saved forever and ever. Amen.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Mather, as always,” the magistrate says. “These brigands are indeed condemned for actions most piratical and felonious in the murder of their captain and the capture of his ship. They put their honest shipmates in corporeal fear of their lives and deigned to sell these ill-gotten gains for profit. You may each take a moment now to repent for your souls and to say any final words.”

  Then all goes silent.

  The gathered crowd, hundreds of people, wait with hushed and eager anticipation for the pirates’ last words. The magistrate and reverend simply wait. The hangman stands at the ready.

  “Wine,” Rediker says, clearing his throat. “Awful parched, I am.”

  The magistrate nods and an underling runs to fetch a bottle. This buys you a few minutes to compose your thoughts.

  • Do not repent. Not many are offered the chance to go out with dignity, so make your last words count.

  • Repent. It has been known to happen that the governors and magistrates offer pardons from time to time. There’s still a chance!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Death Sentence

  “You don’t know the first thing about me, Billy,” you say. “And as for the Cooper’s Pride? Well… she’s my ship now.”

  Then you raise the pistol and shoot the man. Smoke blooms from the muzzle and the crack! of gunfire echoes through the alleyway. Billy staggers back, clutching his ample gut, where the shot struck home. Then he falls to the ground.

  Window shutters swing open, showing the grisly carnage to half a dozen witnesses, all uniformed military men. The building next to you, as it turns out, is the Admiralty Court building. That must’ve been Billy’s destination, and now the Royal Navy sees what you’ve done.

  “Murderer! Sound the alarm!” one man cries.

  The next window over, a Royal Marine in signature redcoat uniform produces a rifle, and you take off running before the soldier has a chance to fire. The alleyways provide protection as you sprint back towards the ship.

  An alarm bell rings out, and shouts of mustered troops spur you on. Billy took so many twists and turns through the alleyways that you find yourself lost—navigating only by the sounds of seabirds at the port and the distant smell of salt in the air.

  Finally, you make it back to the wharf and the Cooper’s Pride. Joe the bosun is here, supervising the final unloading of the goods, shaving with a razor as the lad often does to calm his nerves.

  “Bosun!” you cry between heaving breaths. “Has Rediker returned?”

  Joe simply points up to the ship. You make to hurriedly board, but the hulking gunner Robin emerges, blocking your path. It’s a fair guess he’d like to know of Billy’s fate.

  “He—I’m sorry, Robin. Billy left you and the ship. But there’s a place here, should you want it.”

  “Cap’n!” comes Rediker’s cry from aboard the ship. “Goods sold as ordered, and I even gotcha a
new crew. How’s that for a day’s work?”

  He waves forward those standing behind him. A dozen new faces appear at the prow. Several Africans look down at you, bloodied and feral, fresh from a brawl, as well as a handful of ne’er-do-wells—likely out-of-work sailors. They gleam with golden-hooped piercings and leer with lusty grins, swaying under the influence of alcohol.

  • “I think not! Get those men off my ship. I’ll choose my own crew, thank you very much!”

  • “Fine! But we must make sail, and with haste. Up anchor! Shove off! Loose all canvas for the wind!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Decompressed

  Suppressing a belch, you stumble sideways as the ship lurches violently. Seawater sprays up the side and the realization hits you with certainty—you’re going to be sick. Though the swell pushes starboard, you’re closer to the larboard, and you run against the ship’s momentum in hopes of getting to the rail before losing your dinner upon the decks.

  Just as you rush to the edge, that momentum shifts again, and suddenly you’re sent sprawling. With a massive hit, you slam into the larboard edge, and, head over heels—you’re over the side. In a twist of vertigo you reach out, but are rewarded only with splinters in your fingertips.

  Haven’t got your sea legs yet, otherwise you’d be used to the push-and-pull of the ship in rough weather. Instead, you hit the water’s surface with a splash of seawater and panic. In your shame to be seen getting sick, you weren’t seen falling overboard, either. You’re swept out to sea, soon only a speck in a vast ocean, never to be seen or heard from again.

  THE END

  Deliberations

  “Don’t ye dare move,” Chips says.

  “If what ya say ’tis true, we’ll get t’the bottom-o’-this soon enough,” Joe agrees.

  More and more of the crew arrive on the quarterdeck, an audience held just outside the late Captain Bullock’s cabin. Rediker, Barlow, and Marlowe stare you down from the periphery, making your blood run cold, while Billy rushes inside the cabin, demanding to know what’s happened.

  “Billy! We’re too late,” you say.

  Billy looks to Rediker, who stares back defiantly.

  “Saltboots claims t’have found Bullock dead,” Joe says.

  “No! The man was alive!” you cry.

  “This is ridiculous!” Chips cries. “Ye got the man’s blood on your hands. That which spilled it, killed it.”

  “Give me a blessed moment t’collect me thoughts,” Billy says.

  He heads deeper into the Captain’s cabin, searching for anything of possible significance. Watching as he goes, you note the same clues as Billy. He finds a wine goblet fallen to the floor, lifts it, sniffing the crystal. Dabs his fingers on the carpet beneath the glass, rubs them together.

  “Dry,” he says. “Must’ve spilt hours ago, but why not pick up the glass?”

  Playing the detective, he continues on over to the Captain’s desk, where he sets down the wine goblet. Everyone crowds the entrance to the Captain’s cabin, trying to spy a bit of the investigation.

  “Don’t nothin’ look missing. Man’s sea chest is still locked tight. Wait! What’s this, then? A page, torn out of the Cap’n’s log! Today’s entry. See if Rediker or those two men has the page.”

  “Me?!” Rediker cries, indignant.

  Chips, Joe, and Robin search the men, but turn up nothing.

  “Search Saltboots!” Rediker says. “The murderer’s there, plain as day!”

  Chips searches you roughly, and Joe does the same with a lighter touch. They find nothing, which, of course, comes as no surprise to you.

  “’Tis the Captain’s own knife,” Billy says, crossing the room and examining the murder weapon.

  He stands and steps back out to the quarterdeck, the crew moving with him. His face frowns with concern, and he tugs at his muttonchops as he ponders the crime. After an excruciatingly long silence, he finally speaks.

  “I want to believe ya, Saltboots, but there weren’t no one else here. Ya said so yourself, the man were alive when ye found him. I seen enough men bleed out t’know, ya ain’t got long with a wound like that one. Few seconds at most.”

  • “It was Rediker and the others. A mutiny! I don’t know how they did it, but God knows it’s true!”

  • “I swear it wasn’t me, Billy. Don’t condemn an innocent without proof, I beg of you!”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Depressed

  James shuffles along with the rest of the “recruits” in a hangdog manner, wind gone from his sails, so to speak. He doesn’t even acknowledge you when you join him by his side.

  “James, do you know what will happen next?” you ask. “Are we to be taken to the ship this very moment and set sail before we can notify the family?”

  Finally, he looks up at you. Maybe it’s the anticipation in your voice; a mix of terror and excitement. “I thought the life-o’-a-seaman were behind me. And now look at the pair-o’-us. Oh, coz. I’m so, so sorry I gotcha into this,” he laments.

  You can see the future weighing on him, and you don’t want to further his burden, so you say, “I am responsible for my own actions, cousin. I’m happy to serve on the same vessel together.”

  He looks at you in a queer way, as if he’s not sure if you’re being genuine. Then a flash of inspiration glints in his eyes. “You are the honorable sort. Perhaps… yes… yes! When we’re brought aboard the ship, I want you to try to get into the Midshipman program. That’d make you a petty officer, or at least one in training, and by God it’d save ya from at least half the dangers a seaman faces.”

  “Cousin—” you start, but he continues at a newly frenetic pace.

  “You must! Please. I gotcha into this, at least… this way ya might make something of it. They probably won’t like it, as most Midshipmen’re the children of close friends to the Master and Commander, but don’t take no for an answer. You’re educated, pure-o’-heart, and hard-working. They will see!”

  Rather than replying, you take a moment to consider his words. If you were to get a billet as a Midshipman, you might indeed be able to “make something” of this assignment. But you would almost certainly be separated from your cousin if you join the officers’ ranks. He awaits your answer with eager anticipation.

  Will you do it?

  • No. I want to learn to be an able-bodied seaman from the ground up, like James. I will keep my mouth shut and accept whatever assignment I’m given.

  • Yes, of course. James has been to sea, perhaps not in the Royal Navy, but still, his advice must be sound. I will be a Midshipman!

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Depths of Despair

  Once the helmsman changes the ship’s course, it’s clear you’ve made the warship change tactics. No longer do they fire warning shots at you, but rather full volleys.

  “It’s too shallow!” Rediker cries, but your orders are set.

  The Revenge heads into the interior of the island, hoping the inlets will provide some protection. And indeed, this course does prove too shallow for the warship to follow, but it also proves too shallow even for your light-on-the-water merchantman-turned-pirate.

  With a sickening crash, the ship smashes into a reef, dragging your newly cleaned and careened bottom over the rocks. Crack-crack-crack! sounds out like a barrage of musket fire as the planks of your hull snap across the reef, one-by-one.

  You’ve sunk her, captain. That much is certain. Dashed upon the rocks, like so many hapless sailors who came before you. What’s worse, from the mouth of the bay, the British Warship further pummels you with cannon fire while you’re helplessly perched atop the rocks.

  At least you won’t be going to prison.

  THE END

  Derelict

  When action stations are called, the crew moves about with the same frenetic intensity as if they’re bracing to fight against a hurricane. And indeed, each sailor has a role to play if a warship is to be any threat at all. You really should be down
with the gun crews, as assigned, but with 200 seamen rushing all over the ship, it’s easy to get lost in the crowd.

  Mustered with a boarding party, you’re given a musket and cutlass and told to await orders for hostilities to begin. Though you’re not privy to Captain Longwick’s plans, it’s clear the Master and Commander has something in mind as the ship heads into coastal waters. The smaller pirate ship has the advantage in the shallows, so he must have a good reason for the maneuver.

  The drummers beat out the cadence of war and the HMS Hornblower sails into action. Then the whole ship rocks as the starboard guns roar out below. The pirate ship is clearly out of range. Was that a warning shot? Is the captain hoping they’ll surrender? Then, as the pirate crew turns away from a shallow bay and follows the coast towards deeper seas you realize he was trying to shape their course. And it’s worked!

  The Hornblower follows the pirate ship along the convex bend of the coast, until another ship is revealed from around the curve. A Spanish Man-o’-War, not too different from the last you’ve seen. She’s moored in this hidden inlet, and the pirate ship dares not sail into her. This is an unexpected tactical wildcard—neither ship is allied with the Dons.

  Will Captain Longwick continue the approach with the Spanish ship just beyond? It appears so, despite this new player being a much more dangerous foe. The man’s of a singular mind and intensity, it would seem.

  The Cooper’s Pride turns, facing perpendicular to your approach. Then the pirates let loose a broadside of their own. The cannonballs smash into the prow, sending a hail of wooden splinters across the deck, but they have only a handful of big carriage guns. The pirates are outclassed, outgunned, and soon to be outmanned.

  “Boarding parties!” the order comes, signaling you to be ready.