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

by James Schannep

  There’s a rhythmic tapping sound and you turn, along with Billy, to see a man walking on deck with a cane. The cane is the source of the tapping, yet he doesn’t move with any appearance of a limp. He’s dressed in finery like your father might wear when entertaining guests at the country estate, but a broad tri-corn hat hides this man’s features under a mysterious shadow.

  “Cut ’em loose, Robin!” Billy cries, then turns to you and adds, “Cap’n Bullock requires a vow-o’-service from those who’d serve aboard his ship. Yourself included, I’m afraid.”

  For the first time, you realize you might be getting more than you bargained for.

  • “I thought you said Captain Bullock is fair and just? An oath spoken under duress is no oath at all.”

  • “I already signed papers with you, Billy. I shall give my spoken word of honor to the captain as well.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Shameless

  The men nod, faces cold and stoic, not belying any emotion. These seamen are no strangers to death, but if they find you coldhearted, they do themselves credit not to show it.

  “Send his body back over, and make sure his crew knows. They’re at our mercy, so they’d better be on their best behavior.”

  Both men nod at your orders, then step to. You stay inside the cabin, mind running wildly. If Bullock was poisoned.…

  At length, Rediker reports in. “Christ Almighty. It’s true. Look at that poor sod. Looked at ya cross, eh? Just as well. Crew says he were a cruel master, serves him right, I say. Bloodbeard’s legend grows.”

  “And the prize?” you say.

  “Massive haul, Cap’n. Sugar, indigo, cacao, tobacco, leather, silks, silver, gold, and jewels. Once we divide the shares, hell, I’d say each man just earned himself three years’ pay! Not bad for a first-timer.”

  “Refit the ship first. Take their carriage guns, plus any weapons. Once the Deleon’s Revenge is made stronger, the rest is profit.”

  “Aye, Cap’n. It’ll take a few hours t’move all the cargo, but we should be full up. Afterwards, shall we plot a course for New Providence to unload our ill-gotten gains?”

  “Do it!” you say.

  • “I’m going to go through the Porto captain’s cabin to see what I can find. He was right, I need a manner of dress befitting the name of Captain Bloodbeard.”

  • “’Twas a grand first catch, Rediker. Once we make sail, open the rum stores for the men. I’d like to make another toast… to the first of many! And the start of a prosperous partnership.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Shanty Town

  These funds were meant for a hot meal and a carriage ride home, but caught up in the moment, you use it to buy the bar a round. Billy takes his second drink and his muttonchops part as he belts out, “Oooohhhhh, we’d be all right, if the wind was in our sails!”

  Then the whole tavern echoes, “We’d be all right, if the wind was in our sails!” and you join in for the third, “We’d be all right, if the wind was in our sails!” and the whole chorus sings, “And we’ll all hang on behind!”

  The womenfolk, Spence included, give a harmonizing “Ohhhh!!!!” while the seamen sing in concert, “And we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along, and we’ll all hang on behind!”

  Billy continues to lead, “Oh, we’d be all right, if we make it round the horn!”

  To a chorus of, “We’d be all right, if we make it round the horn! We’d be all right, if we make it round the horn! And we’ll all hang on behind! And we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along, we’ll roll the old chariot along, and we’ll all hang on behind!”

  Billy belts out, “Oh, a long night ashore wouldn’t do us any harm!”

  Now you join in with the rest of them, noting the cadence of the tune and its echoes.

  Finishing your drinks as a group, Billy now offers, “Oh, another round from Jimmy wouldn’t do us any harm!”

  James takes it good-naturedly and offers up more coin. In response, the tavern sings, “Another round from Jimmy wouldn’t do us any harm!” bringing the new verse into the chorus.

  Now James lifts up his courtesan into his arms and shout-sings, “Oh, a roll in the clovers wouldn’t do us any harm!” before retreating into a back room.

  His exit is marked by enthusiastic singing of the line. So the night goes, drink after drink, song after song, in the revelry of the seamen, until coin purses are empty and you black out from too much gin. Not much choice here:

  Wake up the next morning and face the consequences of your actions.

  Shipmates

  Billy shakes his head with disappointment. “I seen me fair share-o’-dreamers and scoundrels, and I’m afraid you’re lookin’ t’be both. Can’t beat the Crown, Saltboots, and, as they say—if ya can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Only way I know to earn riches is through hard work, one guinea at a time.”

  “I truly appreciate your concern, Billy, but I’d rather take fate into mine own hands—danger and all. Why toil to earn another man his treasure?”

  “Spoken like a true buccaneer. I s’pose ’tis goodbye then, Saltboots. I’ll say a prayer for your health. Just one last thing. I know ye let me live, so I’ll pay off the debt here and now: take a look-o’-this building upon which your old mate now enters. If ye would be a pirate still, do so with haste.”

  With that, he turns and heads inside the nearest building. Taking a step back to get a better look, you see what he meant—clear as the printed sign at the main entrance: The building next to you, as it turns out, is the Admiralty Court building. That must’ve been Billy’s destination all along, and soon the Royal Navy will know of the pirates here in port!

  Fear surges through you and a new burst of adrenaline sends you running back for the ship. The Admiralty here in Boston likely won’t be any kinder to pirates than those you saw hanging in iron gibbets on the River Thames. You haven’t a moment to lose!

  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.

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

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

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Shoreline

  Stepping forth from the jungle, the pirates recoil in a mixture of surprise and fear. Cutlasses fly forth into ready hands, pistols drawn and cocked for action.

  “Saltboots?” Rediker says. “By God, ’tis you!”

  “Welcome to my island, Rediker,” you reply, coolly.

  Rediker grins. “That’d be Cap’n Rediker now, elected master-o’-this here ship, rechristened the Deleon’s Revenge.”

  You look around to many familiar faces: Barlow, Chips, Marlowe, Butch, and Joe. But many mor
e unfamiliar faces, hardened pirates ready for action.

  “Revenge against the likes of Bullock and Billy, I take.”

  “Neither-o’-whom sail with us,” Rediker says with a shrug. “Robin, neither. All these men here are loyal t’me now. Each his own man, sailing by choice, as brothers. I’d ask ye t’join our merry crew, but I can see it in your eyes. Desire t’see me swing in the gallows, wouldn’t ya? Must’ve been tough, marooned out here for a crime ye were innocent of.

  “Sure, I knew ye didn’t kill Bullock, mate. Never had it in ya. But what’s done is done, eh? Could just leave ya here now, but other ships’re bound t’stop in, and you’ll talk, won’t ye?”

  “You came back… to silence me?” you say, somewhat dumbstruck by the idea.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. There be a Spanish warship about, and I knew-o’-one island sheltered from prying eyes. Now that we found ye, alive, well… I want t’be merciful, I do, but try as I may, I can’t think-o’-why I should. So how about you, Saltboots? Give me one reason we shouldn’t just kill ya now and be done with it.”

  • “You can try, but you die first.”

  • “Because I know who truly killed Captain Bullock.”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Shove Aboard

  Captain Longwick gives a curt nod, which you take for tacit approval to join him in the longboat to go see the flagship. A dozen questions flutter in your mind as the men row towards the enormous first-rate ship of the line, the supersized HMS Rochambeau. While the Spanish warship Don Pedro Sangre dwarfed the HMS Hornblower, the flagship is as impressive as they get. The pride of England—even if she is a prize from the last war fought against the French.

  The longboat crewmen hail out to the sailors aboard the Rochambeau and a rope ladder is thrown down. As you board, the seamen offer salutes to Captain Longwick, and he’s greeted by an officer who introduces himself as Lieutenant Aubrey. The lieutenant leads you to the quarterdeck, where several Spanish officers stand captive.

  “And where is Vice-Admiral Maturin?” Captain Longwick asks.

  “Ah, his lordship will be joining us shortly, Captain.”

  Longwick studies the Spanish officers, then says, “These men still have their swords. Has no one accepted their surrender?”

  “No, sir. The Lord Admiral will see to that personally as soon as he’s able.”

  “How long does it take to put on a bloody wig?” Longwick snaps. Then a gay sort of laughter rings out from across the deck, followed by the sing-song of friendly banter. Your captain looks towards the voices sharply.

  “Please, sir,” Lieutenant Aubrey says. “The Admiral will be—”

  Captain Longwick moves past the underling and rushes towards the sounds. You follow, and soon see the source of the gaiety. Several of the ship’s officers play at shovelboard, a game where they knock at metal weights with sticks, trying to hit them into marked sections of the deck.

  “My Lord Vice-Admiral!” Aubrey starts by way of warning.

  The eldest of the players, an imposingly broad man with auburn hair tied into a long ponytail, raises a hand to silence the lieutenant. He keeps his back towards you, attention on his game. Surely this must be Vice-Admiral Maturin, but why is he so focused on a trivial game?

  “My Lord, there is a war to be fought,” Longwick interjects, sharply.

  “The war can wait,” Vice-Admiral Maturin replies, still not turning around.

  Captain Longwick fumes, but holds his silence. The admiral aims his stick, which you recognize as a capstan bar borrowed from the ship for purpose of the game. He lines up, deliberately taking his time, and makes the shot. Then he stands proudly erect and says, “Match point scored! That’s game, gentlemen.”

  Vice-Admiral Maturin then takes his nearby wig, dons it, and tops that with an enormous hat befitting a man of his rank and stature. He allows his steward to help him into his admiral’s coat before finally turning back to face Longwick.

  “Charles,” he says without any hint of emotion. “I see my patronage has paid off. I knew putting you on the Hornblower would be the right fit. Come now, let’s go see the Dons who gave you so much damnable trouble, shall we? Oh, who’s this with you, then?”

  For this last part, the admiral looks your way.

  Captain Longwick says, “That’s Ward. Or my ward, rather. Midshipman.”

  “Midshipman Ward. Come aboard the Rochambeau to see the ‘great and powerful’ Vice-Admiral Maturin, have you?”

  “I, well, aye, sir, your lordship,” you say, stumbling over the answer.

  The admiral smiles to himself, then continues, “This was a French ship, did you know? Why do you think I keep her as my flagship, eh? And why might I have the Spanish brought aboard to surrender here rather than allowing them to be taken aboard their own ship?”

  “I’m sure the Midshipman wouldn’t care to guess at the lord admiral’s motivations,” Captain Longwick says, eyeing the shovelboard court.

  The admiral ignores the jibe, continuing, “This ship was a prize, the capture of which ended our last war at sea with the French. I sail her to remind our enemies of the outcome they can expect when sailing against us.”

  “And bringing the Spanish aboard her?” Longwick asks.

  “To ensure the message isn’t lost, of course. Subtlety is the purview of the English, Charles. Come now, let’s go collect their sabers.”

  Perhaps that explains the shovelboard as well, you think.

  The Spanish surrender occurs via translator, with the officers being afforded every possible courtesy—until they can be transferred to an English prison. This transit is an honor Captain Longwick clearly fears will be bestowed upon himself, for at the first possible opportunity he asks the admiral his orders for the Hornblower.

  “Repairs, of course. I understand the Don Pedro Sangre gave quite a bite to your hind flanks as she gave chase. No wonder you were so keen to see the captain’s surrender!” Admiral Maturin says with a brow raised. “Then you’ll resupply and depart the fleet with haste.”

  You can see the disappointment on Captain Longwick’s face as he says, “Bristol?”

  “What? No, don’t be absurd. I’ll have some schooner or other sally forth to the prison. The Hornblower made fantastic time finding the Spanish vanguard. We intercepted some dispatches from the enemy, and I need you to make sail for the West Indies to deliver word of their plans in the Caribbean. Have you ever been to Barbados?”

  “Lord Vice-Admiral, if I may be so bold, the seat of action is here—against mainland Spain.”

  Maturin throws his head back in hearty laughter. “You won’t miss the war, Charles! I’m not taking you out of the fight, but entrusting you with a pivotal mission, man. Once you’ve brought word to the Governor and given his reply to London, you’ll rejoin us off Cape Passaro.”

  “Aye, sir. Very good. If you’ll excuse me, then, my lord, I should be getting back to my ship.”

  “Oh? I had hoped you’d join me for dinner, Captain.”

  “If it’s all the same to the Vice-Admiral, I’d like to celebrate with my men.”

  The admiral gives you a glance, then turns back to Captain Longwick. “It’s all the same, then. Go on. Celebrate your success. We’ll speak again before you depart for colonial waters. Dismissed.”

  After salutes are exchanged, you return to the longboat and the small crew rows back towards the Hornblower. After a few minutes’ contemplation, Captain Longwick turns to you and says, “Right, then. What are your thoughts, Ward?”

  You take a moment to choose your words wisely, then say:

  • “The men will be pleased to toast to your success, sir. I take it the rum stores can afford to be run out before we’re resupplied?”

  • “I should think these dispatches important. There are Spanish ships in the West Indies, so perhaps we won’t be completely out of the action sailing in the Caribbean?”

  • “The Vice-Admiral is rather eccentric, isn’t he? Have you known one another
very long?”

  MAKE YOUR CHOICE

  Showered in His Glory

  There’s an enormous thunderclap, such that would rival cannon fire, but no accompanying jolt of electricity. Instead, the lightning hits against the dead tree once more, sending flaming splinters into the air. Your prayers have been answered! Perhaps this truly was divine intervention, perhaps also you were spared because this position of supplication is very similar to what modern experts call “the lightning crouch.”

  Either way, the heavens do not strike you down.

  You are, however, caught out in the open for another rainstorm, soaking you through. After the threat of the lightning blasts have passed and you cannot bear kneeling out in the rain any longer, you take shelter beneath the trees.

  The squall over, the clouds part and warm tropical sunshine pours down in its stead. Back out to the clearing, you find a spot with a view of the coastline that’s semi-dry, due to a natural protection from a rocking outcropping. Plenty of time to set up camp here, start a fire, fortify a more permanent shelter, and even cook dinner. The rest of the day is looking up!

  As a two birds/one stone sort of effort, you clear the area surrounding your camp of underbrush. This vegetation can be used on a new shelter or for kindling your fire (especially the driest bits), but its removal will also help minimize insects, rats, and snakes around your camp.

  Once you’ve cleared out this growth and built a sleeping area for the night, you set out your clothes, journal, and pistol shot to dry. The pistol is a flintlock, which you can use to start a fire.

  The flintlock mechanism works by literally striking a piece of flint, which creates a massive spark. So all you have to do is hold the pistol near the kindling, cock the hammer, and pull the trigger. Flash! The sparks leap into the kindling.