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.