On one of Jessop’s treks to the belly of the ship for supplies and inspection, he was asked by Beans to also check the food storage area for broken or leaking containers. Once a month like clockwork, Beans would put in this request, so much so that he rarely went to O’Donnel but went straight to Jessop. Apparently, O’Donnel in the past, had missed a leak, once or twice, on rum kegs and trusted only Jessop to check the storage these days.
“Certainly,” Jessop answered to Bean’s request. Jessop had made his rounds through the trove of stolen goodies and dealing with Fin—not something he ever looked forward to, but the sullen man rarely said a word to him after the incident with the compass, however he felt Fin always had a suspicious eye on him.
Jessop made his way down the narrow snake of a corridor toward the food storage room, when he turned a corner nearly running into a man leaning against the wall, bent over as if to fall any minute.
Jessop grabbed the man to help him into the darkness of the storage room before setting the man upon a crate tied to the wall just inside the door. He lit a match, making the oil lamp sizzle and beam a glow of light onto the face of sick fellow. He was shocked to see it was the captain as Salty came running in the room snorting and grunting as he kicked the door shut with the peg and hoof of his back legs. The metal latch grabbed its mate with a clank.
“Captain, what’s wrong?” Jessop asked.
The captain could barely sit up unassisted. His skin was white and clammy as he reached out to Salty and clumsily withdrew the handkerchief Salty always had around his neck. Hidden on the backside was a small pocket in which the captain pulled out a small hard candy he quickly popped into his mouth.
“I’m sorry you had to find me this way, Jesse, but I trust you will use your greatest discretion as to what you’ve seen,” the captain said with an eloquently British dialect and not the slightest hint of pirate jargon.
Jessop didn’t know what to say, but when the captain stared at him waiting for a reply, he said, “Of course, sir.”
“A captain of a pirate ship cannot show weakness or in my case, illness—do you understand?”
“I do, Captain. What ails you? Shall I get O’Donnel?” Jessop asked in concern.
“No. O’Donnel knows not of my sickness. Salty keeps me in check—a little something sweet does the trick until I can get back to my cabin and have something to eat along with a concoction I take several times a day.”
“Are you…dying?”
“Oh, lad, we’re all dying, but no, I forget sometimes to keep on my scheduled regiment. As long as I do that, eat regularly and take my medicine, I’m fine, but I lost track of the time and haven’t eaten since this morning. I should be fine in a moment.”
He did look better. A little pinkness returned to his cheeks, and his eyes seemed to twinkle a little more than they did earlier.
“Can I help you back to your cabin?”
“Most assuredly not. Like I said, I can’t appear to be ill on the likes of this ship.”
“May I ask why the charade of sailor slang and pirate speak?”
“All for appearances, lad. It’s a long story and this is neither the place nor time to tell it. I’m feeling much better now,” he said as he retied the handkerchief to Salty’s chubby little neck.
“Good, sir. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Aye, lad. A scurvy dog, ye be if ye be divulgin’ in such things.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Jessop said with a smile as the captain opened the door and stepped into the hallway with an ever-present Salty trailing behind.
* * *
A whistle blew in the in the blackness of the night, rousing Jessop from his sleep. If not for the thumping and thundering of footsteps around him, he might have thought it was part of his dream, but it most definitely was not.
“What’s going on?” William said, falling to his feet from his bunk.
“Not sure,” he replied as he was shouldered by a passing pirate. He reached out and grabbed a young sailor of maybe sixteen and asked, “What is happening.”
“Thar be another ship closing in,” he answered.
“Why were there no bells or commands?” Jessop asked in confusion.
“Calm waters like these, the sound would be a carrying. Better to let the attacking ship think it has the upper hand, don’t ye think?”
“Most assuredly,” Jessop said understanding completely. “Come, William, grab your sword and pistol.”
“I do hate this part,” William admitted as he gathered his things and ran with the masses to his station.
They were met with a salty breeze and the rest of the men hunkered down, trying to be hidden by the sides of the ships. He and William fell into form and took a post at an open spot near the stern and looked over the edge of the rail.
There a few hundred yards off the starboard side was a beautiful ship of pristine white sails coming on fast and spotlighted by the full moon. Spread across the vessel, tiny lanterns moved around with small black shapes attached to them, looking like fireflies floating and darting on a warm summer evening.
The Revenge kept her sails stowed as if it and its crew were peacefully sleeping on the lull of the rocking waves and completely unaware of the encroaching danger. Could they really think they had the element of surprise on attacking a pirate ship? Jessop thought. Fortunately, the Revenge did not have its colors up for all to see. That was usually the case when they were on the attack—better not to announce you’re a pirate when patrolling waters overrun with incoming British boats.
Jessop loaded one of his two pistols and drew his sword. He adjusted his baldric since the weight of it had changed and kept his eyes on the enemy. He could hear his father’s voice in his ear reprimanding him for engaging to fight what was clearly the Royal Navy with its blazing red cross and white ‘X’ on a field of blue. It was going to be a long night.
Jessop heard movement everywhere, above in the rigging, below where the cannons were being moved just shy of their position after loading and the ‘zing’ of swords on either side of him being unsheathed. He felt the adrenaline rise within him and his senses were on high alert.
William was pulling an axe from his baldric and Jessop saw the silver metal glint in the moonlight as he twirled it around in his hand. “Be safe, Will,” Jessop said.
“I’ll do my best. Good luck to you, Jess,” William replied.
William saw the cannons one by one appear from their gun ports and with his small telescope he noted the red uniformed men gathering to the sides of the ship with HMS Merriweather painted on the hull. The man at the helm wore a black hat adorned with white swan and ostrich feathers. His sword was drawn and held in the air like some kind of statue or monument declaring its triumph. As they pulled parallel to the Revenge, his hand dropped, signaling whistles, bells, and commands.
As if being orchestrated by the enemy, the pirate flag went up, revealing to all what the British were drawing into. For every shout on the Merriweather, there were two from the Revenge—a volley of shots, screams, bursts of light, deafening booms, and smoke.
William and Jessop popped up from their hidden place, grabbing a rope dropped from the rigging men and sailed across the gap of water between the ships. The same happened from the Merriweather.
Men fought valiantly sailing from one ship to the other amidst the whistling of bullets, shrapnel, and cannon balls. Some even engaged in sword fight as they glided through the air, and quickly the water between the boats was bloodied and littered with bodies and maimed survivors.
Jessop kept an eye on William when he wasn’t battling for his life, but William was able to hold his own, fling his axe this way and that as ably as Jessop could swing a sword.
Bodies rained from the sky as two cannon balls linked by a length of long chain careened into the navel ship’s main mast, wrapping around and slicing through more than half of it.
Splinters of wood shot every way catching Jessop’s forearm as it raised to come down on an officer’s shoulder. In that split second of hesitation, the officer raised his firearm and shot Jessop, grazing his cheek and taking a piece of his ear before Jessop buried his sword deep into the officer’s neck.
Grunts of waning strength and cries of pain wafted above the creaking of the main mast. The weight of its now tattered sails was too much to bear, and as it snapped like a twig, it took the other masts and rigging with it making a mountain of rubble on its once gleaming decks.
A fire raged, and a few brave souls continued fighting for the king, but only for moments, then yells of victory from his pirate comrades rang the night.
Though the battle was over, the work was not done. Pirates swarmed the deck of the Merriweather chopping rigging and putting out the fire. If they couldn’t keep the boat from capsizing due to the sails being weighted down with debris and water, all would be for naught. Jessop learned his brethren were just as mighty and diligent at this task too.
Four men worked feverishly at cutting down one of the masts keeping the others from going overboard while others pulled at the ropes.
Once the ship was secured from capsizing, they rushed into the bowels to pillage what they could from the storerooms. The boat would soon be a new decoration for the bottom of the sea along with them if they did not hurry.
They formed a line of men from the storeroom to the deck. Long boards were secured atop the rails between the two ships as men scurried back and forth like rats carrying goodies to their holes.
Top priorities were firearms, gunpowder, food, and water. Cannons were tied to ropes—men hoisted them to the Revenge with the help of pulleys. Those not injured too badly were hard at work.
When the sun peeked its lazy head above the horizon bringing light once more to the hemisphere, all the men were back on the Revenge and the Merriweather sank silently below the waves into the depths of an unrelenting ocean.
Debris drifted around floating bodies that occasionally disappeared with its ship. It was a sad sight to watch and brought back images of the Victory and her demise to Jessop as he looked over the water. He didn’t like to think about the death that came with such a battle, but he was thankful to have survived another horrible ordeal.
William patted him on the shoulder bringing him out of his thoughts.
“You’re a bloody mess, Jess,” William said. Jessop reached for his ear, feeling the pain in his arm where the splinter still laid, and pulled back a wet, red hand.
“I suppose I am,” Jessop answered matter-of-factly.
“Let’s get you looked at,” William said as he guided Jessop to see O’Donnel and get him bandaged up.