Copyright © 2018
Prologue; Thanks again to blackrandI1958 for the opportunity to participate in another special event, Siren's Song. I have never written a sea-going saga before and most of you will probably tell me I should have gone down with my ship but I wanted to give it a try with a favorite genre from my youth, the swashbuckler.
I didn't want to write a Robert Louis Stevenson story with all the "ye's," "arr's," & "aye's," so I didn't get into too much pirate vernacular although I did try to write the story with a flavor of the times.
I do hope you enjoy my naughty nautical narrative of a seafaring pirate and his love. Of course, as always, I enjoy hearing from me hearties in the comments.
Oh, and If you catch me on the mixed metaphors just chalk them up to literary license.
PS. If you'd like a look behind the scenes, I've posted a very old photo of the real life location that inspired the story. It is the actual ruins of Sir Francis Drake's castle in St. Thomas. It's in the visual arts corner of the bulletin board under my pen name and is labeled "Pirate's Castle."
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1626; off the coast of Saint Thomas, a small island in the Caribbean.
The massive ship was but a toy for the raging sea as a churning cauldron of thunderous black clouds turned day into night. Briefly, the sky of ink shimmered with brightness and the sound of rumbling cannon fire filled the air as lightning bolts were hurled down from the heavens by Zeus himself.
Heavy wooden timbers creaked loudly, twisting and bending under the strain of the battering white caps. The royal Spanish galleon rose and fell with the turquoise waters of the angry Caribbean, its fate seized in the grasp of Poseidon, and he was in a bad mood.
Below deck, frightened men huddled together helplessly listening to their ship struggling to survive. Cannons broke loose from their moorings and rumbled across the fo'c'sle deck above their heads, crashing into the ships battle tested structure with the force of Thor's hammer.
All hope was lost when the foremast snapped and collapsed to the ship's starboard side. Thrashing around while still tethered to its rigging, it caused the mighty vessel to list drastically and set a new course for the jagged volcanic rocks guarding the harbor.
The proud figurehead that protruded from her bow exploded on impact and those who could not hold on tumbled through the air as the razor sharp rocks ripped through the wooden hull of the doomed vessel. Roaring, ocean waters rushed in and seasoned sailors wept with the dreadful prophesy of a watery grave in Davy Jones locker.
After viewing the galleon's fate through a long spyglass, the tall man perched high atop his rocky crow's nest considered the risks. There was a very small window of opportunity but it was too good to pass up. "To the long boats, men; we've no time to lose," he yelled. The landing crew of forty-three men knew no fear as they rushed to the boats, screaming cries of battle and plunder.
She was the San Cristabol, a Spanish Galleon bound for the new world but blown off course by the storm. Before she sank, Sir Guy Ainsley, alias Captain Hawkins would capture its bounty of treasures in the name of mother England.
Large, open boats maned by eight oarsmen on either side put their backs into it and rowed with all their might as the furious sea lifted the crafts high in the air only to plunge them back down to the depths of another rising swell. If not for the expertise of the crew, the dinghies would certainly be no match for the violent tempest.
As the small fleet neared the sinking galleon the men tossed grappling hooks tied to knotted ropes over her gunwales and started the treacherous climb aboard. With sabers ready, their feet hit the deck prepared to fight but there was no one to meet their challenge.
Captain Hawkins looked aft to the damaged door of the ship commander's cabin. Therein would lay a treasure of gold doubloons and silver pieces of eight. "This way, men," he called out, holding his cutlass high over his head.
As they entered the officer's quarters a shot rang out and a steel ball went wide, blistering the wooden bulkhead and missing its intended victim by four inches. The impeccably dressed Spaniard, having missed with his only shot, stood proud ready to face his fate. Hawkins took pity on him but before he could give the order to stand down, his men opened fire and the brave captain fell dead.
There was no time to honor the courage of their foe. The angry sea had reached the top deck and was lapping at their boots.
"Look around, men," he ordered.
"Captain, here it is."
The chest was even bigger than anticipated. It would take four of his strongest men to bear its weight. The water was now ankle deep as the men maneuvered their plunder into the waiting long boats. Now only captain Hawkins remained on deck the drowning vessel. As skipper, the men under his command were his responsibility. As such, he was always first in and last out.
Just as he was about to disembark the sinking ship, he heard the unmistakable shrill pitch of a woman's scream. He knew they left no one behind in the captain's quarters. That left only one other cabin from where the scream could have come. It was the only other cabin still above water. "Keep'er steady, I'll be right back," he yelled to the disgruntled men trying desperately to keep their craft from being swamped.
Captain Hawkins ran to the cabin, fired a shot into the locked door, and broke it down the rest of the way with a couple of good kicks. The water was now starting to rise more rapidly and partially covered the prone figure of a woman. Her colorfully lavish dress floated with the sway of the ship. She was unconscious from a blow to the head. He could see blood dripping from a wound over her left eye. Evidently the young lady had lost her footing and bumped into something when the ship shifted. Luckily she fell on her back and her face was still above water.
He rushed in, cradled her in his arms then threw her over his shoulder. A moment later he reappeared to the shocked expressions of his men. Carefully, he handed her limp body over the rail to his first mate then climbed aboard himself. It was a death defying trip back to shore but all were safe as they stood on the bank and watched the once proud and imposing ship slip beneath the pounding waves.
Captain Hawkins and his men braved the weather while they headed for their homes. The force of the horizontal rain stung their flesh as they hiked up the trail to the fortress. The treasure chest was locked in the crypt so temptation wouldn't befall any of his men. The woman's fate would be of a similar nature.
"Bring her inside, men," he ordered as he entered his quarters.
"And who is that?" Asha looked concerned.
"A wench we captured from the galleon," barked the captain. "She can give assistance with your chores around here."
Asha had been the captain's personal servant for many years. She, along with others, had been dragged from their homes in Africa by Dutch slave traders when they raided her village. Once they were all forced aboard the slave ship they were shackled and corralled below deck like cattle.
