Crashing, thunder, and yells woke me up. Splinters from the ship sprayed across the deck and the flashes of pistols briefly lit up the black, foggy night. I looked down from my perch to see dark, gangly figures climbing onto our deck, and heard them yelling and cursing. The smell of gunpowder wafted up to the top of mast where I had been keeping watch. A voice I recognized yelled, "Pirates!"

My dereliction of duty filled me with dread like my stomach carried a lead anchor. I had been in the crow's nest charged with keeping watch. I froze to my spot and would have died right there had I not seen my father burst forth from below deck and with his pistol and rapier. He battled any scurvy pirate who came across his path. His bullets whistled and rapier sung as they found their marks and sent their enemies to Davy Jones Locker. His actions reawakened my courage and I clambered down as quickly as I could to join the brawl myself.

Just as I landed on the deck, a figure immediately came upon me. I swung my knife, aiming for the belly, but the figure's longer arm deflected mine before any damage was done. I looked up in horror, expecting my fate sealed, only to see the welcome sight of our ship's reverend.

Grabbing my arm he said, "Nathan, come with me," and he pulled me below deck, into the forecastle, out of the fray.
"What's going on?" I asked, resisting, wanting to stay and fight.
"The captain told me to get you to safety."
"I won't hide as the crew fights," I said, "I-I must make amends!"
The Reverend looked at me with compassion, knowing I wanted to atone. "It is not your decision," he said, "We have other orders."

Not knowing what he meant, I began to ask, but he quickly grabbed my arm and whisked me out of the forecastle to the captain's quarters. Shouts and crashes of cannon balls rang in my ears as the crew woke from deep slumber and hastily prepared the guns to fire back. We finally entered my father's quarters, a stately room which looked more like a classroom at Oxford rather than a disheveled stable like the rest of the ship. Candlelight reflected off of the maps and brass navigation tools and showed that my father had been hard at work mapping our journey. The Reverend told me to stand guard while he began his hurried search.

I only had my knife, so felt unequal to the challenge of defending the captain's quarters if a pirate with a rapier or pistol appeared. I set about looking for something more substantial than my wood carver. Despite the light from a few candles, darkness shrouded the cabin. My eyes and hands groped for anything that felt formidable, but I found nothing. Then my hand came across what I thought was a block of wood, only to find that it was just a leather-bound book. Before I could continue my search, the Reverend reported that he had found what he was looking for and bade us to join the rest of the crew. For some reason I still don't understand, I placed the small book into my jacket pocket.

My heart leapt at the chance to return to the fight, although I wondered what the Reverend's plan might be. My mind did not dwell much longer on the thought as we ran back through the forecastle, with hammocks swinging empty, and the din of shouts and cannon thunder sounding around us. The acrid smell of gunpowder wafted through the air.

Suddenly, I felt the Reverend collapse beside me. I whipped around and saw a small, emaciated man with a look of the Devil himself. He charged at me too and I jabbed at him with my knife, which he barely dodged. Then he punched me in the jaw which knocked me flat on my back. He swung his rapier across my chest then lunged at the Reverend who was still lying on the ground. The blade stunned me and after a second, I felt around for blood. I found none and discovered that the sword had caught the book in my chest, taking the brunt of the blow.
I looked over at the Reverend and saw the pirate slashing at him wildly. He would certainly have met his end right there had the pirate's eyes not been diverted by a piece of parchment which had fallen away from the Reverend. With the pirate's attention occupied, I took the opportunity to lunge at him myself and stab him with my knife. The sea criminal howled in pain, and I would have killed him had the Reverend not stopped me. The pirate crumpled to the deck in pain.

I would have left him there to die and rejoined the rest of the crew in fighting off these bloodthirsty savages, but the Reverend grabbed the parchment, stuffed it into his jacket, and asked me to help the pirate up. I looked at him in disbelief.

"You saved my life and that of another, so now we must save his."

These words puzzled me, but with the clashes and clangs of pistols and swords still raging around us I joined in dragging the dying man to the stern where the Surgeon worked. In the dragging, I saw that the pirate had very rough hands and several infected areas on his arms. He also had wooden dentures.
The Surgeon's table already had one of our crew on it with several more groaning souls waiting their turn. A single lantern swayed with the ship and lit the dark, foul-smelling room. It smelled like putrid bile from a dying cow. Our patient was the only pirate in the room, and some of our wounded crew wanted to finish the job that I had started. But the Reverend stopped them and assured the pirate he was protected from any retaliation. The Reverend did, however, take his sword and give it to me.

The Surgeon, a determined and able-bodied man with blood splattered across his clothes, made no qualms about the pirate and immediately started giving the Reverend and myself tasks to assist him. I started for the door to rejoin my father and the fighting, but the Reverend grabbed my shoulder and swung me around.

"These are our orders Nathan," he said, "set about giving the men something to eat and drink."

I wanted to protest, but the Reverend's look barred any thought of disobedience. His countenance softened and he squeezed my shoulder in a warm embrace. I did not like this situation, but I acquiesced to his request.

"Thanks for the help gentlemen," the Surgeon said, coolly.

After administering the meager food and drink, I sat about fetching the Surgeon's tools and aiding the Reverend with lifting, adjusting, and consoling the dying men. These heroes all grabbed my shirt, soaking it in blood, pleading that I not think of them as cowards. They did their duty, they said, and they pleaded for me to understand that pirates came out of nowhere like phantoms. My heart ached at these words. Whether or not they knew their plight was due to my incompetence, I did not know, but their thoughts and focus were solely on themselves and their shipmates. They also spoke about a tall, dark figure shrouded in smoke and surrounded by fire. It sounded like a demon.

While I still desired to jump into the fray, we fought our own war with death as the din of gunshots and screams surrounded us. I admired the Surgeon's deftness with which he worked, especially considering the noise, motion, and lack of skilled support.

Prior to this night, when things were calm and I had finished my cabin boy tasks, I would sneak away to the infirmary and asked for him to instruct me. I saw that the Surgeon's table required the same amount of skill as traversing the open water. Some of my dreams had started to shift from commanding a ship to healing patients and I didn't yet know how to feel about that.

But at this moment, ours was a ghastly business that challenged the limits of my resolve, and I began to think that fighting the enemy was an easier charge. The quantity of blood that I smelled, saw, and felt coming from my shipmates made my stomach churn and my heart break. However, the Surgeon and his steady hand kept us on sure footing. I admired the sailors for enduring such agony, and the pirate we had dragged admirably withstood the Surgeon's stitches. The fact that my father fought overhead also put me at ease.

Then, out of nowhere, a blade flashed, and a pirate's cutlass pierced the heart of the sailor on the table. I whipped around to see a dark figure - the Angel of Death I thought - silhouetted against the lamp light with smoke coming off of him. He proceeded to cut down the other sailors waiting for care. I looked for the Reverend, who I found lying on top of an injured man to defend him. I grabbed a scalpel from the operating table and prepared to fight off death all by myself.
He slashed at my hands with his cutlass, but the Surgeon grabbed me by the collar and ripped me away just in time. The pirate came towards us again, but the Surgeon threw my scalpel at him, which gave us time to grab the Reverend and make haste out of the forecastle.

I heard the Reverend say a short prayer as we left the room to run across the ship. The Surgeon suggested we barricade ourselves in the captain's quarters, but a shot rang out and the Reverend slumped to the floor. I looked back to see the red-bearded pirate holding up his smoking pistol and charging towards us. I saw our empty brig with the door open and I bade the Surgeon to help pull the Reverend into it.

We then closed the gated, iron door, locking ourselves in. The foolishness of the action then dawned on me as the pirate sauntered up and pointed his pistol right at us. I thought that we had fought for nothing other than to give him an easy shot and I chastised myself again for making such an incompetent blunder. I slowly reached for my knife, planning to charge him in hopes of injuring him before the end. He aimed his pistol at us but, right before I could charge, he lowered it. He scratched a shoulder tattoo which had an anchor and rope and looked half finished. He wiped some blood off his face while carefully observing us and our sea jail. Convinced that we were locked in and posed no threat, he shot us a haughty grin and ran to find a new victim.

The doctor immediately set about caring for the Reverend. Not having his tools, all he could do was use the Reverend's belt to stop the bleeding and finger around for the bullet. The Surgeon's dexterity and the Reverend's endurance proved up to the task for dislodging the object. The Reverend was not destined to die, yet.

We urgently looked for a way to escape, but our assessment yielded the same conclusion as the pirate's: we were locked in. As we listened to the sounds of battle above, feeling helpless, two other members of our crew found us. One I knew as Keith, and the other as Thorne.

"It's no use trying to get us out," the Surgeon said, "unless you have the key."

"We don't want to get you out; we want to get in. This is Captain Stith's crew," Keith said. This name meant nothing to me but I saw it send a shiver of fear down the Reverend's spine.

"Gentlemen," the Reverend said, "you made an oath to king and country and more importantly to your crew. Now go fight to save our ship. If you find the keys, then you can let us out and we will do our part."

They hesitated, but the speech had its desired effect on Keith, and they left to rejoin the fray. The Surgeon gave the Reverend a nod of approval. Then we pressed against the cold, damp bars to listen for any clue of how the battle was going up on deck.

We heard crashes, groans, and shouts, but couldn't distinguish who was winning. No one else came by our cell. The groans from the dying sailors in the Surgeon's room also added to the tragic cacophony. I focused my entire will towards a victory.

Soon the din began to wane, and we could tell that the conflict was coming to an end. I saw the Reverend fidget and continually check his jacket pocket, as if he was afraid something would hop out of it. Then there was silence, and a sense of helplessness stoked my fears and dread. I looked at the two gentlemen again and saw the Reverend praying. I began to pray earnestly myself. Finally, a voice yelled, "Spare them!"

My heart sank. It was not a voice I recognized.

A moment later, pirates led seven of our sailors below deck to our brig, including Keith and Thorne. I looked for my father's face, but didn't see him. I told myself that there must be more of the crew elsewhere, and that the pirates surely kept the captain on deck for negotiations.

Bloody keys unlocked and opened the door and the nasty looking pirate who held the keys threw the heroic sailors in. I didn't dare look at them. I felt ashamed and never more like a coward.

Thorne sat next to me, but his presence was cold. I turned my head askance, searching for some message of hope from him. He gave me none. His blood-smeared face simply stared straight ahead.

Our brig was now crammed with ten men, several of whom were wounded. The Surgeon began again doing his best to attend to the most injured. To keep from thinking about our predicament, I began assisting him. The Reverend also tried to help, but his own injury prevented him. The rest sulked.

We listened to the splashes of what I later learned were dead bodies being thrown overboard. The pirates celebrated their victory and began to inventory their booty. I waited in anticipation for the moment when their laughter would switch to screams, as my father broke from his negotiations and laid justice on them. I didn't understand why he waited so long, but I knew he had them right where he wanted them. Hope can be intoxicating.

What was left of our crew huddled together in a crowded, dank, and dingy mass in our own brig listening to the classic pirate refrain:

"Yo ho, Yo ho, the pirate's life for me."

"Funny to think that a few hours ago pirates sat in this brig, and now we're here and they're rifling through our supplies," said Keith. The Surgeon told him to be quiet as he tended to the gash across his cheek.

"If I had only known the pirates were wanting a fight, I would have been prepared. I didn't hear the bell and they caught me off guard," another answered, nursing a bloody leg.

"You didn't hear the alarm either?" Thorne asked.

Someone else piped up, saying that they hadn't heard it until after the pirates were upon them. I could feel all eyes shift towards me, and the weight of my shame became heavier. I bowed my head to avoid everyone's stare.

"He sounded the alarm as soon as he saw them. You know it's a foggy night and they came right upon our stern," the Reverend said.

I looked up. Most of the crew seemed to accept this response to the unasked question of my dereliction of duty, but Thorne kept his eyes on me. The Reverend's answer didn't satisfy him.

"Why weren't you on deck fighting?" Thorne asked me.

"He was helping the patients," answered the Surgeon in my stead.

"He was under strict orders from the Captain," the Reverend followed up.

A hollow silence filled the brig. Then someone said, "Too bad. Another pistol might have saved him."

"What?" I asked as my head shot up.

"Your father's dead," Thorne said.

"That can't be," said the Reverend, "he had enough shot to keep the Devil himself in hell."

"Not enough to keep the pirates at bay though," said one of the sailors, "I saw with my own eyes a red-bearded pirate place his cutlass in the Captain's back."

My soul descended into a bottomless pit. The shock enveloped me, and even though I was sitting down, I felt as if I would fall over. A thought as clear as day and as solid as granite filled my mind, the thought that I had killed my father. Had I not been sleeping at the watch; he might still be alive.

Some of the more sensitive sailors tried to console me, but their words were muffled. Religious lessons I had learned flashed through my mind, too, while Keith - trying to be comforting or not, I don't know - said something about death being a part of the natural order of things. Thorne told me to stop being a little boy and grow up; a true sailor shouldn't cry. All of this made me numb.

The Reverend simply put his arm around me. Everything seemed meaningless now that my father was dead, but the Reverend's warmth made everything feel less cold. The relative silence of our brig and lack of action lulled most of the sailors to sleep. That sweet rest did not come for me though, as I endured the inner turmoil of losing my father. I was now an orphan and wondered how much longer I had on this earth myself.

A bellowing sneeze caught my attention. It also roused the crew, and we all looked to see a pirate waddling down the stairs towards us. Dawn had come, so I could see more of his features. I was surprised to realize that it was the pirate that the Reverend and I had saved, the one with the wooden teeth. He was a pitiful sight, with scruff that looked like a small animal had died on his face, and clothes like tattered rags. There was no color in his appearance: his clothes had faded, his hair was greasy, and his skin was the color of dirty milk.

"Ok, cowards," spat the pirate, "I need ye to give me yer professions, where yer ship been 'eaded an' the location o' any important articles on the ship."

"Over my dead body!" I yelled. His words filled me with anger and made me snap. I lunged through the grate to stab him with the knife I still held in my hand, as the crew cheered me on.

While his appearance was dreadful, the sea had given him lightning-fast reflexes and he parried my attempt with ease, knocking the knife out of my hand. Enraged, he grabbed his pistol to shoot my outstretched hands. Had he not snagged his weapon on his belt, I might have lost one of my God-given appendages. But, I quickly yanked my hands out of harm's way. In his fury, he shot at me but missed, hitting Thorne instead. Thorne howled with pain, and the Surgeon jumped to tend to him immediately.

The pirate threw down his spent pistol and grabbed his reclaimed rapier. Before the situation could spiral further downward, the Reverend spoke up and gave the pirate the information he wanted.

"Sir, we are the crew of the Lady Rebecca. We are a peaceful ship on a medical and missionary mission. You can find the list of the crew members in the Captain's log." He paused, contemplating his next words, "We mean you no harm. Need I remind you that I saved your life?"

"Don't blame me fer yer mistake. By 'ell ye be a medical an' missionary ship, we know you're a part o' the Royal Navy an' 'unted gentlemen o' fortune! an' yer cabin lad 'ere certainly doesn't share the same sentiment as ye. No more lies, Cap'n Stith will not take kindly to it."

The Reverend hesitated. I could tell he was trying to think of what to do and he seemed scared. Pointing his cutlass at the priest, the pirate said, "Is there anything o' value onboard?"

In his fear, the Reverend's hand went towards his chest pocket. He stopped himself when he realized what he was doing, but the wood-toothed pirate had already noticed. The Reverend recovered quickly and told him that the ship's maps were in the third drawer of the Captain's table. At that moment another figure appeared at the top of the stairs. It was the red-bearded man again. I now saw his forearms, as thick as cannons, complimenting his broad chest. The half-completed tattoo caught the rising sunlight just right for me to see shades of blue and red.

"Mr. Foot, 'ave you finished yer assessment o' the damage?" he asked.

The words struck our pirate with fear.

"Not yet sir, I been countin' the prisoners - ten o' them as ye like to know - when they tried to shoot me. They missed, an' 'it one o' their own. Blabberin' to these cowards I learned some valuable information: the ship's maps be in the captain's third drawer."

Mr. Foot couldn't have given his speech fast enough. The other pirate looked him over in silence as if he didn't believe him. He gave Mr. Foot a cool thank you and a stern order to finish the assessment of the ship. The wood-toothed pirate scrambled away, taking quick notes of the ship's condition, and left us alone to tend to our wounded ship mates.

Chapter 3
The Papers

By Thor R

In our solitude, the Surgeon and Keith tended to Thorne's wound, while the Reverend tended our souls. The Reverend had initially sunk back into himself, clutching his chest, but then something seemed to awake in him and he put himself back to the task. I admired how they kept their own spirits up while focusing on their work. I was eager for my father to burst upon us, free us from our prison, and complete this admirable trio. But then I remembered that he was gone, and a fresh wave of grief suffocated me.

As the danger of the moment wore off, the crew began to whisper about the pirate captain whose flag we now sailed under. They all shared, in hushed tones, the rumors they had heard. Keith said that he had blockaded an entire city port with just one ship, another related how he had the audacity to steal money from the King, and one said that he was an undead spirit - rejected by Davy Jones himself. The Reverend shared the most peculiar story though; he said the Captain never told a lie.

In hindsight this talk didn't help our situation, it just produced a greater aura around our captor, and tempted us to admire a devil. However, the fanciful stories did provide a much-appreciated distraction from our dismal situation. The stories particularly dulled the pangs of hunger. It also yielded some facts that the crew had gleaned from the pirates, and what they had learned while in port. The pirates' ship was named Fancy Revenge, the Crown had placed a bounty on their heads for nearly a decade, and they were rumored to be the richest men in the West Indies. During a lull in the murmuring, I inquired into Thorne's injury.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you," he barked, "Now that you have an iron cage and what's left of the crew to protect you, you find it necessary to defend yourself."

"At least you have less holes than the ship," Keith quipped. Thorne shot him a deadly look.

"He wanted to fight," the Reverend said, "but I stopped him."

The crew turned to look at him.

He continued, "Captain Johnson gave Nathan his orders, and he obeyed. He saved my life from that wretched, wood-toothed pirate. Besides, the boy just lost his father, the same as we have all lost friends, so please show him some grace. Stop shoveling your ill fortune onto him."

Thorne gave the Reverend a cutting look, but only to save face. As I watched him, Thorne appeared humbled by the holy man's reprimand. I appreciated the Reverend's constant defense and it seemed to allay the scorn of the crew, but I knew that I had let the ship down and, worse, my father.

I knew in my head that my father, Captain Brett Johnson, was dead. But, now that the excitement of immediate danger was gone, that knowledge seeped into my heart. I felt an ocean of tears welling up inside of me, but didn't dare shed them. All that was good and pleasurable in the world seemed a knave and a lie.

The Surgeon saw that I was distraught. Having a break from tending Thorne, he turned his attention to me.

"I'm sorry that I've neglected you. Are you hurt?" he asked.

I shook my head, avoiding looking at him. He began an examination any way, and I didn't resist. He saw the cuts across my jacket where the wood-toothed pirate had slashed. He felt underneath my jacket for any blood, and I felt his warm hand across my heart. I felt a moment of relief and security, but it quickly turned to bitterness and I brushed him off. I increasingly didn't want any company. He examined his hand for blood, and while he did not find any my heart still felt cold and bloodless.

"Whatever is in your jacket pocket seems to have saved you," he said, and then left me alone to my thoughts.

Time dragged on. My soul itched intolerably from the crammed space, and the other sailors seemed distraught too at their own misfortunes. The pirates found the fresh beer stores as the sun had begun to set - nearly a whole day after they first attacked - and they began to carouse. Some of the crew started to fall asleep despite their hungry bellies. Keith made a joke about how they shouldn't have eradicated all the rats before leaving port.

I laid against the hull of the ship trying to find some sort of respite from consciousness. I thought about my father and what I could have done to save him, and why I was spared while he perished. A wicked, but inevitable, emotional practice I now know. I tried to recall the few memories I had of England. I tried to hold off the memories of our time in the West Indies. I remembered the item that lay in my jacket pocket and thought about examining it, but elected to try resting instead. I slept fitfully as my body craved sleep, but my mind screamed to make sense of it all. Then a small noise caught my ear.

I opened my eyes and saw everyone asleep, except the Reverend. He was slowly and patiently reaching through the bars for a wooden table. With his long arms he had just enough reach to grab it. Then over the next several minutes he used the ocean's sounds and the ship's lurches to pull the table closer to the cell without the pirate crew noticing. I saw that the pistol that the pirate had thrown was on this table, and I thought that the Reverend was showing uncommon shrewdness and valor. As I continued watching, he pulled a roll of papers from his coat. He stuffed the items inside a drawer, and then gave the table a push in order to put it out of his reach. The push launched the pistol off the table and onto the floor behind some barrels. My hope fell into the pit of my stomach.

I laid there in astonishment, totally bewildered by his actions.

"Sir, what was that?" I asked.

He whirled around in surprise. He gestured for me to stay silent, and then looked around to see if anyone else had seen us: no one had.

"Your father charged me to protect those letters with my life and..." he trailed off before starting up again, "They are worth more than this ship. No one can know about them, especially not the pirates. They are meant for a man named Jacob."

Chapter 4
The Reverend

By Thor R

"Who is Jacob," I asked.

"I don't know. It was someone close to your father," he responded.

"Why did you stuff them in table?"

"I don't know how much longer I have."

I wanted to ask him more, but a noise caught our ear and he signaled me to be silent. The Reverend was extremely serious, so I didn't press him further. As I sat there, the stillness of the night allowed the burdens of the day to overwhelm me, and I couldn't go back to sleep. After a while, when the phantom threat had passed. I looked the Reverend in the eye and asked, "why is all this happening?" He looked around and when he felt safe, he turned to me. His countenance was one of compassion, as I imagined Jesus viewed the poor and sick.

"I don't know, Nathan. But I know it's not what our Lord intends. He is a good father. There's no evil that can't be redeemed, and he will work this all out for our good so that our pains are not without worth, as hard as it may seem to understand now."

I took the spiritual medicine dutifully, trusting that it would work its healing powers in me. I took it because I trusted in the Reverend, and not necessarily in the Lord to whom he referred.

"Will we survive?" I asked, revealing how scared I was.

He thought for a moment, then closed his eyes in prayer before reciting, "'And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better.'" He opened his eyes and looked at me. "I don't know if we'll survive, but God's purposes will be accomplished."

This provided some comfort for my soul, but I suspect that the Reverend understood that I acted more out of duty than faith.

"I hope these demons all rot in hell," I said.

The Reverend shot a piercing look.

"We have all fallen short of the glory of God. My life testifies that the worst of sinners can find salvation. No one is beyond redemption."

Suddenly, we heard the thud of footsteps, as someone came walking down the stairs. The commotion woke the crew, and we watched in amazement as the lantern light revealed the red-bearded pirate scratching himself and sauntering towards us. I was surprised to see that he was not drunk like the rest of his comrades. A drunk pirate followed close behind and unlocked the brig.

We all sat and watched as he approached with a roll of paper in his hand. Before he could say a word, the drunk pirate grabbed Keith by the throat and pulled him to his feet.

"All ye stand before the Quartermaster!" the drunk pirate bellowed.

We shot up like bullets from a gun.

He counted us before he started his interrogation. Satisfied that we were all there, he began.

"Before ye all meet our 'onorable Cap'n Stith, we need some information from ye: what be yer professions, yer ship's name, mission an' previous bearing?"

We looked at him in silence, not knowing what was in our best interest or what good Christian sailors should do. Although not seamen, the Surgeon and Reverend were the most respected in that brig, so they felt compelled to speak first.

"I'm the Surgeon. We sail on the Lady Rebecca, but I do not know where we were headed."
Before the pirate could question him further, the Reverend stepped in.

"I'm the Reverend for the ship, and we fulfilled our mission ferrying people to the new world and were sailing back east to England with prisoners to stand trial."

The pirate waited patiently as he listened to the rest of us describe our duties and confirm the Surgeon and Reverend's facts. No skilled men or officers were left from our crew, other than the Surgeon and Reverend. We were all young or inexperienced seamen, and this seemed to disappoint the quartermaster. I thought he might just walk away after silently contemplating us, but he said something instead.

"Who 'ere knows about these maps?"

Another silence ensued. I wondered what our enigmatic captor wanted.

"I do."

All eyes turned to the Reverend. His strong gaze and firm frame did credit to his profession. I'll never forget the strength he exuded in that moment.

"Ah, Reverend, ye was the one to 'elp us locate the maps in the first place. Ye plan to 'elp us again?"

"I want to keep the crew safe. If I tell you what I know about the maps, would you let us down in a row boat and let us sail away?"

A smirk escaped the pirate's stoic face.

"No," he said flatly, "tell me 'ow old the maps be, who 'ad made them, if ye found them accurate, an' 'ow ye knew so much about them an' I will let ye live a little longer."

The Reverend stared at the pirate in silence in a stoic refusal. When the pirate discerned that he had mis-stepped, he spoke again.

"Reverend, ye are an 'onorable man. Ye wouldn' allow anything to 'appen to your crew. Would ye?"

"Sweet words spoken through bars quickly lose their charm," the Reverend responded.

"Ok, I will offer a deal of safety if ye can answer my questions."

The Reverend, satisfied, provided answers to all the questions.

"Now fer me proposition," the pirate said. "Yer maps 'ave given us our new bearin' an' we need more crew members to 'elp us get there, so we be recruitin'. Who among ye wants to forsake yer petty virtues an' dismal situation to join the sweet trade? We promise riches an' freedom in proportion to yer 'ard work an' duty. Ye will get an equal vote in our ship's government in accordance with the ship's articles. All ye 'ave to do be sign the articles, take an oath, an' forfeit yer most valuable, material possession."

The crew fell silent again as they contemplated this new reality. The Reverend protested but the pirate silenced him saying he had kept his word. I burned with anger as I prayed for fire from heaven to consume them all. The red-bearded pirate saw my savage look and smiled with bemusement. I would have lunged at him had the Surgeon not held me back. The Reverend felt the growing uneasiness of the crew and felt compelled to speak up on behalf of us all.

"Our counter offer is that you give us back control of our ship and leave us in peace, and I will pray for your souls," he said.

Even at my young age I saw the pointlessness of his words, but since then I've grown to admire him at least for his courage. The pirate turned to him in disgust.

"Posturin' an' demands ain't becomin' fer ye just as barterin' isn't. Ye must stick to confessionals. Besides, it'll be a cold day in 'ell when the Royal Navy comes to yer aid."

A hand shot up, then two, then Keith's. Eventually, nearly half of our remaining crew chose to join the pirates. The drunk pirate released his new shipmates. What was left of the crew - the Surgeon, the Reverend, Thorne, myself, and one other sailor named Colin - sat shocked. I felt a mixture of betrayal and confusion. I wish I had put up a fight, but everything happened so fast that I didn't know how to react. My mind was numb.

Then the pirate asked the Reverend to come with them, in spite of the fact that he didn't raise his hand. I was confused but the Reverend understood. I looked to the Surgeon and he understood something too. He shook hands with the Reverend and asked for him to come back soon.

"Don't worry Priest, you'll be aft in yer cell soon enough. As long as ye say de proper things."

The red-bearded pirate signaled for the Reverend and new recruits to walk ahead of him. He looked back at us, still in the brig, as if taking a mental inventory. In a moment they were on the upper deck. I never saw the Reverend again.

Chapter 5
The Sacrifice

By Thor R

We could hear some of what happened on deck, but we couldn't see anything. Over the ensuing minutes, we heard thuds, murmurs, splashes, and silence. We saw a pirate come below deck to go to my father's quarters, but he left empty handed. The hours passed by, and we didn't see or hear anyone else. I remembered the red-bearded pirate's ominous warning about saying the right thing. The thought that the Reverend had not survived crossed my mind, but I banished it from my thoughts.

"Why didn't you join the pirates?" Thorne asked. "You've been their best ally."

The words cut me to the quick, but I tried to imitate my father's courage and the Reverend's magnanimity.

"I want them dead just as much as you," I responded.

"All you have done is make noise, and not when we needed you to. You didn't even charge with your knife when the red beard stood within arm's reach."

"I lost my knife."

"You lost your --" He bit his tongue to stop from raising his voice. "You lost your knife, you lost us the ship, you lost your father. Can you hold onto anything?"

I began to cry. It slowly escalated into me weeping. Through the tears I saw Thorne give a wry smile. Then a hand flashed across his face. The Surgeon had slapped him. The Surgeon told Colin to switch places with Thorne, keeping him as far away from me as possible.

"You should have joined the pirates, Thorne. You're acting like one," the Surgeon said.

"I might have, had they a doctor," he shot back.

I abandoned all inhibitions and wept into the Surgeon's chest. No one seemed to care about the pirates hearing, since they all seemed dead to the world in their drunkenness. The silence, emotional trauma, and sheer exhaustion finally overwhelmed my senses, and I fell asleep.

The exodus of half our crew gave us more room in the cell, so I woke up with my face on the wet wood floor. My fellow inmates were eating something, so I shot up to see what it was. The Surgeon handed me some hardtack. The hard, stale bread was meager and had a little mold. I devoured it though. It certainly did not satisfy, but it delayed starvation.

Once I looked up from my meal, I saw Keith's face staring at us through the bars. I would have lunged at him, but Thorne's words still rang in my ears.

"Keith snuck us some hardtack and said he would try to bring us more when he could," Colin said.

"What happened to the Reverend?" I blurted out.

Keith looked conflicted. He looked around to see if anyone else was watching. It was still night, and he was satisfied that he wouldn't be detected.

"After the Reverend's words didn't go over so well with the pirates, I knew we were going to need another plan. I thought that I might better serve our chances of escaping or fighting off the pirates if I became one of them, so that's why I defected."

I gave him a critical look. "Why wouldn't he just fight?" I thought. The Surgeon sensed my disbelief and said, "He wouldn't risk his life if he had truly turned pirate."

"Anyway," Keith said, "when we went up on deck the Quartermaster, that is the red-bearded pirate, began inspecting our mouths and teeth for signs of scurvy. As if anticipating a question, the Quartermaster told the Captain that the Surgeon had decided not to join the crew. I heard the Captain click his tongue in disappointment. We then filed through and handed over our most valuable possessions: compasses, small knives, etc. Another pirate patted us down to ensure we had been 'honest'."

"What about the Reverend?" I asked.

"His face was emotionless," Keith whispered. "Then the Captain spoke. He had a cheery voice and stood behind me. He said, 'So, this is the new crew, Redbeard?' I heard the Captain slowly pace behind us, inspecting us. 'Do we have the Bible for the articles and oath?' the Captain asked. The Quartermaster asked the Reverend for his Bible, and said that he could then return to his cell. 'I can't do that,' the Reverend responded.

"The Captain said he admired the Reverend's honesty but would pull the Scriptures off his dead body if he needed to. The Reverend said that he didn't have any Bible to give. The Captain couldn't believe that the Reverend was telling the truth. The Reverend, who was as calm as a dove, said that he had left the Bible in the Captain's quarters. That was the Reverend's fatal error. The Captain sent a pirate to go look for the Bible, but returned with nothing. The Captain then said, 'You have lied Reverend. That's not very becoming of your profession. And as you know, our ship does not tolerate liars.' The Reverend stayed silent for a moment, before quoting what I think was a psalm. This was anathema to Captain Stith and he gave the order to his pirates to throw him overboard."

Keith paused and looked around to see if anyone was now listening. My heart screamed for the Reverend's fate, but my mouth stayed silent. I looked to the rest of our crew and they looked equally distraught and helpless. When Keith was sure that no one else could hear he finished his story.

"They took the Reverend away. Redbeard said, 'those were not the right things to say.' The Reverend struggled to break free, but we heard him yell in pain after they stabbed him in the side, which bled all the fight out of him. He then began saying his prayers over himself and his persecutors, blessing them. They stripped him naked, threw him overboard and we heard a splash and nothing else. After the pirates rifled through his clothes, they reported that the Reverend did not, in fact, have a Bible."

Chapter 6
The Bible

By Thor R

Keith then heard a noise and ran off. I didn't blame him, I just hoped that he would keep his promise to return. The next couple of hours became the loneliest of my life. Although the sun soon came up, it brought no warmth or clarity to our dark cell. The loss of the Reverend started to weigh its heaviest as the lamp on the stand had now been snuffed out. As we sat mute, all we could hear was the knocking of water against the side of the boat.

Colin began to feel sick, so the Surgeon began tending to him as best he could. This helped to keep his spirits up since it gave him a task. He lamented not being able to access his medicines. I looked over at Thorne, who still nursed his injury from the gunshot, and my heart went out to him. I hoped he would not die, to prevent another death from haunting my conscience. I offered him my relatively clean shirt, since his was soaked in blood. Thorne refused any help. He didn't want any help from me. I wondered if he regretted not joining the pirates.

Everything was quiet above deck as the hours rolled on. We heard a few of the routine noises of seafaring, but it seemed many of the pirates had returned to their sloop to rest. I guess even pirates have a limit to their carousing and need sleep. The current solitude reminded me of the book I had in my jacket pocket. When I pulled it out, my heart turned to stone. It was the Reverend's Bible. I had seen him hold and quote from it a hundred times as he ministered to our crew. I thrust it back into my jacket before anyone else could see it.

I began to spiral deeper into despair, as I thought and felt responsible for the Reverend's death. The weight of all the events of the past two days crushed me. The Surgeon asked me what was going on, but then the red-bearded quartermaster approached our brig. He came with another pirate to do his bidding. They didn't open the cell this time, and I instinctively hid the Bible from their sight.

"Surgeon, have you reconsidered your position? There doesn't seem much fortune in rotting in a cell," the Quartermaster asked.

"I'm not becoming a pirate," he simply responded.

"We thought you might say that. We have some decent food here if you think that might persuade you."

The Quartermaster signaled for the other pirate to show the wine, cheese and bread that they had pilfered from my father's quarters. I saw the Surgeon's eyes light up, but after a second of consideration, he firmly shook his head. The Quartermaster stood shocked. He looked the Surgeon up and down, wondering how a starving man could reject such high seas delicacies. He took a bite of cheese and a swig of wine, and asked again if the Surgeon would join.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't see much fortune in joining the sweet trade."

The Quartermaster looked at the rest of us and seemed disappointed. I think he expected us to look more haggard. While I was certainly hungry, Keith's hardtack kept my stomach from making the decisions that my head and heart should make.

"I will be happy to see any patients that you may have, though," the Surgeon said. "Mr. Foot can testify that I see the patient first and not the profession. You need not fear that I will use medicine to harm you. I gave my Hippocratic oath and I know you all understand oaths."

The last part of the Surgeon's speech seemed to be the key for the Quartermaster. He signaled for the other pirate to unlock the door.

"But," the Surgeon interjected, "you must allow me to bring back medicines and supplies to the brig so I can tend to the injured in here as well."

The Quartermaster hesitated but reluctantly agreed, and the Surgeon left to return to his table, giving me a wink as he left.

Chapter 7
The Remark

By Thor R

Soon after the Surgeon left, Keith snuck back to see us. We scarfed down what food he had brought and thanked him. Keith smiled knowing that he had done some good.

"I told the crew that I needed to see the Surgeon, so I don't have much time," he said.

With all the willpower I could muster I gave a portion of what little I had back to Keith and told him to share with the Surgeon. Colin looked ashamed and Thorne didn't seem phased.

"Wh-what happened after the Reverend was... thrown overboard?" Colin asked.

"Well," Keith whispered. "The Captain said that we couldn't sign the Articles without taking the oath on a Bible. So we're slaves for the time being. He said that the crew would not harm us and we received our possessions back as a sign of goodwill.

"Then Captain Stith addressed the crew, 'After studying our new map,' he said, 'the island appears ideal for performing some much-needed maintenance on the ships. So prepare to careen them when we arrive. First, our new acquisition then our sloop. As usual, take your orders from Redbeard. Mr. Foot, prepare a list of supplies you need.'"

I didn't think this new information helped our situation, but it seemed to strike Thorne a serious a blow. In a whisper, I asked what the Captain's words meant.

"It means we're doomed," Thorne said. "Any hope of the Royal Navy coming to save us diminishes with each additional league we cross."

Still not understanding, I asked more pointedly what "careening" was.

Thorne responded, "They will sail the ship onto the beach and turn it over onto its side to conduct repairs. They'll erase any sign that this was the Lady Rebecca. They'll probably make us conduct the repairs too, then maroon us."

I saw Colin start to sweat and breathe quickly. Keith's eyes darted back and forth as he processed what he heard. Thorne looked stoic as he stared off into the distance. A spirit of indignation and action welled up within me, and I clenched my fists. I couldn't let my father's memory die with the ship.

"We must do something!" I said. My voice was considerably above a whisper, and we all snapped our heads to watch the stairs to see if we had been overheard.

"What do you propose we do?" Thorne sneered.

"Let's fight! Let's break out of this prison, rally our former crew members, and take back our ship by surprise. Once they get it on the beach, our chances are slim. At least now we have a fighting chance!"

Thorne looked at me with disgust, while Keith and Colin showed a flicker of hope. The fighting spirit sprung back up within me, but was fueled purely by indignation.

"That's easier said than done," Thorne said. "You keep wanting to fight, but it only gets us into more trouble, especially me! What if I gut you first so that you have an injury yourself, then you can talk about escaping?"

I felt the sting of his criticism, and if I had to do it over again, I would have acted with more compassion. I reflected on my father and wondered what he would think of me if we just quit. The thought overcame me and I shot back with venom.

"Captain Falmoth would not stand for this cowardice. If you're not willing to fight, then you deserve whatever fate Providence delivers. No one in here is any better than those scoundrels upstairs if you're not willing to fight for King, Country, and each other's lives."

Thorne was ready for a fight and stood up. He responded with malice in equal measure, "Do you think you're the Prince of Wales? Since the Captain's dead, you're giving orders now?" In a half-mocking tone he added, "I'm the son of Sir Brett Falmoth, so I am the Captain now."
Little did we know how that flippant remark would change our lives.

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