The sun has nearly set by the time the enemy warship arrives. And she’s a big one; a first-rate man-o’-war, much larger than the fifth-rate frigate you ride upon now. Your orders are to wait until the firing has begun, then pick and choose your targets as you please. As you await the inciting of hostilities, you look for the most favorable targets: the helmsman, cannon teams, and swivel-gun operators are all obvious choices, but perhaps you’ll even spot the Spanish Capitan himself.
With a distant crack, the opening volley of musket fire has begun, so you ready your weapon. You’ve got a clear line of fire on the helmsman, and line up on the wheel to take aim. With a squeeze of the trigger, the musket snaps off a deafening report, but the swaying of the mast throws off your shot: it’s a miss.
Time to reload and try again.
A gigantic stridency of explosions tells of cannon fire, but that comes from down below in the gun decks—there’s little you can do to affect that from up here; which is exactly the point of keeping the gun crews below. As the enemy ship gets closer, you try for another shot. This time you let the swaying of the mast line up your shot for you—crack!—a direct hit to the helmsman, who staggers off, gripping his left shoulder.
Several enemy sailors point upwards, and suddenly you see a collection of muskets aimed your way. Taking cover on the opposite side of the mast, you reload your weapon once again while the rear of the mast sings out with hits from musket fire. Adrenaline courses through your veins, and you blindly return fire from behind cover, reload, and repeat.
Before long, day gives way to night; carefully chosen targets change to just aiming at lanterns or muzzle flashes. Once you’ve expended all of your ammunition, it’s time to head back down. Stepping off the rigging after the climb, you find you’re surrounded by darkness. So it gives you quite the start when you’re practically assaulted by Lieutenant Dalton.
“Not a word, Landsman!” he hisses. Then, in an urgent whisper, he continues, “Orders are: no lights, and complete silence. We’ve pulled ahead of the Don Pedro Sangre, but the enemy is giving relentless chase. God willing, we’ll lose her under cover of darkness. Now get some rest, we’ll be on watch soon.”
You’re about to offer the usual sharp, “Aye, sir!” but stop just in time, giving only a salute.
Dalton nods, leaving you be.
Well done! You’ve survived your first battle aboard the Hornblower and gave as good as you got. Now get some rest, and when you’re ready—click here to continue….
Jamaican Me Crazy
Billy swallows his pride, knowing full well that while four men stand behind him, another dozen now stand in opposition. Rediker doesn’t seem to realize the precariousness of the situation, however, and so stands tall—emboldened by the new position of power.
“Saltboots, I’ll need ya t’be me second-in-command. On a pirate vessel, there be no first nor second mates, only a quartermaster who speaks for the crew. You’ve spoken for us all by inciting the mutiny, and now by putting your trust in me. Will ye continue t’do so?”
You nod, accepting the new position, while Billy fumes.
Rediker continues, “We sail for Jamaica! There, we can offload this cargo t’men who know how t’make plundered goods disappear—”
“Jamaica!” Billy cries, unable to hold his tongue. “Ye can’t claim a simple mistake or accident now, this be a capital offense—we’ll all hang for this!”
This incites unrest in the crew, and Rediker puts up his hands to silence the group.
“What ye don’t understand, Billy, is that the mistake was yours to begin with. Men like Bullock and yourself, masters and mates, bein’ so harsh on sailors—that’s the true capital offense. We resisted a brutal captain? That’s mutiny, aye, and the punishment is t’be hanged. Then should we turn pirate? Well, we’d be hanged. And if I were t’kill ya now in cold blood? Hanged, of course. But I only have the one neck, ya see. Sentence me t’the gallows once and I become a free man until the day I die.”
The ship starts to list, such as it is that no one is steering her. With the crew simply idling, there’s real danger that the Cooper’s Pride could turn against the wind, hit a bad patch of seas, and capsize.
“All hands! To stations! Back to work, or we lose the ship!” Rediker commands.
“Aye, cap’n!” comes the unified call, for the captain’s best authority is the face of danger.
* * *
Rediker proves capable of navigating to Jamaica, which was nearer than continuing on to Boston. He even seems to form a grudging respect for Billy, so that the former Mate comes with the two of you to port to negotiate the trade deal.
All goes smoothly—until business is concluded and a Spanish platoon captures your crew. They knew right where the Cooper’s Pride was moored: an otherwise secret and secluded cove. That is to say—they must have been tipped off.
“Only thing the Spanish hate more’n pirates is English pirates,” Billy says, joining the ranks of the Spanish. “Didn’t take much convincing t’sell the lot-o’-you into slavery.”
As it turns out, life as a slave in the Spanish mines is worse than any condition a ship could hold. Though you try to escape, the rest of your life is brutish and short.
Gracias, Billy. Hijo de puta….
THE END
Joe
“How d’ye figure that, Saltboots? I were the one sent ya t’get the Cap’n. Do ye think I slit the man’s throat, then went out to make celestial navigations while he bled out?” Joe says.
“Always were a bloody liar!” Chips cries in response to your accusation. “Lying again, Saltboots! Don’t believe a word-o’-it, Cap’n.”
“I know your secret, Joe! And I bet this crew of lusty pirates will be thrilled to hear it!” you say.
Joe’s eyes grow wide, and the young Bosun flies into action. Pistol drawn and—crack!—shot fired before you can speak further. Some secrets are worth killing for, it seems, even if Joe wasn’t the one to murder Captain Bullock.
You fall to the ground, choking on your own blood, unable to speak or breathe. At least you’ll die quickly.
THE END
Judge Longwick Presiding
You’re held in the brig overnight while the Hornblower weathers the storm, offered a decent meal for breakfast, then brought up on decks before an audience of your peers. Captain Longwick, Master and Commander of this ship, also serves as judge, jury, and executioner in times of war. If you had not only just yesterday embarked on a new voyage, you might be held in the brig until you could stand trial before the Admiralty High Courts. Alas, that’s not to be.
Longwick wears his full uniform, hat pointed broadly, saber jangling at his side. The man listens as the evidence against you is presented. The witness testimony is understandably brief. After some time, he steps forward to make his remarks.
“Shipboard discipline is the tar that keeps the Royal Navy bound together. If we do not rule ourselves, these Spaniards will gladly take up that mantle for us. When one amongst us is murdered, the most heinous crime that can be committed, we must act swiftly and righteously. And so it is with the authority of my posting on this ship, an authority granted me by His Majesty the King and by the Lord God Almighty, that I sentence the accused—whom I find guilty—to be hanged by the neck until dead.”
That’s it. No appeal, no further investigation.
There’s plenty of rope to tie you up with, and ample beams from which to hang you. The sentence will be carried out without delay. The only choice left is whether or not to look your cousin in the eye one last time, or to die looking out to sea.
What’ll it be?
THE END
Jury’s Out
“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 Saltboots has it tucked away!”
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.
“You see! It couldn’t possibly have been me!”
“Unless ya ate the page!” Chips says.
“Hush now,” Billy says, crossing the room and examining the murder weapon. “’Tis the Captain’s own knife.”
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.”
• Deny the murder, of course. You didn’t do it! Beg him to be merciful long enough for you to prove your innocence. The truth will set you free.
• They wish to paint you as a villain? So be it! Claim you killed Captain Bullock, and that any who trifle with you will be next. Their fear will keep you safe.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Keelhauling
Despite the commotion aboard the ship, you’re able to fit a rope around your waist tied tightly with a generic knot. The able seamen scrambling across the decks and climbing about the rigging could probably offer dozens of different knots for the task, but they’re a bit tied up with tasks of their own.
You heroically leap into the surging seas and swim out towards the missing Jack. The heavy hemp braids of the rope are water-logged and sodden, slowing your progress. In the darkness, you use the lightning flashes to try to locate the poor man, but there’s no sign of him. Still, you swim in vain, hoping he might find either you or your rope. You swim until your arms burn, and then—you swim some more.
Exhausted, you take a minute to catch your breath. Looking back towards the Cooper’s Pride, you see the ship lurching ever closer. On deck, it was near-impossible to see which direction she was being buffeted across the seas, but it’s clear now—she’s coming right for you!
You cry out for help, hoping Billy or someone will pull the rope up for you, but to no avail. They’re trying to save the ship, not just you. The Cooper’s Pride is right upon you now, and you duck down beneath the waves in an effort not to be battered by her keel. Your only chance is to swim the width of the ship and come up on the other side of it.
Sweeping the water aside with renewed frenzy, you stroke your way through the cold ocean. You’ve made it to the midpoint when you feel sudden resistance; the rope pulls taut. That’s as far as you can go! A realization that fills you with panic. You’re trapped under the ship, pulled up against the keel by the rope, barnacles and other marine growths now tearing at your flesh.
The rope! You scramble to untie it, but the hemp has expanded in the water and you cannot possibly pull yourself free. If you’d have known how to tie a better knot, you might have slipped free and avoided this scenario, but truly, your first mistake was leaping into stormy seas in the first place.
THE END
Keep Calm
Orders are bandied about in organized chaos; disparate parts brought together like an orchestral performance composed of a cacophony of shouts, bosun whistles, and sing-song chants or sea shanties. Chiefly among these orders is to “Let out reefs!”—with the nearest available sailors assigned to the task at hand.
Mr. Magnus spots you and cries, “Landsman, the foresail!”
Quickly, you help the other sailors adjust the lines to the foresail, letting out the canvas to full capacity. The sails were brought in—reefed—for cruising speed, but now you’re full speed ahead and need all the wind you can muster.
Your hands move deftly and competently. It feels good to be carrying your own weight in chorus with the other men, and the work keeps you singularly focused—which is also good, considering that this is an effort to forestall the approach of a much larger warship.
Once this task is completed, the Midshipman cries, “Stuns’ls!”
In response to this order, you climb the rigging up to the yardarm to release the studding sail. This extra canvas billows over the sides of the ship, adding much needed surface area to help harness as much wind as is possible. For a few vertiginous moments, you hang out over nothing but the sea, but you complete the job competently and return to the deck.
“Aye, well done, Landsman! You’ll be a canvas monkey yet! Now get some tack in your gullet, ’tis set to be a long night indeed,” Magnus orders.
“Aye, sir!” you reply, before heading below for some chow.
The ship is abuzz with speculation pertaining to the Spanish warship now chasing your own frigate. Many of the men are keen to fight, even against a superior force. A frigate is more maneuverable than the larger man-o’-war, and Captain Longwick seems like a tactician who could use that to his advantage. The anticipation is the worst part—these sailors want to see what both he and the Hornblower can do!
The scuttlebutt is that the armory is to be unlocked, muskets issued, and stations taken. Each of the cannons is to be made ready for a possible fight. The excitement’s getting to you too. Maybe it’s time to get in on the action?
• Request a position on one of the gun teams. You’ve been training for this!
• Offer your keen eye as one of the snipers. Alone, aloft, and alienated from the cannon shot.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Kept Private
You know Rediker as an instigator, a troublemaker. The whole crew knew this. He would be the obvious choice, of course, but did he personally hold a grudge against Captain Bullock? Thinking back to the early days of the voyage, there might have been a clue right away.
Rediker had served as a privateer on board a ship called, fittingly enough, the Doomsday. Officially commissioned by the Crown to hunt down Spanish ships. Like being a pirate, but legal.
Rediker himself hadn’t advertised this fact, but it bubbled to the surface soon enough. A man on a privateer gets treated far better than one crimped into a merchantman’s service. Like pirates, privateers work on a “no prey, no pay” share system, so there’s more of a sense of equality amongst the ranks.
Captain Bullock had made sure Rediker knew he no longer lived in that world. He received a tongue lashing as soon as the master learned of Rediker’s history, as if that were enough to condemn the man. But, perhaps his desire to repeat that history was?
The captain offered constant verbal barbs. “You’re not a privateer anymore, you’re mine now!” was a common refrain. It was like he hoped to get a rise out of Rediker. It was really a dare. Bullock wanted the man to act out, to give him an excuse to really discipline him.
But Rediker never gave him the satisfaction. This, of course, infuriated the captain all the more, but there was nothing he could do about it.
Had Bullock finally discovered something to use against Rediker? Could that be what he recorded in his captain’s log? Or did he simply push Rediker past his breaking point by constantly reminding him that the world of fair wages and equal treatment was only in his past? If it ate away at Rediker enough, he could have determined to mutiny and bring back egalitarian rule through piracy. He could have convinced someone on that ship to murder the captain.
Regardless, one thing was true: Rediker may have been plotting against Bullock, but he was below-decks when the gruesome deed was done. So whose hand might have
been on the knife?
• Marlowe—the old sailor was the third pea in their pod. But why? What ills did he bear Captain Bullock?
• It could certainly have been Barlow. What motive might have the mustachioed sailor held?
• That’s enough for one night. Time to get some sleep. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
Knot so Fast!
Ducking back, you’re sheltered by the rail, the mast, and the ship’s wheel itself. It’s much harder for the enemy to get a shot on you while you’re cowering from sight, but you’ve also just disobeyed a direct order. And, what’s worse, with no one steering, you’ll soon lose all headway. If you stay here, the Hornblower is certain to be overtaken by the Spanish warship.
You may be down, but you’re not out. You’re not giving up, you’re just not offering yourself up as an easy target. Think, damn you! If only there were a way to steer the ship without putting yourself out in the open. Looking around, a burst of inspiration brings a plan to mind.
A coil of extra rope, waiting to resupply the rigging in time of need, should serve nicely. Grabbing the rope and quickly fashioning a Perfection Loop, you create a handle of sorts—an open loop knotted at the end. At mid-length in the rope, you create a second loop. Yes, that will do!
Darting forward, you loop the end over a handle at the 10-o’clock position of the wheel, and the second loop over the 2-o’clock position. A crack! sounds out as the sharpshooters fire, but you slide back just in time. The shot hits the wheel rather than you, and you’re able to keep the ship on-course by tugging on the ropes from a covered position. It’s not as good as standing at the wheel, but it’s much better than abandoning the helm altogether.
MAROONED: Will YOU Endure Treachery and Survival on the High Seas? (Click Your Poison) Page 19