Chapter I

King William III sponsored Captain London Fouste as a privateer during the last few years of The War of the League of Augsburg. After capturing a highly significant Spanish vessel, sailing haphazardly through English waters, Captain Fouste was knighted Sir Fouste. Since that time, he has secretly turned to piracy and managed to keep this fact unnoticed by Royal authority. Assuring his status as a well-known privateer among the people of England, Sir Fouste was, for the most part, a very cunning and charismatic individual. If truth be told, not much else was known about Sir Fouste. His life was a mystery even to King William.

Sir Fouste was tall and built with a slender physique. He wore a filthy cloth patch over his right eye, tied at the back of his head with a simple knot, the ends of which hung low to the center of his back. His hands were always covered with the same unmistakable, faded black leather gloves.

While pursuing this enigmatic life of piracy, Sir Fouste was concurrently commissioned by King William to capture any vessel entering the English territories with the slightest appearance of piracy, mild or otherwise. He was given command over a large English frigate, which King William immediately abandoned all ties to, including the ship’s articles, symbols, and even his Royal name. Sir Fouste then renamed his frigate the Blue Raven and set sail, bound for whatever mispleasures he might dare to engage under the guise of his new commission.

Soon thereafter, Sir Fouste came across Scurvy’s Schooner, a small two-mast vessel captained by a vile little pirate called Scurvy, a name attained by way of the infamous disease which almost took his life two years previous. Somehow Scurvy survived unlike many others aboard his infested schooner. He was a scrawny man with a long crooked nose and a few black teeth intermingled with the many yellow. His clothes were tattered and his pants a little too large for his dimensions.

Scurvy was an expert marksman and master swordsman and controlled his crew through hostile means. A very clever man, Scurvy, through deceitful ways, often procured an unfair share of his crew’s ill-gotten gains.

Now, with an almost completely new crew and a history unbeknownst to most, Scurvy wandered into English waters, not at all intimidated by her laws. Deep within his vengeful eyes could be seen whatever ravenous providence he intended to endure.

As Scurvy sailed carelessly along, the Blue Raven appeared quietly beside him. Amid the apparent intrusion, Scurvy communicated with Sir Fouste through a series of gestures and flagging, which was carried out by a couple of deckhands.

With an understanding now in place, Sir Fouste looked distastefully upon his first mate. “Order the starboard cannons forward.”

Perplexed, his quartermaster questioned, “Cannons, Sir?” The only thing to fire upon was this schooner of no real significance or fortune.

“Challenging my command, boy?” replied Sir Fouste angrily.

“Never, Sir,” the first mate apologetically remitted, concerned for his own well-being, “I’ll do as you wish. I just don’t understand the order.”

“It isn’t your duty to understand,” exacted Sir Fouste, introducing the point of a small dagger to his quartermaster’s chest. Piercing his skin, he shoved the dagger suddenly through. “Never challenge my authority.” Sir Fouste then took it upon himself to call out the orders as his first mate fell dead. “Forward the starboard guns,” shouted Sir Fouste, “and fire on my command!”

No one dared say a word about their fallen first mate, who lay there with his tongue sticking loosely out of his mouth, like a dog. Instantly, twelve loaded cannons were pushed through the starboard gun ports.

Scurvy’s men caught sight of this possible broadside. “Scurvy,” cried one of his men, “I think we’re about to be fired upon!”

Surprisingly undaunted, Scurvy looked on with an arrogant smirk, “Then ready yourselves if ye be men. There be no reason for trepidationedness over a fine and well deserved death! ” Raising his sword in defiance, Scurvy exclaimed, “Ready you for this here atrocity, Maties!”

Scurvy’s quartermaster, Bones Henry, concerned for his life, aptly inquired, “Are we to just sit and await the attack or are we to fight? Where’s the bloomin’ order?”

Scurvy quickly turned to Bones with a nasty scowl, “I give the orders here, mate! Patience! Now, keep her steady as she goes and prepare yourselves for a proper broadside!”

The Blue Raven then abruptly engaged Scurvy’s Schooner. “Fire,” shouted Sir Fouste. All at once twelve cannons roared in one resounding blast, echoing with an awesome reverberation. The schooner took a damaging broadside blow to her weaker starboard hull. Luckily, no other damage was sustained. Though, five of Scurvy’s men lay dead and several wounded.

Calmly, Scurvy turned to his crew. “Stay your course and find me land quickly, before we’re sunk.”

His men could hardly believe what had just transpired as they quickly fled the sudden attack. Sir Fouste gave chase for a moment, allowing Scurvy to escape by means of the shallow waters, which surrounded the small inlets nearby a well-known island deemed, Port of Errors.

A distinguished pirate haven of sorts, Port of Errors fell just outside the jurisdiction of all Royal governments – an unwritten no-man’s land. The weather was always perfect and frequently produced an overly desirable ambiance. Actually nameless and lawless, no man came willingly to this small island town unless by some foolish trade or misfortunate alteration in direction. Pirates and privateers alike chose to cruise out of Jamaica from the Caribbean for months at a time to enjoy what Port of Errors had to offer. Local pirates infested Port of Errors – a kind of Tortuga of the Eastern Atlantic.

Scurvy quickly made his way over the broad reef, toward Port of Errors’ shallow harbor. He knew it was impossible for vessels of considerable size to sail all the way in to port, leaving them too far out to successfully engage him. The tactic of using such a reef was most often used by pirates for an easy escape upon royal intrusion and one that Scurvy was now going to make use of.

Port of Errors was governed unofficially by a hearty and hefty little spud of a man named Darcy Wenham. He wore tightly fitted clothing that enhanced his robust portions to an awkward exaggeration. A self-proclaimed landlubber, he never willingly took to sea on account of his fear of sharks, due to an incident in his earlier years. Wealthier than any other man on Port of Errors, Mr. Darcy, as everyone affectionately referred to him, continued to obtain his riches through bartering and dealing with such fiendish pirates as Sir Fouste, Scurvy and many others.

Mr. Darcy was a very worldly individual. He particularly loved to better the appearance of his boastfully large estate, which was centered atop the only hill with an overlook of the entire south seaboard, east and west. At the same time that Scurvy’s crippled little schooner made it’s way to the west side of Port of Errors, Mr. Darcy stood at his front doorway attempting to direct his servants as to where his expensive new door should undoubtedly be placed. “No! Not like that, you unintelligible buffoons! Turn it inward! I’ll not have a crooked door. What will my guests think of me then?”

“As you ask, Master Darcy,” replied Mbe, the foremost of his four oversized but loyal servants. Directing the other servants, Mbe quite loudly demanded, “Pull it off! We must do it again! And we will keep doing it until you get it right, as Master Darcy intends!”

The three frustrated lower ranked servants could do nothing but look about in complete and total discouragement, indicating the unbelievable amount of time spent on this one project; taking, by no small means, the better part of their entire day, as always.

Then, with pronounced arrogance, Mr. Darcy explained, “The front door to any man’s home is the very first impression upon another. Remember that. And I will not have a pitiable door!”

His servants continued to fidget with the door as Mr. Darcy dictated the how-to’s of handling such a fine piece of decor in the most correct manner. Mr. Darcy smiled pompously with delight as his masterpiece began to come together.

As Mr. Darcy glanced out over the horizon, he caught sight of Scurvy’s sinking ship approaching the west side of the island.

“Oh, no,” he grunted, “why me?” His servants appeared confused as they placed the door in what they thought might be the perfect setting. While his mind weighed on Scurvy, Mr. Darcy shook his head, carelessly vocalizing, “Why me? Drop it, man.” Just then a large “Thump!” abruptly sounded behind him. His servants had taken his last statement as an order and simply dropped the door. Mr. Darcy turned around to find his precious door falling toward him. The door smacked him in the face, forcing his now flaccid body to the porch. Sandwiched between the floorboards and his door, which was now cracked, broken and damaged beyond repair in his opinion, Mr. Darcy incoherently moaned, “Scurvy!” His voice began to fade as he drunkenly continued, “This is your doing.” And everything went black.

Scurvy continued to guide his defeated little schooner toward the west side of Port of Errors; however, taking on too much water to go any further, his ship began to sink where she sat – several hundred meters from shore. The crew had no choice but to enter their longboats and row in as their schooner sank. Smiling surreptitiously, Scurvy was hopeful that word of this sudden engagement upon Scurvy’s Schooner by the Blue Raven would reach every ear on Port of Errors before the close of the day.

Surprisingly Scurvy, an ugly man by all accounts, had a beautiful daughter named Isabel, a stunning young woman who stepped onto the soft and sandy beach with him and his unsightly crew. Although women were restricted from sailing aboard active naval or pirate vessels, Isabel often accompanied her father on particular ventures that might necessitate her specific gifts and talents, such as her attractive appearance.

Port Lorne, another infamous island town and the most visited international harbor in the Eastern Atlantic, had been Isabel’s home for all of her adolescent and adult life. Whilst living on Port Lorne, Isabel discovered much about her assets in a world of self-indulgent men.

Knowing she could get anything she wanted by way of her looks, she often wore long gowns that flowed gently to her toes and accented her feminine shape. Her hair was long and mildly messy, lightly bleached by the sea and sun, which also darkened her soft, perfect skin. Her lips were full and chapped unusually red, but made soft and moist through her use of island cures. Her vast, emerald eyes were innocently sensual, but temptingly sweet. She stood about five and a half feet tall with an appealingly slender build. Isabel was a very striking young woman, a welcomed pleasure to any man’s eye.

She often made certain she was heard, speaking her mind intently. Finally aground, she articulated spitefully to her father. “There better be a good explanation for this!”

“Come now,” said Scurvy, with a twisted smile, “let’s take a stroll, shall we?”

“Where to?” she replied, continuing on in the same frustrated tone, “My belly fancies a fine dish. We don’t need to talk. What we need right now is food, dry clothing and a way off this island.”

Motioning off with a nod of his head, Scurvy insisted, “Izzi, walk with me. Please.” And enduring on in the same fashion, at a whisper’s pitch, he stipulated, “We need to talk and the sooner we conversate the sooner you’ll find yourself off this rock.”

“Then talk,” she quipped with a sarcastic roll of the eye.

“Not here.” he demanded with an anxious sincerity.

“Fine,” she stubbornly agreed. “But you know we don’t belong here.” She quickly turned about without saying another word and began to walk at a brisk pace.

Scurvy turned up his eyes, threw his hands in the air and speaking to himself, questioned aloud, “Why me?” He then began to follow his obstinate daughter in a wretched haste, as Bones led the rest of his crew to a local marketplace where the tavern was located.

Mr. Darcy awoke from his unconscious state, slowly opening his tired eyes. He was dazed and unsure of what happened, “Why the… where am I?”

After the initial shock, Mr. Darcy glanced out toward the broad seaboard from his lofty inland position. He could see Scurvy and Isabel walking along the seashore, while the rest of his unsavory crew wandered into town. They had an appetite and only strong drink and wicked pleasures could satisfy.

Chapter II

John Drake was another well-known pirate captain. He and his mischievous crew were known to occasion Port of Errors quite often. The plundered wealth that pirates often brought with them to Port of Errors was greatly anticipated by the local businessmen, thus warranting a favorable welcome to most every buccaneer.

Captain Drake’s quartermaster, Black-Hearted, was often tasked with trading and bartering with the local businessmen. By way of appearance alone, Black-hearted was intimidating, ensuring a higher margin of profit for Saint Drake, their inaptly named sloop. His hair, black as night, hung low to the center of his back, held up by a bloodstained rag tightly fitted, fixed with a sloppy knot which was tangled through his dirty wool-like hair. He wore proudly, a hat that boasted six distinct holes ripped through, torn and frayed with time, though oddly an equal measure apart. Black-hearted was the stereotypical pirate in word and deed, as well as his looks.

Saint Drake arrived at Port of Errors within a week of Scurvy’s encounter with Sir Fouste. Black-Hearted stepped arrogantly onto the harbor. He was clearly broader than any other man aboard Saint Drake. While on Port of Errors, Black-Hearted consistently found himself at the auction house, as everyone came to know, auctioning off small ships acquired while out at sea.

Scurvy, having lost everything he owned, was in need of such a vessel. Being without money did not deter him, as he was a very resourceful and clever pirate. Upon noticing Saint Drake pulling up to the harbor with two small schooners in tow, Scurvy made his way to the auction house. Knowing that Black-Hearted had an eye for his daughter, Scurvy collected Isabel on his way there.

They entered the auction house through the side door with several vile men. Scurvy and Isabel stood there silent, waiting for the most significant opportunity. Black-Hearted finally arrived, walking in alone. He seemed well versed in the way things worked, stepping up to the auction block with a few forged titles to the two ships he had brought in to shore. In quiet conversation, the auctioneer took the two documents and promptly began the anticipated auctioning of the titles. Black-Hearted made his way to the rear of the small crowd to observe. Various merchants had come with the intention of negotiating, through the auction, a deal with Black-Hearted as they had many times before. For many, these ships were valuable real estate.

Before the auctioning-off of these two ships could really get underway, Scurvy interjected his proposition across the room to the auctioneer. “Against that there title I bid the offer of this, the handsomest young wench your eyes ever did see! It’s a grand deal, to be sure.” Staring the crowd down with an awful grimace, Scurvy stood silent for the answer.

Shocked at Scurvy’s audacity, the auctioneer shouted back in return with a faint and poorly spoken Scottish ascent, “Scurvy, you know you can’t just sell whatever you please! There be proper ways, Chum! And by proper, I mean gold and silver; never the likes of flesh and blood for such prized property.”

“You’ll learn to keep your mouth shut or I be learnin’ you a lesson in considerateness!” countered Scurvy. “She’s a fair young beaut and well worth the lookin’! So, if you don’t mind, she’ll stand as my offer and the only offer worth the price.”

“This here is me very own auction house. No one comes into my house and tells me where to piss. You best mind your ways ‘round here,” demanded the auctioneer. “Besides, who do you think you are in these parts?”

“You dare challenge me, you patronizating old fool!” replied Scurvy. “You know who I am. But it isn’t you I be speaking with; my business is with Hearted, the most feared man in all the Atlantic, both east and west! You’re nothin’ to be feared, Matie. Not like him.”

Black-Hearted kept silent for a moment longer, entertained by the banter, though he was growing bored.

The auctioneer motioned to four men standing poker-faced on either side of the auction block. Black-Hearted just yawned, listening impassively. As the auctioneer’s men cocked their pistols and portentously approached Scurvy, Isabel raised two fingers to her mouth and blew. She was such a small and petite young woman; no one expected such a loud and screaming whistle to sound. Even Black-Hearted woke up from his boredom.

Answering her call, a dozen armed men promptly stormed in through the side door. As they lined the inside of the auction house, Scurvy insisted, “Any protestations? Think hard, me hearties.”

The auctioneer’s men promptly disappeared as the auctioneer cowered, “No, none. No protestations by me, Scurvy.”

“Well then, I bid you my thanks.” Subsequently, attempting to conclude the negotiations, Scurvy cut to the chase and turned to Black-Hearted, making eye contact and motioning to him.

Tired of playing games, Black-Hearted made his way to the front of the house, taking Scurvy aside for privacy. Everyone in the house abruptly broke out into whispers as the two men stepped behind the scaffolding and out of sight. Scurvy’s men quickly descended on Black-Hearted from throughout the auction house. A few silent moments passed and Scurvy’s men, with a distinct look of alarm upon their faces, walked briskly back through the crowd and out the side door.

“What say you, Hearted,” asked Scurvy, without hesitation. “The wench for title and ship, which we both know were acquired by force and most likely at no cost but a few week and feeble men, if any at all.”

“I heard about your run-in with that privateer. I know he sunk your ship. But why is that my problem? Captain Drake and the rest of the crew will not take so kindly to losing a profit on either one of those vessels.”

“Oh, come now, we both know that Captain Drake is sick with scurvy. Drake could very well keel over and die within the coming days. It’s my guess that he’ll not be captain for much longer. Face it, Saint Drake and her crew are under your command and everyone but your captain knows it. Come now, Hearted, you’ve an appetite for my Isabel and all I ask in return is a ship. ‘Tis the only chance I see of getting off this forsaken island without threat to what little crew I have left. I don’t plan on staying here forever. Like you, I belong on the sea and I’ll find no other such gratificational life elsewhere.”

Finally in agreement, Black-Hearted took Isabel as his own, negotiating in addition, ten percent of Scurvy’s booty attained over the next year, during which period Scurvy agreed to sail under Saint Drake’s banner. This deal would ensure that crew and captain would be more accepting.

They took a walk out to the harbor, where this mid-sized, square-rigged vessel sat. It was almost twenty-five meters in length, baring two masts and mounted with six twelve-pound cannons, making her a fairly respectable vessel.

“Your ship, Mate,” Black-Hearted pointed out. “She’s all yours.”

“So, how exactly did you come across that there vessel?” asked Scurvy, when he saw his newly acquired schooner for the first time. It resembled something he might have seen following a small skirmish, but more on the losing side. “It carries some true character.”

“How I come across the vessel is none of your concern. Take her, she’s yours. But, be mindful, your mainmast is a jury. The original was suddenly retired.” He shrugged his shoulders ever so innocently. “We rigged two sails to the mizzenmast, so she’s fast. She’ll carry fifty men and she’s fit for shallow waters.” Upon entering the bilge, several leaks were seen slowly running down her walls, prompting Black-Hearted to continue, “I call her the Weeping Lady.” The leaks were certainly noticeable, but too small to sink her overnight. “You’ll need to man the bilge pumps once in a week until repairs can be made.”

“I should not have a need to man the pumps,” complained Scurvy. “Such leakage should have been taken care of before the bidding.”

“Be grateful you have a ship at all. Is a woman worth the lives of two loyal men? That was the cost of this ship and don’t you forget it.”

Though frustrated, Scurvy was indeed happy to have a ship. The name suited the schooner just fine and therein remained her name, the Weeping Lady.

Though Isabel was used to purchase the Weeping Lady from Back-Hearted, she was strangely happy to be given to him. They seemed to be fond of one another, but never pursued a relationship, considering lifestyles and distance apart. But this deal did make the process a whole lot simpler, without such nonsense as courtship type of talk.

“She’ll be yours so long as she’s inclined to be yours,” mandated Scurvy.

“It’s done then,” finalized Black-Hearted. “We’re agreed.”

Within the next few days Scurvy, along with his crew, patched and repaired the Weeping Lady until they were finally able to set sail. Though, Scurvy still had to remain accessible to Black-Hearted, as their verbal contract had indicated.

Under Darcy’s watchful eye, Black-Hearted assured Isabel a safe home on Port of Errors, purchasing from Darcy a quaint cottage on the edge of his estate on the outskirts of the township. Black-Hearted and Isabel, from that time forth, were together as oft as was permitted by his timely visits to Port of Errors. In her presence Black-Hearted was not the ruthless monster that everyone feared. Isabel was a strong-willed and spirited young woman who managed herself quite well. Everyone that recognized this curious liaison never thought twice about looking at Isabel with undesirable intentions. Not one person living outside Port of Errors, with the exception of Black-Hearted’s closest friends, knew of their relationship and it was meant that way to keep her safe.

As quartermaster, Black-Hearted’s fame exceeded that of his own captain. In his ill condition, Captain Drake struck minimal fear into targeted ships, evoking fewer unforced surrenders. In turn there seemed to be less respect among several members of his wretched crew.

Two weeks after acquiring Isabel from Scurvy, Black-Hearted and four of his closest shipmates crept silently into the captain’s chamber in the dead of one cold and eerie night. Approaching his bedside, Black-Hearted whispered, “Aye, you’ve been a good captain – Captain.”

Captain Drake slowly opened his eyes only to find Black-Hearted standing above him. Before Captain Drake could call out in distress, Black-Hearted shoved a cloth into his throat, busting his lips in several places against his shattered teeth.

Stephen, Eric and Gunner, restrained Captain Drake to keep him from thrashing about. A grotesque sound of gurgling moans filled the emptiness of the room, as the ocean splashed violently from without, rocking the ship up and down. Saint Drake’s every hinge and loose board seemed to come alive with an eerie composition. Suddenly there was only silence.

Black-Hearted pulled the moist rag from Captain Drakes open mouth. Thick salivation pulled stubbornly away from his bloodied lips, clinging to the soiled rag. The smell of vomit and death fill the space within the walls of the captain’s chamber.

“Stephen, Eric, retire to your quarters,” whispered Black-Hearted, “In the morning you’ll have a real captain.”

“Aye, Hearted,” they replied, walking cautiously and carefully off. Black-Hearted held the other man back for a brief moment. “Gunner, you’ll be quartermaster. I’ll have none other.”

“Aye and you’ll need no other, Captain Hearted.”

Chapter III

Black-Hearted’s election to captainship was sure with the death of Captain Drake. Black-Hearted closed his tired eyes, unremorseful and proud.

The night grew bitterly cold as Saint Drake continued to sway. Fading off to sleep, he recalled the fond and bitter memories of a childhood that led him to this point in his poignant life; memories that have haunted him for years. His eyes began to flutter in a whirlwind of excitement as the past came flooding back.

It was an early February morn. The day was gloomy and wet, blanketed with a thick layer of fog carried in by a slight westward breeze. Torn, broken and without hope, Henry approached the large wooden doors to the old cathedral. Tears swelled deep within his troubled eyes. It was the only place of worship in the small township of St. Thomas. Henry held his little son, whom he’d loved and cared for, for all of his five years, cradled within his lifeless arms. Although this orphanage was within the walls of an old cathedral, the boy’s odds of living a good life were not in his favor.

Heavily dispirited, Henry spoke to an elderly Irish priest at the cathedral doors. Father Whittaker was a kind old fellow who hadn’t the means to truly care for all the children in the orphanage. His white hair was thinning and his skin discolored from age and experience. He spoke boldly with a broken accent and his voice was noticeably as old as he, raspy but somehow still intimidating. He hunched slightly and walked with a mild limp. He’d lived within the walls of this cathedral for a goodly portion of his life. And although he could not realistically provide for the children, he testified in good faith, “The Lord will provide, me old friend.”

The boy’s father, crushed and tattered, whispered forlornly, “The boys name is Davy. Tis the only thing I ask to be left him of me. I’ve nothing else. Where I go now, the child is to know nothing of.”

“How has it come to this?” replied Father.

“Just remember, you’ve never seen my face; you don’t know me at all. Take the boy. Please, make him a better life than was mine.” He broke down and lowered his head, placing his brow upon his son’s tiny chest.

“Henry,” addressed the priest, “will you not come to find him again?”

Henry lifted his head and without a trace of emotion, replied, “He can never know what has come of me. I’m already dead.”

“Dead? You stand before me and tell me that you’re dead? What’s become of you?”

“I’ve been marked. If it weren’t for my son, I would have died long ago. Things change. I thank you for your help and your silence.”

“It’s done then?”

“Aye, ‘tis done, says I.”

“Then say no more, for even these walls have ears. Go now, before you be discovered.”

Taking a few steps backward in an awkward shuffle, Henry shamefully lowered his head in self-disgust, voicing one last time, “Fair well, my boy. I’ll always love you.”

Davy awoke, looked up and saw his father walking away. The priest held him close. Davy shouted out with a deafening cry, “No!”

Although he deeply ached to, his disheartened father, now too far away, covered his ears and sobbed. Yet in vain, Davy hollered out with a painful plea, “Da!” But to his astonishment, his father faded into the dimness of the morning light until he was completely out of sight. The doors gradually closed. At that very moment, the world that Davy once knew was suddenly stripped away. Shouting out and wiggling about for his release, Davy was carried off to his new quarters, being that of a large soiled room. He was set gently down on a small nest of bedding beside a few other lads. Before he could get up, the door was slammed shut and locked.

In the morning young Davy awoke curled up securely in a far corner of the room facing the wall. Taking a look around, a tear formed in the inner corner of his eye.

Joseph, one of the other boys who’d been curiously observing Davy for some time, ripped a piece of cloth from his own sleeve and wiped the tears from Davy’s eyes. Soon, the fear Davy had felt vanished into a quiet, unspoken gratitude. A third boy named Charley sat with Davy and Joseph, mostly for moral support. Charley was the eldest of the three, followed closely in age by Joseph, who was an especially filthy child. Davy was only five.

After a day or two had passed, Davy still wouldn’t leave his bedding – even for the want of food. Eventually, too many days had gone by, the old Irish priest slowly opened the door and walked in. “How’re you doing me lad? What ails your poor soul? It makes me sad to see you so. Please, answer me, child. What ails you so that you don’t have the stomach to eat?” Davy gave no answer. Father Whittaker sat down and talked until Davy was comfortable enough to respond. After several hours the old priest was able to leave satisfied that Davy would be well enough off. Joseph and Charley had been secretly taking food.

The children were never allowed to leave the cathedral grounds until they were entrusted into someone’s care, which realistically might never happen. Over the next four years Charley, Joseph and Davy would become the best of friends.

On their fifth year together at the orphanage, a young boy and his sister were found sitting at the oversized cathedral doors. The young boy never gave his name. He was angry and hurtful. After enough time had passed, he acquired the name “Grim”, due to his open bitterness. His little sister’s name was Elizabeth. The two of them mostly kept to themselves.

One quiet evening Charley, Joseph and Davy, being the mischievous little rascals that they were, ventured into the kitchen to steal a loaf of bread as they had done numerous times before. They’d never been caught in the past and thought little about the consequences. But Grim was a discouraged little brat. He was jealous of Davy and the attention Emily, a petite six-year-old girl, had been giving him. She was a sickly little orphan, as were they all. Her hair always hid her soiled face, but she was as cute as they came.

Grim was so envious of Davy that he ratted to Mistress Riley, the head mistress, about the boys’ sinful thievery. Grim secretly warned Mistress Riley as to when they might steal again, just to have a chance to be alone with Emily once they were caught. Emily had no feelings for Grim, but he didn’t care so long as she could be seen with him and not Davy.

Mistress Riley kept a keen eye on the three boys. She soon caught them red handed and prudently swatted their hands with a large wooden stick. She busted the stick across Davy’s knuckles, breaking his right index finger. Amazingly enough, Joseph sustained the same exact injury. They both cried out in agony and ran to their quarters followed by Charley, who was punished in the same fashion but came away with nothing more than a small bruise.

“There be no grub tonight for the lot of you,” said Mistress Riley, as she forced them into their room, concluding, “You thievin’ little devils.”

She then forcefully shut and locked the door until the rest of the children could finish their supper. Witnessing the entire ordeal, Emily ran to her quarters and cried into her bedding, unwilling to eat until her friends were released.

Grim approached her as she lay alone. “Why are you crying?”

Emily sat up with tears swelling in her eyes. “You did this to them. I know you did. You told Ms. Riley, didn’t you?”

“They deserved it,” he replied, smiling with satisfaction.

Grim’s sister, Elizabeth, meandered innocently in. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” snapped Grim, glaring back at Emily. He slammed the door on his way out shouting, “nothing!”

As Davy lay weeping under his covers, Joseph took the rag that he kept in his pants pocket and wiped away the tears from Davy’s eyes. It was the same cloth that Joseph had used to wipe away Davy’s tears the night his father left him, almost five years ago.

The next morning was Sunday. Father Whittaker took a good look at the boys’ busted fingers. He bandaged them with some old rags, using small wooden sticks as splints. Their fingers never did properly heal.

As soon as Father Whittaker left their quarters, Davy approached Grim, who had a big smirk on his face. Without saying a word Davy slugged him in the jaw with his injured fist. “Don’t you ever do that again. I’m not afraid of anyone, least of all you. And if you ever chance to hurt me or my friends again, not even Mistress Riley could stop me from walloping you good!”

As Davy stood dominantly over Grim, Elizabeth wept for her big brother, the only family she had left. Upset and angry, she clinched her fists, biting down on her lip in silent rage. She truly detested Davy.

Davy promptly departed the room, wandering down the hall and out of sight, doubling over in agony as he held his fist tight to his belly. Placing his mouth to his arm, he muffled his cry, yelling out in pain and tearing slightly.

Later that night, Mistress Riley brought the boys a small piece of bread and a cup of water to share between the three of them. “It’ll do you good to confess the evils of your thievery,” she strongly advised. “You’re sure to be damned. Mark my words. Only Purgatory awaits such sinners unless they confess.”

Charley took Mistress Riley’s hasty words to heart and went to Father Whittaker to confess for fear of Hellfire. Following a lengthy confession and meaningful discussion, Charley did feel better, but Father Whittaker could sense he may be ready for a more lasting commitment.

“Will you accept the Good Lord into your life, me son?” asked the father.

“If I do, can I go to heaven, Father?”

Father Whittaker laughed, “Of course you may, me lad.”

“There’s more to lose if I don’t, right?”

“Ah, to be sure. ‘Tis true.”

“Done,” said Charley, stretching out his hand to seal the deal. Father Whittaker simply placed his hand in Charley’s. When he let go, Charley found that the Father had placed a piece of jewelry with in the palm of his hand. It was a small silver cross, which hung from a frayed old string.

“That there symbol tells me and the good Lord above that you’ll live the rest o’ yur days in a manner befitting a saved soul. Wear it at all times and let it be a reminder to you all yur days.”

Charley’s eyes lit up. “Wow! – My very own symbol from God! Thank you! Thank you very much Father!” He then ran to tell Davy and Joseph everything that Father Whittaker had told him. Both Davy and Joseph expressed how proud of him they were. From that day forward Charley was never seen without his beloved cross.

Father Whittaker taught many of the children how to read and study the Holy Bible. Most of the children grew in faith. Davy did believe, but eventually became skeptical. He was satisfied only with things he could see and feel. Joseph became further converted to Father’s Anglican Faith. The priest’s faith was peculiar considering his Irish Catholic heritage.

Emily was also a girl of strong faith. It was amazing that she took to Davy the way she did, considering his lack of any faith. As time passed, Emily and Davy were seen together more oft than not. Emily soon joined Charley, Joseph and Davy in their boyish games.

Joseph caught Davy and Emily holding hands a time or two but didn’t speak a word of it. Within their eyes could be seen the pure and innocent love they felt toward one another. Grim only grew more jealous and envious of their relationship.

In the following months, Charley became stricken with a sudden illness, forcing him bedridden. After a few months he could no longer stand on his own. He asked Joseph and Davy to read a portion of scripture to him nightly. Joseph would often elaborate on the readings, while Davy read only out of respect.

One morning as Davy was reading, Charley had a visit from the town doctor. Davy was asked to step aside, without bothering to excuse him from the room. Davy stood and watched as the doctor bled him to rid his body of the ills. Over the next few hours, Davy watched as Charley began to slip from life.

Amazingly, Charley lived, but was weak and frail. The following few weeks, Charley was able to recuperate. But as soon as Charley was strong enough, the doctor returned. Davy was once again in the room, as was joseph. They observed as a searing hot iron was brought up.

“I must burn out the evils that inflict your body,” explained the doctor. The terror could be read within Charley’s devastated eyes, as he placed his hand over the silver cross Father Whittaker had lovingly given to him. Gripping it tight, his breath became a whimpering moan, almost rhythmically pulsating to the beat of his pounding heart. “Don’t be afraid, lad.” The doctor held the iron above Charley for only a second before pressing it down upon his bare chest. A horrific scream was heard throughout the halls of the cathedral. The doctor repeated the procedure two more times before Charley fainted from the excruciating pain.

Following this session, Father Whittaker conversed with the doctor. “Is the boy curable?”

“It’s hard to say,” he replied.

“How much more of this can the boy take?”

“Not much more I’m afraid.”

“Then let him be. He’s had enough.”

“But, without the proper attention, he…”

“Whatever happens,” interjected Father, “Charley is now in the Lord’s keep.”

Outraged, the doctor wiped his hands of any guilt or responsibility. “It’ll be on your head, Father. Good day!” The doctor stormed out without another word.

Even at this discontented time Charley seemed happy. Over the next few days, his breath became noticeably weaker. Father Whittaker gathered the children together at Davy’s bedside for Charley’s final hours. Davy’s bitterness grew as Charley’s life faded.

Gripping the bedding tight, Charley continued to sweat profusely. His body tensed as he clinched his teeth, groaning in agony. Finally, in a brief moment of relief, he spoke. “I’ll be waiting for you at the pearly gates. I’ll see you again someday. Don’t worry about me.” Charley took Davy by the hand and held it firm. “I’ll be watching over you from the other side. I promise.” He softly closed his eyes and his grip became nonexistent.

Davy realized that Charley had placed something in his hand. He rolled back his fingers to reveal the cross that Father Whittaker had given to Charley. Davy broke into tears as he placed it around his own neck, though, his bitterness kept feeding on his disbelief, which only continued to grow.

Chapter IV

Black-Hearted awoke to a lonesome and bitter night, quiet and unsettling. He opened his hand, revealing the cross still strung around his scarred neck, given to him by Charley. Staring pensively upon it, he let it slip from his hand and hang from the frayed old string. But more than Charley, it was his best friend Joseph that was truly branded upon his mind…

Joseph and Davy continued to be close to one another, considering each other as no less than brothers. As time passed, their memory of Charley found a deeper place within their hearts.

Although constant illness and an occasional lashing from Mistress Riley were the norm, their days were sure to be filled with adventure and excitement. Playing games such as pirates and captains, as they called them, their imaginations grew free and broad. Tattered sheets became bellowing sails and the warped and rotting floor, the mighty sea. They ran about the cathedral grounds attacking one another with makeshift weapons made of wood. Joseph was always the pirate, while Davy was Captain in the kings Royal Navy.

One early October evening, Davy, now twelve and Joseph, thirteen were playing their pirate and captain games as usual. Emily joined them, assuming the role of the distressed lady fair, whom Joseph the villainous pirate had run off with.

Grim and a few of his friends, followed innocently by Elizabeth, his sister, quietly entered the room. Forcefully taking Emily by the arm, Grim shouted in sarcastic intrusion, “I’ll save you, me Lady!” Attempting to stop him, Davy began to wrestle with Grim. Saddened, without understanding, Elizabeth cried out for her brother.

Neither Grim nor Davy was aware that a curious fire had broken out in a corner of the room by an open window. As they continued to scuffle, Joseph pulled Davy away. Grim darted for the exit, but tripped over his own feet and dropped to the ground. He sustained fairly severe burns on both of his hands, as the flames rapidly engulfed the room. Panicking wildly, Grim was frantic to escape the growing fire and knocked Emily to the floor on his way out. Having severely sprained her ankle, Emily couldn’t get up on her own.

The other children in the room managed to find their way out into the hall. But soon the room alone could not confine the flames, which raced into the halls and walls of the old building. The children didn’t know what to do and chaotically ran about in terror, unable to think clearly enough to find a logical way out.

Davy, still enraged, had to be brought to his senses. “We have to get out of here, now!” shouted Joseph, as he shook Davy vigorously.

As the fire spread, Father Whittaker helped the children calm down. After too long a time for his aged lungs, he was finally able to usher what he hoped to be the last of the children outside. But being frail in his old age, Father Whittaker had inhaled too much smoke and he promptly fell to the dirt, wheezing in and out in an effort to fill his lungs with fresh air. Mistress Riley kept the boys and girls in good order while Father Whittaker attempted to regain his health and composure.

Davy looked around and noticed that Emily was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Emily?” he cried. “Where is she?”

Mistress Riley was unable to contain Davy, as he hurried back inside without a second thought. He could hear Emily crying for help, as she attempted to crawl toward what she hoped was the exit. Her eyes burned as thick black smoke consumed the air around her and she couldn’t see. She coughed profusely as her lungs could no longer hold sufficient breath.

Suddenly, through the smoldering ash, Davy burst heroically through the darkness in a blur of excitement, calling out, “Emily!” Picking her up in his loving arms, he was able to carry her off to safety, where every child was accounted for.

Standing outside with the rest of the children, Grim kept his burnt hands close to his chest, wrapped tight within his water-soaked shirt. Elizabeth stood beside him. However, imprudently blaming Davy for this disaster, Grim and his sister gaped furiously as Davy and Joseph huddled over Father Whittaker, who lay helpless on the ground coughing and panting for air in a deep sweat. The townsfolk were too busy trying to put out the blaze to take notice of Father Whittaker’s condition and Mistress Riley really didn’t seem to care.

Giving-in to what he felt was God calling him home, Father Whittaker stopped trying to flush the ash and smoke from his lungs, knowing his body could take no more. Singling Davy out, he waved him near. Davy knelt at his side, with Joseph close behind.

“I don’t have much time. This may not make much sense now, but you must promise me, when you are of sound age, you will seek out an old priest called Father Morgan. He is a good friend and a faithful man of the cloth. He can be found in the Brier Wood, a small township hidden on the outskirts of St. Petersborough, if he still lives. Promise me you will chance to seek him out – promise me – you must!”

“Yes Father, I promise,” replied Davy unable to withhold his tears.

Father Whittaker took a few long breaths. It was difficult and agonizing to force the air through to his lungs, as he continued, “Father Morgan of the Brier Wood, indeed, Father Morgan it is.”

“But, why me?” asked Davy.

Father’s voice was fraught with pain as he snapped, “Just do as I say!” Moaning and wheezing, he endeavored to continue, “You promised.” Looking to Joseph, he warranted, “It’ll do you some good, Joseph, to do the same.”

“Yes Father,” answered Joseph.

Father Whittaker smiled with relief and faded off, peacefully passing away.

Now that Father Whittaker was gone and the old cathedral burnt down, something had to be done about the children, who were now without a home. So, the townsfolk took it upon themselves to feed and board the children, but this couldn’t go on forever. The people of this small town were quite poor and needed the sustenance for their own and any money spent for additional food and supplies could not be sustained for too long a time.

The St. Thomas Township Council, questioning what lay ahead for the young children, assembled together to resolve the problem. Following these precarious weeks of deliberation and with much reluctance the town council called on every willing resident of St. Thomas to attend a public meeting, of which the council would preside, to discuss and finalize their resolution.

“So, what’s to become of the youngsters?” asked one man within the throng of residents.

“And who’s to take care of them?” inquired a young woman from the back.

The Mayor stood at the front. “There’s no time to be wasting. We are all in agreement as a council and the good Lord himself knows the children are in need of a good home.”

“So, are we to kneel right here in prayer and ask him or do you offer a clearer resolve?” voiced another.

“We’ve resolved upon a public auction,” replied the Mayor.

The town hall exploded into whispers. “Is there nothing else we can do?” questioned another.

A council member then stood beside the Mayor. “Anything else will cost too much to delve into. We need a real orphanage with food, bedding and people to provide the needed care. Now, unless there is one among you, who is willing to volunteer all their time, we see no other viable means.”

As the meeting continued, a vote was cast. An auction was to be held two days hence. Within the coming days all the children were gathered and placed in the town hall until the day of the auction.

Each child was brought to the block one at a time. But, there were too many children and people in the crowd to manage with any real quality. In effect, each child was auctioned off cheaply to make certain and swift their sale to the highest bidder alone. Families of good-fortune and the cruel-minded, alike, came from near and far to adopt what would be their loving child or to buy a young slave. The children were unable to see the auction from within the town hall, where they awaited their fates.

Grim grew bitterer in his loathsome revulsion toward Davy. From that time forth, Grim truly felt, with unwarranted rationalization, all that had happened to him and his sister was a direct result of Davy’s actions.

Seeing the rage in Grim’s eyes, Davy stood up to confront him. But before he could speak, Grim unraveled the bandages from his burnt and scarred hands. “You did this to me and now we’re all being sold off separately and I may never see my sister again.”

“I’m sorry, Grim” replied Davy. “I don’t like you and I know you don’t like me. But I had nothing to do with this and I’m not going to let you blame me for something you started. I’m sorry, but I’m not at fault.”

Grim, vowing to one day have his revenge, resolutely asserted, “I’m not afraid of anyone, least of all you, and if I am sold off without my sister, not even the King himself could stop me from killing you and everyone you love, when next we meet!”

As fate would have it, Grim was the first to be sold. After only a few quick bids, a large drunken middle-aged man with no name simply placed a few silver pieces into the palm of the collector’s hand and it was done.

Sweating profusely, this man smelled of ale, as if it were coursing through his veins. He appeared angry and abusive, taking Grim by the arm in an overly aggressive manner. The only thing of real value seen upon his person was a rather large silver ring with a very rough engraving of a cross at the center. While his overbearing and barbaric new guardian hauled him off, Grim looked back and saw Elisabeth innocently positioned on the auction block. She looked confused and afraid, gazing longingly toward Grim, who fought to free himself while screaming out in his prepubescent voice, “Lizzy!”

His adoptive father fervently back-fisted Grim across the mouth with an unexpected blow. The man’s ring left a sizeable mark on Grim’s cheekbone, which began to bleed down the side of his cheek. He seized Grim by the shoulders, shaking him ferociously. “You’ll do as I say boy! Now stop your scrappin’ and come with me!”

Elizabeth scrambled for her loving brother, but was held back by Mistress Riley, who had been escorting each child to the auction block. In an anxious panic, Grim frantically reached out toward Elizabeth. “She’s my sister!”

Grim’s adoptive father smacked him even harder, knocking him insensible, cracking the bridge of his nose. The corner of his eye now began to bleed. As Grim went completely limp, his disgruntled new father chortled drunkenly, “You have no sister, Boy!”

Hundreds of people were gathered as witness yet did not a thing. Under English law a man could do as he sees fit, concerning his own child or wife, save murder only. This cruel man pulled Grim, by the wrist, dragging his unconscious body across on the coarse, gravel road. Soon they were out of sight, already forgotten by most.

Elizabeth gasped vigorously for words that would not come to her paralyzed lips. She could hardly breathe, choking on her emotional anguish as she watched her beaten brother being yanked away. She broke free and sprang toward her Grim. Mistress Riley quickly darted forward, snatching her by the hair, heartlessly pulling her back to the platform.

“You’ll stay there ‘til you’re bid is come!” said Mistress Riley, as she raised Elizabeth to the top of the auction block. “She’s a strong one, she is! And she’ll make for good hard labor, she will!”

Seeing her lively spirit, Elizabeth was sold within minutes. The buyer turned her over to one of his men, who in turn carried her off to his ship. It was almost certain that Grim and Elizabeth were now and forever separated.

Seeing this separation unfold in front of their eyes, as they peeked through a crack in the door, Emily grew uneasy, asking Davy, “Will I ever see you again?”

“One day you will. I promise.” They looked sorrowfully upon one another. With a quick innocent peck on the lips they were unexpectedly ripped apart. Mistress Riley opened the door and took Emily by the arm, prompting Emily to shriek out in pain. And through the door they went. Davy felt nauseous and could do nothing but watch as she disappeared from his sight through the doors. Joseph could scarcely stand to see Davy this way and found a seat next to him. They cried silently together unwilling to think that even they might not see each other again.

Emily stood on the auction block in a frightful quiver. Immediately, a scrawny young man smugly shouted, “I bid three pieces of eight and no more do I bid!” He looked over the crowd with a deathly scowl and sniffed quick and pompous. Emily was worth so much more but no one dared contest, for it was known that this man was the cruel quartermaster in a ruthless crew of merciless pirates, who went by the name of Avery Shaw. Without a challenge to his bid, he paid the sum and carried Emily off to his ship, where five other children awaited.

Davy was sold for seven pieces of silver to Count and Countess De Paul, an upstanding, wealthy older couple. Very proper and sociable, they were a family of proud tradition and honor. Count De Paul already knew the woman Davy was to marry, the likes of which marriage would bring together a respectable future for both esteemed families.

Count De Paul learned of the auction a few days prior and surprised his dear wife as they traveled a small distance to St. Thomas for the occasion. They had previously lost their one child, who was only three years of age, to the Black Death.

As the proud couple ushered Davy through the crowd, Joseph was being escorted up to the auction block, contemplating the worst possible outcome. A small hand reached out to Joseph as he progressed closer toward his fate. The procession was allowed a brief pause, thanks to Count De Paul. With that same old tattered cloth used to wipe away Davy’s tears upon his arrival at the orphanage years ago, Davy consoled Joseph, wiping a tear from his soiled face.

“Davy,” acknowledged Joseph, as they each burst into a flood of heartrending tears.

Referring to the tattered old cloth in his hand; the cloth Joseph had once used to wipe away Davy’s tears; the cloth he had kept for all these years, Davy instructed, “Grab hold of it and don’t let go.” As they both held tight, Davy slowly pulled, ripping the cloth in two, until both of them held their own invaluable piece of memory.

Neither lad could bring himself to say good-bye. Davy’s parents took him gently by the arm and with a delicate understanding led him away. Moments later, Davy looked back to find Joseph standing on the auction block; he hadn’t an expression on his face.

As Davy and his new parents continued on toward their carriage, they passed a sweet young couple, Charles and Roselynn Stirvin, who gazed longingly upon Joseph. Countess De Paul caught Roselynn’s eye and smiled as she passed her by.

Charles and Roselynn had struggled to conceive a child for years without success. Though they were much too poor to afford an adoption, they had a small hope.

Joseph carelessly looked over the crowd, with no pride or passion and it clearly showed. The auctioneer handled Joseph harshly, turning him shamelessly about. All the orphans were indeed dirty but Joseph was the filthiest. The auctioneer forcefully opened Joseph’s mouth, baring his yellow teeth, two of which still needed to grow out. Amazingly, they were not yet rotted through.

“Six crowns!” bid the auctioneer, without so much as a look of an offer in return. “Five crowns!” still nothing. “Do I have four? Four crowns bid for this young lad.” He hadn’t much to say by way of decent regard. The minutes passed in silence. It became obvious that Joseph was never to be sold.

A few jeers sounded through the gathered throng of on-lookers. “Get on with it! … Move on,” employed the restless crowd, anxious to see the next.

Finally, from within the booming cries of this merciless collection of buyers and observers could be faintly heard, “Four bits, I say, four bits!”

The auctioneer glanced curiously through the many faces and spotted the pleading woman holding fast to her husband’s hand. Charles and Roselynn Stirvin were attempting to make their way to the front of the crowd. Nearly out of breath, Roselynn pled kindly, “Please sir, I bid four bits. ‘Tis all we have, sir. Please, will you take four bits for the kind lad?” Roselynn extended the offer toward the auctioneer. “Will you not take it, sir?”

The auctioneer looked grudgingly down. “Never’ve I sold the least of these for as little as four bits. Can you not offer more than four, woman?”

“Sir, I can offer this only, we’ve no more. ‘Tis all we have. Please, sir, four bits I beg of you.”

From behind Roselynn came a hand and a voice. “We will add four crowns to her bid four bits.” Countess De Paul released four shiny crowns from her hand and into the collector’s purse. “Let her taker the child. She will make a fine mother. I know the look of a woman born to be a mother, yet with none in her care.” She then looked to Roselynn, “Now, take the lad.”

“Alright then, four crowns and four bits it is,” grunted the auctioneer. “This is surely the best offer for such a scrawny child. I’ll take the four bits and you can take the boy.” With the four crowns already in the purse, Charles extended the remaining remuneration in the amount of four bits to the collector and walked from the crowd with Joseph and his wife. Countess De Paul congratulated Roselynn and was gone before a kind gratitude could be offered.

In the coming days, Roselynn gave Joseph a new name, which Charles agreed upon. Charles and Roselynn recognized that it might take some time to become acquainted. They didn’t have much and couldn’t provide for him, as they would have liked. They managed to make do with what they had and that was good enough for young Joseph. Although he was thankful for truly loving parents, he seemed to be forever consigned to an aching for his dear friend, Davy.

Over the next few years Davy grew up in a wealthy home, yet his parents were somewhat controlling due to their social and political status. Davy’s entire future was prearranged. But, Davy possessed his birth father’s adventurous spirit. And though he was held high to higher expectations, he would not listen to the deep-rooted traditions of his aging father. Davy’s mother just loved him and wished nothing more for him than to be happily content.

Early one morning, Davy’s mother rode in to town in the company of a maidservant. While at the marketplace, which she did not frequent very often, she happened upon a familiar face. This woman was obviously poor and humble and of a much lower class than she, no doubt. Davy’s mother curiously approached from behind. “Excuse me.”

The woman turned and immediately recognized that Davy’s mother was of a higher class by her manner of articulation alone. The woman was surprised that such a person would pollute herself a mere acknowledgment of such a poor and unclean pauper as this woman was.

“Oh! Me Lady,” she respectfully responded, without eye contact.

“Have we previously been acquainted, you and I?” asked Davy’s mother.

Bashfully the woman looked to the ground and reverently replied, “No, Mum. I don’t think we’ve ever been in the same company. Well, not before this day Me Lady.”

Yet persistent Davy’s mother continued on in the same manner, “Are you certain? May I ask your name?”

“Roselynn Stirvin, Mum. I am not acquainted with fine people as you appear to be in my eyes. Forgive me Mum, but I think I should have remembered. I’m not so old yet, you know. You’re a beautiful lady, Mum, and very memorable indeed.”

“But, your face – it is so familiar to me. Have you a son? I have a son. Perhaps they are familiar with one another, through school or other means?”

“Oh, no, Mum. I do have a son – that much be true. But we’ve not the means for any sort of social to do’s. He’ll soon begin work ‘board his father’s vessel – a whalin’ ship – very dangerous for such a young lad. He’s no reason to school, Mum. The boy’s father’ll teach’m all the need-t’-knows for his future days.”

“That is such a pity, woman.”

“No, Mum, we do have love and that is all we need. My Daniel’s adopted, you know. I’m not able to bare any of me own. We tried for many a year, but…”

“Ah! That is where I have come to know your face, my sweat lady, I am sure of it,” said Davy’s mother, as she looked all too delightfully upon Roselynn. “That is who you are, indeed!”

“Sorry, Mum? What’s that you be talkin’ ‘bout?”

“You were there. You were in St. Thomas at the town auction those many years ago. That is where I came to mother my own son as well. I can remember it perfectly.”

“We’re so poor, Mum and ever have been. I do remember you now. You gave four crowns for my son that he might come home with us. Bless you, me lady, bless you indeed. And someday, I do wish to pay you back for such a deed. We’re poor, but do manage under the Lord’s watchful eye.” Roselynn had become so excited and had to calm down. “Well, I’m so sorry, Mum. Forgive me for not askin’, but what would your son be named?”

“My son’s name is David, his birth name. We, my husband and I, thought it best to allow him to keep his given name. Besides, we were blessed to have him carry our last. We found that to be of most importance.”

Surprised, Roselynn curiously asked, “Forgive me Mum. Did you say his given name was David?”

“Yes, that’s right. David was his birth name.”

“Me son often speaks of a lad from the orphan place. A lad he calls Davy. They were best o’ friends – like brothers, they were.”

“You mentioned your son’s name to be Daniel. Is that not correct?”

“To be sure, it is, Mum. But at the orphan he was called Joseph before the Good Lord blessed us so. He goes by Daniel now, he does.”

“My David has been in search of such a boy.”

“But it can’t be, Mum, can it? Please, forgive a foolish old woman for the askin’, but do you live very far, Mum?”

“Don’t worry, that is just fine. I live close to town, north of here. My David is your son’s friend. He is the reason we offered to pay the price for your son’s cost.” Pausing for a moment in thought, Countess De Paul recomposed herself and stood straight and dignified. “Roselynn, you and your family must join me for supper at my home.”

“Supper, Mum?”

“Forgive me for assuming but you do take to eating, do you not? Or have you not enough for the proper provision? You are still alive and well, so I take it that you and your family do sit to supper every now and again. Do you not?”

“Oh, of course, Mum. But, we’ve never been to an estate of fancy before. I fear I’ve not the clothin’ for such a fine table, as I’m sure it is, Mum.”

“Nonsense, you’ll come to my home for supper two nights from this and you can be rest assured, you will enjoy every last bite.” She proceeded to make clear the directions to her husband’s estate. Both women promptly returned to their respective residence to relate to their sons all that transpired at the marketplace.

Upon entering her run down shack, Roselynn called to her son, “Daniel, Daniel!”

Suddenly, from the rear door Roselynn could hear the sound of boots knocking against the rotting floorboards and through the door poked Daniel’s mischievous head. “Yes, my lovely mother?” he playfully quipped.

“Quickly, dear, come, I’ve some news for the sharin’ if ever there was.”

“I’m in no need of such news, Mother. My Life is well enough off with you and Father. I’m so excited to venture on with him, working side-by-side. I can’t wait much longer.”

Silencing Daniel, his mother amorously pled, “Please Daniel, open your ears and quiet your mouth while I speak. I’m still your mother and ever will be.”

“Sorry, Mother. Go on, I’m listening.”

“You’ve told me stories all these years of a young lad you once knew from the orphan place.”

“Davy?” inquired Daniel. “What of him?”

“Well, David be his true name, is that not so?”

“His birth name is David if that’s what you’re asking and I do miss him.”

Unable to hide her feelings, Roselynn blurted out the good news. “I spoke to his mother just this very day at the marketplace.”

Daniel stared silently through his mother, gazing intently as if she were completely transparent. Allowing this unexpected news to soak in, Daniel finally spoke. “You spoke with my Davy’s mother, face-to-face?”

“Daniel, we’re to have supper at his home two days hence. Oh, Daniel, a fine Lady she was and she used such fine words. They’ve a home of fancy and…”

“Two days?” interrupted Daniel.

“Aye, two days,” she confirmed, “But I’ve not the dress for such a home.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mother. His family must be unbelievable. I know you’ll come to love Davy as I do.” They continued to converse, while Daniel recalled countless stories from his time spent at the orphanage with Davy.

Far across town, where large estates and wealth were the norm, Davy sat to dinner with his own parents. The discussion was much the same as the dialogue had by Roselynn and Daniel, who was once known to Davy as Joseph. The memories that filled Davy’s mind ran wildly in the conversation with his parents. Davy’s mother had never seen such happiness fill his countenance. They spoke through all courses of dinner, Davy being the most dominant voice due to his excitement upon finding out the news of his mother’s meeting at the marketplace.

Though, in this joyful time, Davy’s heart found sadness also, knowing he would be unable to introduce Joseph to Lorien Bell, a young girl that he had been secretly courting. Lorien was of a lower class than he and such a relationship was frowned upon, most especially by his parents. Davy was to wed someone of their choosing within the same high class as they.

Like clockwork, Davy excused himself from the dinner table when he was through, attributing his leave to some close friends as always. However, he instead made his way to the home of his sweet Lorien Bell, who was home alone.

Lorien Bell had several admirers, most of which saw her as easy prey in her lower class. Richard Anderton, an officer in King’s Royal Guard, was one such admirer. And he fancied Lorien in the most lurid fashion.

A stranger had taken notice of Richard’s indulgence, with respect to Lorien in the previous weeks. On the day subsequent to Davy’s anticipated dinner, this stranger found Richard taking leave from his post. “Hey there, boy,” he snidely addressed.

Richard swiftly brought the edge of his steel blade to the stranger’s neck. “I, Sir, am no boy! And if you ever again address me in such a manner, I will be so inclined as to slice your neck wide open with the edge of my blade without further warning. The next time we meet you will address me proper. Am I understood?”

“Aye, sir, aye!” submitted the stranger, stepping back a few paces. “Of course, Sir.”

Richard lowered his sword. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Forgive my taking notice, Sir, but you fancy a young woman, goes by the name of Lorien, do you not?”

Pulling his sword to the privateer’s throat, Richard cautioned, “You had better check yourself, Sir, and say no more for you are walking on extremely frail ground. I am an officer in the King’s Royal Guard. Explain yourself or I’ll be forced to make my own assumptions. And my assumptions are not the kind that would leave you standing. So, choose your words carefully.”

Without a drop of sweat and calm as night this loathsome stranger explained, “Please, you needn’t be so antagonistically hostile. I’ve only come to offer a proposition of your liking I’m sure.”

With his sword still at the stranger’s neck, Richard curiously questioned, “And what is it you are to propose?”

Motioning with his eyes, the stranger insisted, “The blade, sir, if you please.”

“Of course,” said Richard, lowering his weapon. “Go on then.”

When the conversation came to a close the stranger handed Richard a small bag of gold doubloons, reminding him, “Come out alive and the rest you’ll receive in the morning, three times the amount in that there purse. Is it a deal then?”

“Of course, we have an accord. I’d be a fool not to take the gold for such a simple and pleasurable task.”

“But, take my word, don’t underestimate the boy.”

Later that evening, knowing Lorien’s parents would not be home and thinking she would be without company for the next few hours, Richard invited himself to her lowly residence. He made arrangements with his companions to go with him, boasting frankly of his perverse objective. His companions kept watch outside the estate, while Richard approached the home. He greeted Lorien at the door and conversed his way into her parent’s living quarters in an attempt to seduce her. Somewhat naïve and unaware of Richard’s intentions, Lorien bashfully smiled and giggled as he entered. He left the door wide open to allow his friends to catch a glimpse of his daring perversions.

With her arms blocking his advancement, Lorien pushed against Richard’s broad chest forcing him back. “A proper lady is never to be alone with a gentleman, especially an officer.” Her smile turned from a beaming innocence into a flirtatious tease.

This only provoked an advance of greater physical indulgence. “Well, I am a man and can be very gentle. But you make it sound so sinful when it could never be more sweet and decadent.” He embraced her, forcefully placing his lips to hers. Not quite knowing what to do, Lorien allowed Richard to kiss her for a moment longer.

Soon, Davy arrived at the estate. As he neared the front steps, he noticed the door was left wide open. He courteously took off his hat, stepped up to the door and peeked inside. Richard’s friends were so focused on Richard and Lorien with their telescopes that they didn’t notice Davy until he arrived at the door. They ran toward Richard as fast as they could. Davy peaked inside and his eye was immediately drawn to an elbow that came into view just around the corner. As he moved closer Richard’s back and leg gradually came into sight. All the while, Richard’s friends approached calling out his name as loud as they could. Davy was so focused so deeply on what his eyes could see that he couldn’t hear Richard’s friends approaching.

In an unbelieving tangle of emotion, Davy became violently enraged. “Take your filthy hands off her!” yelled Davy. Young and careless, he pried Richard and Lorien apart. Lorien lost her balance and fell to the ground.

Quickly standing up, Lorien scowled coarsely at Davy, acting as though she had done nothing wrong. “David,” she yelled, “what do you think you are doing?”

While Davy was preoccupied with Lorien, Richard struck him with a blow to the side of his head with a walking stick. Lorien screamed as Davy stumbled to the floor, holding his head. He could feel the blood running down the side of his head through his fingers. He looked up, clenched his fist in anger and slugged Richard in a self-defending response. Fueled with adrenaline and still bleeding himself, Davy kept beating on Richard without reservation.

“Stop it!” shouted Lorien. “Stop it!”

Richard’s loyal companions finally entered the home and saw him drenched in blood and sweat, unable to stand. Davy’s countenance soon turned pail from the loss of blood, as a result of Richard’s earlier assault. Exhausted, he promptly fell to the floor and everything went black.

Davy woke up the following morning, locked up in a dingy old cell. Still dazed, a voice leisurely sounded softly in his ear. Coming to, he was able to distinguish the words. “Your father came by. It’s too bad though, he attacked an officer. He looked more like a coward when I cocked a gun at his head. I thought he was going to cry. And I was right. In fact he died crying. Just as you will when I have you hanged for assaulting the King’s officers. An assault on the King’s men is merely an assault on the King!”

Davy was extremely ill tempered. A vengeful burning ensued within his soul and anger flooded his eyes. Stepped too close to the prison bars, Richard taunted and teased Davy with thoughts of what he was going to do with Lorien. Without warning Davy seized him by the jacket.

“You’re a dead man,” stated Davy. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“Let go of me,” demanded Richard.

Davy was able to snatch Richards’s double barrel pistol and quickly pulled the trigger at point blank range. Cocking the second doghead, Davy fired once again at the falling officer, completely eradicating him. As Richard fell back, Davy managed to hook the key ring with a finger. Davy’s countenance read nothing more than pleasure as he watched Richard drop to the ground, dead.

Davy unlocked the cell door, took a few steps toward Richard and began to repeatedly kick his lifeless body. The guards, whom Richard had illicitly ordered to wait outside, heard the shots and realized what was going on inside and rushed to intervene. Davy’s attention quickly shifted toward the sound of the befuddled guards as they hastened down the stairwell, with their pistols drawn and ready. Davy forcefully swung an old wooden chair into the chest of the first guard, who flew backward into the second.

Both guards simultaneously fired their weapons to the ceiling. Knowing they would be unable to reload fast enough, they rose to their feet with their swords drawn. Noticing Richard sprawled on the floor, they extended their swords, challenging Davy in his attempt to escape.

“Don’t move!” stated the first.

“No, by all means, do,” stated the second. “Now, on your guard!”

“I have no weapon. Do as you will!” He stood patiently by the cell door over Richard’s battered corpse. Taunting the guards, Davy kicked Richard’s body, audibly snapping a few ribs.

Shocked, the angered guards took a step back. “Stop that at once or I’ll run you through!”

Davy kicked Richard’s body once again, daring the guards to attack. In a whirl of fury they charged Davy with their swords overhead, yelling hysterically. Davy calmly took hold of the cell door and flung it open, thrusting it with all his weight, directly into the first guard, knocking him unconscious. In the process of falling back, the first guard turned, launching his sword through the lungs of the second. They both immediately collapsed. Panting for breath, the second guard died.

Davy quickly fled to a nearby glen where he might take the time he desperately needed to mull-over what had just occurred. He had to figure out what he was going to do next. Thoroughly worn and barely able to breath, Davy found a secluded and inviting piece of ground and immediately dropped into the tall cushiony grass and leaned back against a soft decomposing log. So tired and unable to stay awake, he simply drifted off to sleep.

In the early morning hours, a wicked downpour awakened Davy. He recalled to his mind the events that transpired over the course of the past few days. He groaned silently within as he realized that his father was dead and he knew that he had to return home to his mother to explain the awful reality.

As Davy came closer, he noticed a faint blackness rising up ahead. A sinking feeling wrenched within his gut, knowing deep inside that something horrific was about to come to light. It was still raining when Davy arrived. He was shocked to find his home smoldering in ashes and burnt to the ground. Only the down pour was able to calm the flames that had already consumed the estate.

Frantically, Davy entered the parlor from the main doorway, immediately coming across four bodies lying side by side, buried within the ash and rubble. By the placement and position of their hands and feet he knew they had been bound. Two of them, he thought, were most likely a couple of servants. But, his heart truly sank when the jewelry hanging from the neck of one of the bodies, proved to be from his loving mother and he shuttered at the thought. Already devastated, he then noticed the ring that Lorien had always worn, sitting at the side of the fourth body. This he could not stomach.

Drained both physically and emotionally, Davy fell to his knees and knelt by Lorien’s side. A tear gently ran down his flustered cheeks, as he stared hypnotically.

It was then that he noticed something protruding from Lorien’s lips. Barely able to stomach the deed, Davy reached out to pull the foreign object from her mouth. It was an old silver coin with numbers etched by knife on both sides. It was a mystery to be sure and a reason unknown. He placed the coin into his pocket and continued walking around the smoldering ruin for a significant period of time.

Finding a pistol pressed into the soft ground, as if by the soul of a boot, Davy thought it curious that it was in the perfect position to be seen. With a closer look, he saw what appeared to be a Royal Navy insignia engraved upon the handle. All emotion seemed to wash away and he became unfeeling with the exception of his hatred and rage.

Later that afternoon Daniel, Roselynn and her husband, Charles, were foot bound for Davy’s home. It would take them a good portion of the day to arrive on time for supper and the afternoon sun was now beating down on them. However, they were shocked upon their arrival to find the estate entirely burnt to the ground. Only frail stone pillars and a few walls stood, without a roof to shelter the blackened floor.

Daniel took it upon himself to explore the home and found the four bodies. Assuming this was Davy and his family, Daniel’s heart sank low in his chest. “All these years and this is what I find, my best friend dead.” His parents comforted him as best they could, but Daniel refused to be comforted. Standing close to the bodies, the stench made his eyes water, as he looked on with an empty stare. Because of the morning rain, the flesh was still clinging to the half-burnt muscle and bone, now blistering in the heat.

Daniel soon returned home with his parents. And words cannot express the feelings that swelled deep within his soul.

Running aimlessly, Davy arrived at a small tavern. Close to port, the tavern was dim and muggy. Because of the late hour, the dimness of the sparse candlelight created eerie silhouettes of those moving about. The smell of rum intermixed with a distinct seafaring odor told Davy he was in a vile place. The wooden floorboards creaked aloud as Davy walked across the way.

Arriving a few minutes behind him was a tall thin man, mysteriously hooded. His black cloak hung low to the ground. Finding a seat across from Davy, this mysterious man set two pints of rum on the table, one directly in front of him. The only part of his exposed face was made known through the dim light of a weak flame flickering in the center of the table.

“You look lost boy,” began the stranger. “Where do you come from?”

“I couldn’t be lost,” replied Davy. “I’ve nowhere to be and where I come from is no business of yours.”

There was a long awkward silence, as they stared at one another. “I know who done the deed,” whispered the unknown man.

“What are you talking about? What deed?”

“These catastrophes don’t happen by mere accident. The Royal Navy can be truly wicked. They’re just pirates under the guise of government and what they call law. Your home wasn’t put to ruin for nothing and certainly not by accident.”

Davy pulled out a small pistol, revealing the Royal insignia. “I have an idea who done it, but how is it your business and how do you know so much about my situation?”

“I make it my business to know what I know.”

“Who are you?”

“Never, you, mind who I am. Who I am is of no concern to you. Trust me; I am not the sort you want to be acquainted with.” He took a small sip of rum. “Have you any family?”

“Not really. But should that be any of your concern? You know they’re all dead. Apparently you make it your business to know what you know.”

“Ah, yes, ‘tis true. However, your words were not really? What is that supposed to mean – not really? Either you do or don’t.”

“I was adopted by those whose bodies lay in that home. I have a real father and I aim to find him.”

“You seem resolute enough. Just remember, patience always pays off,” he chuckled slightly. “Aye, patience always pays off.”

“So what are you getting at? What’s in it for you to know any of this?” The man just grinned. Davy continued, “Have you a name?”

“Aye, but like I said, I’m not the sort you want to be acquainted with. One day you’ll find you might want me dead. Or I may have reason to put a bullet through your head. Either way let’s not get too familiar.”

“So,” snapped Davy, placing a small dagger to his throat, “why are you so interested in me?”

“The only reason I’m here right now is that I know how you fell about the English rule. You hate it as much as I do.” Davy pulled his dagger from the stranger’s throat. “Go find your father and do whatever it takes to get even. But take time to plan well your retribution. Find the right sort and they’ll know what to do.”

“What do you mean by the right sort?”

“If you want the right sort of revenge, there are those who would take your side. Seek them out and become acquainted, as it were. Without them, you’re all alone. For starters, you’re in the place. For there be pirates a plenty in these parts. Go on account, as I. Find your father and perhaps we’ll meet again. Aye, I’ll be seeing you around.” The mysterious stranger then stood and walked away, leaving Davy to his thoughts.

Davy’s mind grew clouded with his thoughts of revenge. But, he seemed to find solace in what was said. And now, more than ever, he felt that vengeance would fill the hole in his heart. He would now leave everything behind to go on account with a vessel of fortune; to go on account with a vessel of piracy.

Now searching for a vessel that may perhaps fulfill his particular needs, he came upon a few men dressed in attire that seemed to fit his expectations and they acted the part well.

A large man grabbed Davy from behind. His name was Gunther and he seemed to be a leader of some sort among this particular group. Confronting Davy, Gunther tested, “Who might you be, matie?” Before he could answer, the rest of Gunther’s shipmates surrounded him. “What do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me?” asked Gunther. “Are you mad, boy?”

“Take your hands off of me,” He demanded.

Davy was pretty sizable for a boy his age. Before Gunther had a chance to move his hand, Davy took a small dirk from his belt and jabbed it through his forearm. The rest of the men immediately tackled Davy to the ground and commenced to beat him, but only for a minute. Two of the men then pulled Davy to his feet, at which time Gunther ripped the dagger from his arm, hollering, “I asked you a question, boy! Who are you?”

“If your men don’t let me go right now, it’s you I’m coming for; I don’t care if the lot of them run me through.”

“That works for me!” Gunther interrupted, lunging forward with Davy’s own dagger.

Davy shifted his weight slightly, avoiding a fatal assault. He was, however, struck in the shoulder and quickly dropped to the ground. To ensure Davy wouldn’t follow them, they beat him until he was unable to stand. “That’ll teach you to follow me, boy!”

Eventually Davy was able to stand on his quivering legs. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, bleeding from his lips and nose. His left eye was swollen and bruised and blood was dripping from the wound on his shoulder.

He then unwisely ventured off in the same direction as his assailants and found them drinking outside a tavern on a large wooden table. They didn’t notice Davy approaching from the shadows. He reached for the closest man, pulling two pistols from his belt and cocked them both as they all turned to face him. One of them reached for a pistol but Davy shot him in the leg without hesitating or blinking an eye.

“You only have one ball left,” stated Gunther. “But there be four of us and only one of you.”

“I don’t care who comes at me first,” replied Davy. “It’s you I’m here for.”

Gunther’s shipmates looked to him as though to await an order.

Davy smiled with a dare-me-to-do-it kind of wink. “Why not?” he whispered to himself. Imprudently, without a second thought, he fired a round into Gunther’s shoulder, shattering his right collarbone. Davy could have taken the opportunity to run since all the other men just stood there in awe watching Gunther fall back, shouting out in pain. Instead, Davy stood there with a blank countenance, uncaring. Dumbfounded, Gunther’s men didn’t really know what to do.

“I request a parley with your captain if you please,” stated Davy, matter-of-factly. Gesturing to Gunther, Davy continued, “I’m quite certain that’s not him. He’s too much a fool.”

Without saying another word they walked him to their vessel, escorting the two wounded men along with them.

“Permission to board,” shouted one of the men.

The Captain walked up to the gunwale and invited them onto the main deck. Once everyone was aboard the vessel, Davy stated, “I wish to join your crew.”

“He shot two of us, Captain,” said Gunther, now dripping blood from his neck. “Let me cut his dirty little throat!”

“Don’t you tell me what to do!” shouted the captain. “He then turned to Davy. You wound my men and ask to join my crew? What? Did you think I was just going to smile and welcome you aboard with open arms?”

Davy thought for a second. “Well, why not?”

“What would give you such a fool idea?”

“I only wounded them. I could have killed them just the same. I never back down from a fight. I’m sure you can use someone who can fight. I’ll be loyal to you and you alone. But, if you want my services – this man,” he said, pointing to Gunther, “this man will need to go.”

The captain laughed and walked over to Gunther. “Sorry, Mate.” He then stuck Gunther in the gut with his knife, without a second thought, and flung him overboard. “He’s been trouble ever since he signed on. My name is Captain Drake and you will call me Captain Drake. What are we to call you?”

“My name is Davy De Paul. Davy suits me just fine.”

“Well, welcome aboard Davy De Paul.”

The months passed into years and Davy moved up in rank and authority. He soon held the position of quartermaster and grew to love the many battles and bloodthirsty adventures he experienced. Davy’s reputation intensified, becoming colder and more rampant. The name of Davy De Paul was no more. People soon referred to him as, Davy the Black-Hearted, which soon shortened to Black-Hearted.

Void of Royal authority, Port of Errors quickly became Saint Drake’s most favorable stopover, pulling into port as occasion would allow. Black-Hearted’s leisure glance over the occupied harbor, demanded respect. On Port of Errors he was on top of the world and felt as though he owned the whole of it. As always, a rotting corpse awaited him on a gibbet at the end of the docks, reminding him of his sure fate, though not on Port of Errors. Piracy was a welcomed trade on Port of Errors, bringing to the island a wealth of goods and gold. Only fools and liars were found dangling at the end of a rope on this island – unless the wrong sort of individual was insulted.

Akin to every other man at sea, Black-Hearted reeked of body odor and traces of excrement. Though sunken deep within his skull, Black Hearted had eyes that revealed nothing but his cold and empty heart. His sun beaten and weathered face was scarred by battle. He carried a machete fixed firmly to his side, giving the impression that he was the vilest man that ever sailed these waters.

Most people knew of Black-Hearted. As he began walking through town, looks of trepidation from many of the men and women standing about gave him all the more confidence in his plight. Other people expressed admiration, mostly teenaged broods and other would-be pirates. Still, others stood imprudently fearless, but quickly backed down as he seemed to come too near.

While in town, Captain Drake took Black-Hearted to visit his typical stopovers, as he often had the past few years, dealing with Mr. Darcy as occasion would allow.

Saint Drake was often out at sea or docked beyond the reef at Port of Errors, which was the safest place for pirates in the Eastern Atlantic, considering no country owned Port of Errors.

Pirates ruled this island and here, Black-Hearted was prince among peasants and thieves – though, looking to be King.

Chapter V

The memories of years past were all but forgotten, as Black-Hearted slowly stood from his slumber. A sudden stir about the ship had awakened him. Several crewmembers were in a panic, congregating around the captain’s chamber.

“Drake’s dead!” shouted Darby O’Dell, a long time Irish member of Captain Drake’s crew.

Black-Hearted stormed over to the gathering crowd. “What’s this?”

“He’s dead!” repeated Darby.

“He’s bound to die sooner or later.”

“But his teeth were broke up and he drowned in his own vomit. Someone killed him in the night,” countered Darby. “He didn’t just off and die.”

“He was sick,” affirmed Black-Hearted. “We’re better off without him at the helm.”

“You have something to do with this, Hearted?” asked Darby.

Deeply insulted, Black-Hearted snapped, “Do you think I killed him?”

“No, Hearted,” replied Darby, backing away.

“If I did, would you challenge me?”

“No, Hearted, of course not.”

“Captain’s dead,” shouted Black-Hearted. “As his second former in command, I claim captainship o’ this here vessel and any man aboard it. If there be one among you who dare challenge me captainship, choose yur weapon and step up.” No one said a word. “It’s time to really make us a name. There be plenty of booty out there just waitin’ for the takin’. We’re going to be rich men.”

Stephen and Eric led the men in a respectable and proper cheer. Though, his crew did not trust him so much as they feared him. Black-Hearted insisted, “Gunner stands as quartermaster. All in favor says ‘Aye’!”

Sporadically sequenced, the crew shouted, “Aye.” And although it appeared unanimous, most of the men were too afraid to insult or counter anything he had to say.

The men had always feared Black-Hearted as Quartermaster. Although he was truly vicious, Black-Hearted was known for keeping his word among his crew. As Captain he preferred his men trust him above all else. There was an uncontested fairness in relation to the shares of booty, which kept his crew in check and Black-Hearted devoid of any unease regarding mutiny. Renaming Saint Drake, Roger’s Jolly, Black-Hearted drew up new articles, which were harsh and unforgiving for those who disobeyed, but very rewarding for those deserving. The crew agreed unanimously in favor of the newly formed articles, after which they were signed and placed where all could see.

In the few subsequent days following Black-Hearted’s official induction as Captain, Roger’s Jolly arrived back on Port of Errors. Making his way to Mr. Darcy’s estate, Black-Hearted approached the entrance, where Mr. Darcy was ordering his servants to place a new wooden door in its frame. It was a gorgeous door ornamented with gold trim and carved with fanciful designs all about. It had been about three weeks since the attempted placement of the last door, which his servants accidentally dropped on top of him, cracking it and rendering it completely damaged beyond repair.

Mr. Darcy was so impressed and proud of his door. “It’s solid English Oak,” he boasted to Black-Hearted. “She was made with two hundred year old wood and carved by the gypsies. She arrived just yesterday. Isn’t it the grandest sight you’d ever laid your eyes upon, Hearted?”

“Well, maybe not the grandest. But she is big.”

“Aye, there’re few things more pleasing to the eye. But just look at her, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Sure, Darcy,” stated Black-Hearted dolefully, “it’s grand.”

Just then Scurvy wandered up to them as they spoke. “I thought you might be here,” he stated, speaking to Black-Hearted. “I seen Saint Drake anchored beyond the reef.”

“No longer is she known as Saint Drake. I be captain now and she’s called Roger’s Jolly.”

“Roger’s Jolly? So, you’ve done it then. You’ve taken her over as I expected you might.”

“Fancy my new door, Scurvy?” interjected Mr. Darcy. “It was carved by the gypsies. Two hundred years old, she be.”

“Carved by the gypsies, you say?” Black-Hearted chided. “I’m willing to bet it’s not even oak.”

Fishing for any amount of praise, Darcy insisted, “Well it looks respectable, does it not? That’s what’s important.”

“Aye Darcy, sure it does. If there’s one thing about your place, you sure picked a fine plot of land,” affirmed Scurvy. “When I die, I want to be buried in a good spot out back.”

“Darcy, never mind the door,” demanded Black-Hearted. “I’m in need of your help. As you know, I lost everything I owned and everyone that meant anything to me in one day to the English swine. I’ve lived over half my life with vengeance in my heart and now with a crew of my own I mean to claim my revenge.”

“So, what will have me do?” questioned Mr. Darcy.

“I plan to take me an English frigate and make use of it.”

“A sloop against a frigate?” asked Mr. Darcy. “Are you completely out of your mind? It’s like David and Goliath, only in this story, David is the fool and cannot possibly win. A frigate is four times the size of your vessel. One broadside and you’re sunk. You along with all of your men will be slaughtered.”

“If you’re going to slay the giant,” added Scurvy, "you’d better have one hell of a sling.”

“My plan calls for enemies fit for a King and I plan on making Spain such an enemy. Don’t underestimate me. I know what I am doing.”

“I can see what you’re attempting to do,” replied Darcy. “But this is not some insignificant little skirmish that you are used to. This is engineering war on a large scale.”

“That is my hope. With Spain will come France and others are sure to follow. Now, if you know what I am planning, you know what I need. But we can’t afford to rush it through.”

“Alright, Hearted, I’ll help where I can. But, be mindful for my sake, if you associate me in any way with your foolish plight, I might as well be dead already. I don’t need to get too involved with such affairs! It’s bad for business.”

Scurvy also agreed to be of assistance, informing Black-Hearted that he had looted a small vessel over the past week and would deliver his percentage that night, knowing it would help to finance his risky excursion. Straightway excusing himself, Scurvy departed Mr. Darcy’s residence, leaving Black-Hearted to discuss Mr. Darcy’s role in more depth.

At the conclusion of their meeting, Mr. Darcy nodded his oversized head in agreement. “Now get out of here before I change my mind,” he jested. “I don’t know why I agree to such foolish nonsense. One day you are going to get me killed and I think you know this.”

Years earlier, following the disaster at the De Paul estate, it had come to light through an official investigation that the fire was no accident. It was determined that the cause of the deadly blaze was arson, though there were no witnesses to an untraceable suspect – a ghost. Upon hearing the news, Daniel Stirvin resolved to commit his life to country and law.

Unable to gain an education in his poor circumstance, Daniel decided to enlist in the Royal Navy, where he felt the law was most respected; where he might contribute to his cause by some small means. Assigned to The Northern Star, under the command of Captain Cypress, Daniel spent the next several years learning the life of a true sailor.

Rising in rank and authority, Daniel became well-seasoned and valued among his crew. He soon took the position of second mate, something that people of his social class were rarely able to do. While serving as second mate, Daniel’s leadership and heroic actions in battle caught the attention of Admiral Grey Flynn, commander over the entire fleet. Daniel had long since admired Admiral Flynn and wished to one day sail under his direct command.

Admiral Flynn’s first mate soon died in a skirmish off the coast of Port Lorne, creating a valuable vacancy of leadership. After much discussion with his officers and Captain Cypress, Admiral Flynn pursued King William’s authorization, eventually extending the offer to Daniel, to fill that vacancy.

The Crimson Reef was a powerful and impressive Man-O-War and longtime battle-scarred vessel, weighing almost a thousand tons, baring three large masts, carrying forty mounted guns and holding a crew in an excess of one hundred and fifty brave men.

Supporting his widowed mother, who lost her husband over the past year to a whaling incident, Daniel accepted the call with urgency. Tweed, second mate aboard the Crimson Reef, grew bitter knowing he should have been selected as first mate by right of his position. Instead, it would be Daniel’s wage that would see the increase. Tweed would have to wait until Daniel was either promoted to Captain or dead before he might advance to such a position. Tweed was mostly respected but his unfavorable looks, being like that of a hairy elf, walking with a funny hobble due to a recent but petty brawl, often hindered his advancement.

Most important to Daniel, when considering the offer, was his desire to court the daughter of Count Spencer, a wealthy aristocratic socialite who, up until this offer of high esteem was granted by King William, would not allow such a courtship. Over the previous few months Daniel had repeatedly petitioned Count Spencer for the opportunity to call on Katherine, his only daughter. Though Count Spencer was close to Daniel and appreciated his longtime friendship to Nathan, his eldest son, who ran in more vile circles, he would not allow a suitor of such low status to court his daughter. But, Daniel was persistent.

With the King’s personal endorsement of Daniel’s high-ranking position, Count Spencer did finally consent, allowing Daniel and Katherine to begin a respectful courtship. But, testing the endurance of their relationship, Daniel was obliged to stay in the King’s service under Admiral Flynn, traveling abroad for months at a time.

Having lost many a good sailor in the same skirmish that left him without a first mate, Admiral Flynn was in need of a few more hands. Unwilling to take from the other vessel’s in his innumerable fleet, Admiral Flynn pulled into port, ordering Daniel to take a few men into town and, whether drunk or sober, sign ten strong and willing into service.

“And if too many are unwilling?” asked Daniel. “What then, Admiral?”

“Press them into joining if need be,” ordered Admiral Flynn with a straight and callus expression, always exceptionally serious and unbending. “If force is the only option, then force we shall use. If our duty to protect King and Country require certain laws on land to be broken, those very duties then supersede even the highest of these laws. Besides, Daniel, if it were up to me, anyone who blatantly denies service to the King should be arrested and hanged for treason.”

“I will remember that, Sir. Thank you – for King and Country.”

Finding a Tavern by the harbor of his liking, Daniel was successful in soliciting eight good-enough men to join his crew. But, unable to find more, he turned to force-joining. Examining a dark and gloomy alleyway, not too far from the tavern, Daniel could hear and eventually see two drunkards walking haphazardly toward him singing shanties at the top of their lungs.

“Yo hum, yo hum,

Gimme a bottle o’ rum.

Yo hog, yo hog,

Gimme a pint‘r a grog.

Just gimme a hogshead,

‘R I’ll pull back me doghead,

‘N’ put a ball‘n yur bum!

So…

Gimme a bottle o’ rum!

Yo hum!”

Daniel ordered his men to pull out their wooden clubs and hide from view. When the two men passed them in the street, Daniel called out the order. His men then jumped out from behind the two unsuspecting and carefree individuals, striking them in the back of their drunken heads and knocking them unconscious. They were then hauled off quickly and quietly to the Crimson Reef before anyone could witness the sanctioned kidnapping.

While at sea, these drunkards were forced to sign the articles and join the crew. Robert S. Hall was the first to sign, followed by the most disinclined sailor, Wiliam-Sean Guile. After joining the crew, Robert and William were not to become intoxicated, as was stated in the articles.

The first six months as shipmates under Admiral Flynn, both Robert and William would often be found drinking. Unfortunately for them they had reached the point of drunkenness more than once and were consequently ordered to be flogged, which the Admiral loved to carry out himself and brutally so. Admiral Flynn made sure his whip was not only knotted at the ends but also had metal shards intertwined. Within twenty lashes they would faint from the loss of blood and ensuing pain. Fortunately, Admiral Flynn allowed his personal physician to treat most of these men, minimizing infection, which would frequently lead to death, if the wounds were not cared for.

By their seventh month of service, both Mr. Hall and William were clear-headed and sober. Tweed, the ship’s second mate, grew to be very close friends with Mr. Hall, who was acknowledged for his opening nepotistic ways. William, although very charismatic, was known for his spiteful attitude.

Although Admiral Flynn was a great asset to the Crimson Reef, there was a new more powerful ship being built and in the final stages of completion. It was called the Sentry, otherwise known as England’s Naval Jewel and so-called Ship-of-the-Line. Admiral Flynn was preparing to take command of the Sentry for some time now.

When Admiral Flynn finally did transfer to the Sentry, Daniel was placed in command of the Crimson Reef as Captain. Tweed took his place as First Mate and Robert Hall as second, through Tweed’s recommendation.

Upon news of his promotion, Daniel promptly approached Count Spencer for his daughter’s hand. Count Spencer immediately stood with apparent displeasure. “Do you mean to take for yourself my only daughter?” he sternly asked.

Captain Stirvin stumbled clumsily about. “Well, I thought…Well Sir… I mean I was thinking, Sir…Or rather I…”

“Or rather you what? My heaven’s boy, can you not complete one simple thought! How can you possibly manage a wife?”

Standing petrified, in silence, Captain Stirvin didn’t know what to say.

“If this is the way you handle your dealings I want no part!” insisted Count Spencer, followed by a kind wink. “But, will you please take Katherine off my hands,” he added with a smile. “You really do deserve one other, you know!”

Still in shock from Count Spencer’s initial reply, Captain Stirvin was inept to hear the rest. Before the actual answer could sink in, he began to defend himself, speaking at a very rapid pace, “But I love your daughter, I really do. I need your blessing, but I…” Finally catching on, Captain Stirvin realized the answer was a yes. “I, I can… I mean you…I can? Oh thank you, Sir! Thank you!” Feeling overly appreciative and relieved, Captain Stirvin could not contain himself, losing his composure by clumsily throwing his arms around the Count in an awkward embrace. But realizing what he was doing, he quickly jerked away, accidently forcing his soon-to-be father-in-law back and to the ground. Extremely humiliated and yet flush with excitement, Captain Stirvin bid Count Spencer a fond but hasty farewell, “Ah, good day Sir or Father – Count. Well, thank you.” Captain Stirvin turned and ran out the door in a ball of sweat in an eager search for his would-be fiancé.

With limited time on land, the engagement lasted a mere month and a half. The marriage took place in the gardens behind Count Spencer’s home. It was a gorgeous wedding, lit in part by the moon lit sky and candlelight that gently flickered about. The ambiance was spectacular, adorned with colorful lanterns and transparent vales of white overhead, flowing gently in the cool evening air, which was scented with the smell of sweat perfumes.

Nathan bade the toast to the captivating new couple, “May you live a long life together,” everyone raised their glasses, “in love and happiness,” He took a brief pause, “and learn to compose yourself when confronted by a man whose daughter you would take to wife!” Everyone politely laughed. Nathan raised his glass high in the air and looked toward the happy couple. “To the bride and groom!” He smiled with a heartfelt gesture.

Captain Stirvin took Katherine by the hand. They stood before their family and friends, smiling with a mild expression of love. Everyone exclaimed in unison “Cheers!” A loud shout of approval and applause quickly burst forth.

As the months passed, everything was going well for Captain Stirvin and Katherine. However, with tensions growing between France and England concerning Spain, Captain Stirvin was needed abroad. War seemed imminent.

While Captain Stirvin was out to sea, tragedy struck the Spencer family. Nathan was exhibiting a good time at a local tavern with some of his more ill-behaved friends. He was approached by a recent acquaintance, Captain Benjamin Hornigold, a newly commissioned privateer. An insult was assumed, resulting in a scuffle, where a short blade was promptly introduced. The fight lasted but a minute, though poor Nathan was ultimately run-through. Within hours, before any family could be notified, Nathan was dead.

A month following the incident, Captain Stirvin returned to the port of London from his politically charged assignment. Stepping onto the docks, he was informed of Nathan’s death by a young guard posted there.

Nathan’s death was soon dwarfed—completely drowned out—when on March eighth, seventeen hundred and two, King William was involved in an accident while riding horse and died. Because King William’s death occurred only days after Nathan’s, the official investigation never really got off the ground and was soon forgotten. It was assumed that Captain Hornigold, a known patriot, was only defending himself, as revealed in a very short and trifle examination. No one ever openly refuted and a trial never came to fruition. Privateers would, from that time forth, prove to be just as unfavorable to Captain Stirvin as any pirate, his most detested enemies.

All three of King William’s children were still born. Therefore, Anne Stuart, sister to Queen Mary, succeeded the throne as the first Queen of England without a King by her side. She trusted in her officers and those in high places to keep the kingdom in order.

Daniel had only been Captain for a few somber months, when he was called on by his new Queen to settle a small disturbance within a costal township. However, on the day he set sail, a particularly dark and inclement storm was building up and awaiting them out at sea. Captain Stirvin had a great deal of confidence in his abilities. His burnt skin and calloused hands told the tale of his life as a, now, experienced mariner. But, little did he know that this night would prove to be a true test of his leadership and courage. As the storm began to pick up in strength and speed, the deck became a flurry of activity.

Relentlessly, the storm thrashed about in an angry dance of wind and rain embellished by the flashing glow lighting up the night sky, followed by thunder’s ominous clap, which only grew louder and more rampant. An eerie whistle, caused by the constant fury of the forceful winds breaking against the high riggings on the mizzenmast, struck further fear into the crew.

The rats that found habitation in the bilge for the last few months were now hiking to higher ground, indicating that the bilge was collecting too much water. As the filthy vermin collected and grouped themselves between decks, the men scrambling to keep the ship afloat continued to stumble over them, frustrating their progress.

While the Crimson Reef tossed to and fro on the waves of the great deep, Captain Stirvin fought back.

“Order the men to batten the hatches down, Mr. Tweed,” he commanded with urgency.

Tweed and a few others then rushed to fasten down the openings on the main deck. But, amid the unsecured objects moving aimlessly about the slippery deck, Tweed found it challenging to complete the task, but fought hard to do so.

Soon, temperatures plummeted, making it increasingly difficult for the crew to perform their duties. With more determination, Captain Stirvin pushed his men to keep their fears aloof and the Crimson Reef afloat. Enormous waves continued to slam against her hull and at times completely consume the top-side with commanding blankets of water. Clinging on for dear life to any firmly affixed object, a few crewmembers on the main deck forwent their stations unwilling to let go.

As the bilge continued to fill with water, the ballast more easily swayed with the ship’s every move, continuously throwing her off balance and creating further strain at the helm. The top-heavy ship was ripe to capsize if control could not be maintained. Bryan Black, the master gunner, and a few others rushed to the helm to help the pilot wrestle the ship’s pull against the undertow’s massive weight on her rudder, trying to keep her windward.

As Mr. Black made his way from the far side of the ship, the long ends of the riggings lashed as they loosened from the storm’s wrath. Whipping and snapping about, a thick rope struck Mr. Black in the back of the head causing him to lose his footing and slip, slamming his head against the mainmast, where he fell unconscious.

Mr. Black’s unconscious body hurled back and forth between the mainmast and mizzenmast along the portside wall and then across to the starboard side and back. Large swells braking against the hull, continued to force unsecured objects overboard. When Captain Stirvin spotted Mr. Black’s limp body, he thought it best to take immediate action before the waves could again flood in and carry him out in the same manner. From his position on the quarterdeck, Captain Stirvin noticed a single rope hanging from the mast above, flapping wildly in the wind about ten feet out.

“I refuse to lose even one man to this petty squall!” he shouted aloud, preparing himself mentally for the daring leap.

Captain Stirvin took a step onto the quarterdeck railing and jumped out toward the rope, snatching it firmly with both hands. He loosened his grip enough to descend to within a few feet of the main deck. When the vessel leaned in a favorable direction, Mr. Black’s beaten body slid toward Captain Stirvin. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he reached out with the other, catching Mr. Black by the sleeve. Sliding down the rope a bit further to the ground, Captain Stirvin knelt with Mr. Black still in his grip. Pulling him to the cabin beneath the quarterdeck, he placed him in a secured position for the remainder of the downpour and ran back out to assess the situation.

“Ahoy the deck!” shouted the lookout, catching sight of something in the close distance. In a panic he continued, “Land – off the starboard bow!”

There was an island close by and the fear of running onto the rocks, tearing her hull against the blind reef and, to the extreme, snapping her keel, swelled up within the mind of every man on board.

“This Man-of-War,” shouted Captain Stirvin, “will not fall heir to the likes of a blow such as this or any other such ruin!”

With the help of a few courageous sailors, and Captain Stirvin’s inspired direction, the pilot at the helm was able to steer the storm-tossed vessel away from the nearby reef and clear of danger. By the time the storm did finally subside, the Crimson Reef was still afloat and everyman was grateful.

Chapter VI

Black-Hearted’s days as captain faded into legend, as he plundered and pillaged many a ship and shore. People began to envision a giant who ruled with unconcealed cruelty; with a heart as black as the deepest abyss. Gossip of dealing with the devil and all other such wicked embellishments molded his reputation, which only meant greater ease for him in his cruel plight.

Black-Hearted’s crew was willing to pursue tasks as deadly as he commanded; willing to commit the countless number of crimes as he was demanding; and as eager to spill as much blood as was needed.

While docked at Port Lorne, the crew of Roger’s Jolly was loading up for the journey out to sea in search of a royal frigate, when a lad named Edward Teach approached Black-Hearted, as he stood with Stephen and Eric.

“Are you in need of an extra hand?” asked Edward.

“Why do you ask, boy? Who do you wish to sign for?”

“Myself? I wish to go on account with you.”

“How old are you?” asked Stephen. “You can’t be more than sixteen.”

“I’m old enough to sail and fight.”

“My youngest mate is near twenty-two years,” explained Black-Hearted. “Every one of my men is a well-fitted seadog. You have no idea what kind of ship you’re dealing with here, Mate. Now leave me be.”

“But Sir,” beseeched Edward, “I can’t stay on Port Lorne any longer.”

“You’re right, boy. You can’t. Now, go elsewhere. I’m not taken with fatherin’ the child of another man. I wouldn’t even be taken with fatherin’ my own. ”

Black-Hearted and his men just laughed, as Edward walked off in a discouraged slouch. His men finished loading Roger’s Jolly with supply and other such cargo. They weighed anchor and set sail for English waters.

About a day and a half into the journey, Edward Teach crept out from the bilge. It was dark and most of the men were fast asleep. He snuck silently across the main deck and reached for the articles just outside Black-Hearted’s quarters. Without making a sound, the boy took a small blade from his belt and pierced his index finger. He rubbed his bloody finger against his thumb to spread the blood as though it were ink. Edward then pressed his thumb along the bottom of the articles and hurried back down below.

In the morning Black-Hearted looked over his crew from the helm and noticed the top of someone’s head poking out from behind a barrel at the far end of the main deck. He asked Gunner to fetch the young lad. Black-Hearted was not at all surprised to find Edward standing ever so proudly before him.

“What in Jonesy’s name are you doin’ ‘board my ship?” toyed Black-Hearted.

“I belong here, Captain,” declared Edward. “It’s official. I’ve already made my mark on your articles – in blood.”

With a quick nod and a smile from Black-Hearted, Gunner knew what to do, taking Edward by the arm and forcefully escorting him, with the assistance of another, to the portside gunwale. “Sorry, boy,” said Gunner.

“What are you doing?” asked Edward, as they pressed his belly against the gunwale.

“If you want to sail with us, you have to know what it means to be a seabird,” said Gunner, exerting all his energy into lifting Edward’s hefty and underestimated weight with a long and painful grunt. Although he tried to resist, Edward was finally shimmied over the gunwale and overboard. “Can you fly, boy?” added Gunner

Just shy of a rope hanging off the wall, he reached out, helplessly flapping his arms and yelling at the top of his lungs, until he pierced the surface of the swelling sea. He came up immediately gasping and panting for air. Instead of being struck with fear at the sight of Roger’s Jolly sailing off. Edward should have been was angry and bitter. Black-Hearted continued on without a care. But determining that the boy did have heart and was larger than most his men, he concluded that Edward could be of some use after all. Calling out the order to turn the ship about, Black-Hearted saw fit to snatch him up out of the freezing water.

Shivering cold and wet, Edward fell to the floor on his face, completely fatigued. Rising slightly to his elbows, and shaking at the jaw, Edward defined himself with a few rash words. “I’m not leaving,” he grunted with a cough.

“No, I guess you’re not,” replied Black-Hearted. “But you’re going to do as you’re told and work your knuckles to the bone on this here vessel or the waters you swim next will have hordes of teeth! Nothing more need be said about that.”

Walking off and leaving Edward face down on the filthy deck, Black-Hearted ordered Gunner to put Edward to work.

Within three weeks of their departure from Port Lorne, a mast was seen about three miles aft of Roger’s Jolly.

“Turn this ship about,” ordered Black-Hearted.

Gunner looked at the compass to gage the new course and confirmed, “twenty-four degrees to port!”

Set in motion by the forceful winds, the sails on Roger’s Jolly bulged gently outward, pushing the ship at an impressive thirteen knots in their new direction.

The ship they sighted was called the English Pride, an English frigate of considerable size. It was commanded by Captain Thomas Blair.

Black-Hearted ordered the white flag hoisted, as he neared the English Pride. Some of the men just stood at the gunnel and waved. Curiously coaxed, Captain Blair, in a quiet chuckle, ordered his men, “Lower your weapons. No one in their right mind would be fool enough to attack a royal frigate with such a small vessel.”

The crew dismissed any premise of battle and straightway lowered their defenses. Upon encountering the vessel, within a few yards, Roger’s Jolly fired upon on the unsuspecting vessel with a damaging broadside blow.

Black-Hearted then gave the order, “Hoist me jolly, men!”

Needing the English frigate for his dark design and unwilling to sink her, Black-Hearted ordered a small broadside to scare and warn, slightly jolting the sailors onboard. Surprised and unprepared, many of the sailors were shocked when they noticed Black-Hearted’s fear evoking jack, denoting no quarter, climbing the enemy mast. Black-Hearted did not expect a frigate to surrender upon the onset of his frightful appearance, but without a second thought a few sailors began to abandon the ship in a crazed frenzy, shouting, “It’s Black-Hearted the Pirate! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!”

Although their abandonment did incite a spark of fear within several other crewmembers, they were all commanded not to concede their ship to Black-Hearted’s possession, by the ill-advised order of Captain Thomas Blair. Captain Blair ordered his men to forward the guns and prepare for close quarter combat. While most of them did maintain their position along with Captain Blair, fear continued to spread throughout his unwilling crew. “Give up the ship! It’s not worth it Captain. Surrender!” exclaimed a distraught crewmember, almost ready to jump ship.

Captain Blair, refusing to give in, turned on the distraught crewmember and fired his pistol. The young sailor fell to the deck, obliterated by a fatal blow to his chest. Captain Blair then turned to the rest of his men shouting, “We’ll never surrender! Now hold your ground! Remember who is in command!”

Losing more and more men to the mentality of those who wished to give up and forsake the fight, Captain Blair never once shied from his failing objective and zealous attitude. In due course, one by one, the entire crew of the English Pride unanimously agreed in favor of concession to Black-Hearted.

Giving Captain Blair one more chance, the first mate further beseeched, “Please Captain, surrender the ship, we cannot beat Black-Hearted – he has signed himself with the devil. He’ll consume this entire ship with darkness and fire, ‘tis suicide, Sir!”

Black-Hearted and many of his men quickly slung their grappling hooks to the portside gunwale of the English Pride and began the process of boarding, amid a hail of gunfire. Roger’s Jolly then sailed around to the starboard side of their prey, drawing most of the fire away from those now climbing the hull.

Stubbornly, Captain Blair remained undeviating in his course. “Cowards!” he cried. “I command this ship! My orders are to be obeyed, at all costs. Disobey my orders and that would be suicide! Do you understand me?” Captain Blair looked over his crew and knew they were not going to fire. “If you won’t obey my orders…” He pushed aside his master gunner in a childlike rage. “I’ll have to force you to fight!”

Ripping a torch from the hand of one of his men, Captain Blair lit the fuses to a few cannons and fired on Roger’s Jolly, leaving only minimal damage. Roger’s Jolly was more maneuverable and way too close to the hull of the English Pride to be effected, being much smaller and therefore too low in the water to give proper aim from Captain Blair’s position behind his ship’s gunwale.

Black-Hearted and most of his men had, by this time, boarded the English Pride. The few brave officers left on board, though siding with those wishing to abandon the fight, held Black-Hearted and his men at bay for as long as they could, rather than jump ship.

Captain Blair raged on, “Fight men!” Firing his pistol toward Black-Hearted, he hoped to inspire his spineless men. Continuing on, he hollered, “Fight, men, fight for your country and your lives, fight!”

“Are you mad, Captain?” grunted his first mate, shocked to see such fanatical defiance and denial of his impending loss.

“We’re not going to dig our own graves!” shouted another sailor. “Come men, before it’s too late!”

Several men rushed toward their unsuspecting Captain, as he stood enthralled in his adrenaline-fueled illusion of winning this obviously one-sided battle. Tackling him to the deck in one bone-crunching instance, his men seized him in hopes of ending the conflict. Binding him with strong cords of rope, they carried him from the quarterdeck to the portside gunwale.

“This is mutiny!” he cried hysterically. “I’ll have you all locked in irons for this! You’re all cowards. Cowards!”

The brave officers attempting to fend off Black-Hearted and his men, opting to live, lowered their weapons and surrendered when they noticed what was going on. Offering Captain Blair to the enemy, his mutinous crew then placed him at Black-Hearted’s feet.

Within the silence of the surrender, Black-Hearted laughed bemusedly. “Looks to me you’ve lost the fight, Captain.”

“It’ll do you well to untie me and surrender!” replied Captain Blair. “Admiral Flynn will have you in chains for this. You’re a dead man!”

Kicking Captain Blair in the chin to shut him up, Black-Hearted stated, “Well then, I guess that settles it. Dead men have no need to surrender. They’re already dead.”

“We’ve no wish to continue,” interjected the sailor in the forefront. “We beg quarter, Sir! Blair’s yours! Quarter, we beg.”

Gunner pulled a pistol from his belt and cocked the doghead back, aiming the barrel at the crown of Captain Blair’s head. Stopping him from pulling the trigger, Black-Hearted specified that he didn’t want any blood to stain the uniforms any further than was necessary.
The prisoners were then placed in the cells below the English Pride.

As he was about to sail away, Black-Hearted thought about all the uniforms he stood to lose with every sailor that abandoned ship. Desperately splashing about in the shark-infested waters, several men were fresh with the smell of blood. Black-Hearted ordered his men to fish them out. As they were doing so, a few shrieks could be heard, as several bloodthirsty sharks thrashed about, ripping into living meat and bone. Blood spewed viciously from their open wounds. The sailors nearby each attack hollered out in a frantic panic to escape the horde’s deadly jaws.

Black-Hearted was able to save twenty-three men. He made sure to strip them down to their skivvies and stowed the garments, until it was time to put them to good use. As Black-Hearted sailed out toward a nameless and deserted island not found on any map, Roger’s Jolly followed close behind.

“Land Ho,” shouted the lookout after hours on due course.

Dropping anchor about a mile off shore, Black-Hearted forced all prisoners, with the exception of Captain Blair, to the main deck. “There be a first mate among you? Or has he gone the way of the sea? Speak up! Who be the first mate? Step forward.” Not one person moved in fear of what was to become of him. “Step forward or I’ll bleed every last one of you and feed you to the sharks.” Still no one moved or spoke a word. “Alright then, let’s have it your way, mates.” Black-Hearted unsheathed his machete, taking the closest prisoner by the arm and pulling him close.

Pleading from somewhere in the crowd for the prisoner in Black-Hearted’s grasp, one man broke the silence. “Please, Sir. Don’t do this. Have mercy. The first mate is with us, Sir. I swear it.”

“Then step forward or this man, I swear it, will be dead in the next twenty seconds.”

“I am first mate,” said a soft and humble voice. Stepping forward a few paces, to the forefront of his crew, was a slightly timid middle aged gentleman. Though he was trembling, he stood boldly with his chin up and head held high in an attempt to stay proud.

Black-Hearted thrust the prisoner he was holding back into the worried crowd of captives and then walked up to the first mate, standing an intimidating six or seven inches taller.

“And what name do you go by, Mate?”

“First Mate Benton C. Wresfin, Sir”

“You know how an English vessel is to be properly run; all the appropriate proceedings and the proper look of her. Am I right?

“Aye, I know everything.”

“I despise the Royal Navy and anyone taking part. I could kill you right now without a blink! The only reason you’re not dead is because your captain is a fool.”

“Please, Mr. Hearted, don’t kill me. I’m a just humble man. Please, Sir.”

“Well, that’ll depends, Mr. Wresfin.”

Black-Hearted forced the rest of the prisoners to jump ship and swim for the diminutive island. It looked as though there might be food enough to survive, but for how long, no one knew.

“Gunner, bring me Captain Blair,” commanded Black-Hearted.

“You’ll live so long as you do what I say,” said Black-Hearted, directing his mandate toward Mr. Wresfin. “But if you give me any trouble you’ll share the same fate as your captain.”

Captain Blair was brought to the main deck, where he caught sight of Edward Teach. “You’re pressing them into service pretty young these days aren’t you? Getting a bit desperate, I take it.”

“That boy is braver than any one of your men.”

“If you kill me, you’ll be hunted down like the dirty dog you are and hanged for certain.”

“If?” he replied, with a light chuckle. “In a few moments it won’t matter at all. You’ll already be dead.” Black-Hearted then ordered Gunner to prepare Captain Blair.

Seeing the predicament Captain Blair was in, Mr. Wresfin began to breathe more heavily and big drops of sweat ran down the side of his face from his brow. “I’ll do whatever you ask, Mr. Hearted.”

“You’re a worthless fool, Wresfin!” shouted Captain Blair.

Gunner smacked Captain Blair across the cheek. “Today you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut - forever. I can promise you that.”

Black-Hearted warned Mr. Wresfin, who was now in tears, “You now serve ‘board this vessel, my new flagship. I’ll name her the Rogue. You’re going to turn my crew into fine English officers over the next few weeks. If not, well then, take a gander at this here keelhaul and place your own boots upon it.”

Black-Hearted gave the go-ahead to Gunner with a simple nod of his head. “Keelhaul’m.”

Now terrified, Captain Blair shouted in a dreadful panic, “Wait, no, stop! I have a wife and children. Please! I do surrender the ship to you after all.”

“Like I said before,” replied Black-Hearted, “dead men have no need to surrender” he then laughed aloud, continuing, “They’re already dead.”

Gunner took Captain Blair and shoved him face-first against the mainmast and ripped the back shirt the entire length. The others, by Gunner’s side, tied his wrists and ankles together. Gunner secured Captain Blair’s limbs to a long rope, drawn underneath the ship from portside to starboard.

As this traumatic scene unfolded before Mr. Wresfin, he asked in a panic, “What are your intentions for this poor soul? No man is diservin’ o’ this.”

“Stop your cryin’,” grumbled Gunner.

Gunner was about to toss Captain Blair over the portside gunwale, when Edward Teach stepped in. “I may be young, but please allow me.”

Black-Hearted gestured on behalf of Edward’s request, allowing him to perform the deed.

“You don’t have to do this,” pled Captain Blair. “You’re still so young and you don’t need such a sin upon your head.”

“Such a sin?” questioned Edward in retort. “Captain, I’m a pirate. Sinning is what we do best. Innocence isn’t my strong point. I lost my way long ago.”

Immediately, Edward, a sizeable lad, took him by the legs and picked him up off the floor and over his shoulders. He then raised him above his head and tossed him overboard. All of Captain Blair’s frantic yells and screams could be heard.

Ten men on the starboard side pulled on the other end of the rope, forcing Captain Blair underneath the ship while still in motion upon the water. Instantly, the temperature of the water took effect. Captain Blair’s body quickly tensed and his lungs contracted, making it harder to keep his breath. As Captain Blair descended deeper, the sharp barnacles slowly tore through his bare skin. As he scrambled for breath, he released the remaining air from his lungs with a muffled scream. Twisted and torn, his body could no longer handle the stress of the massive keel against his back, which gradually broke. Captain Blair gave up and passed out. Under the keel’s continuous pressure, he simply gave up the ghost. His body was then hoisted back up to the main deck.

At the sight of Captain Blair’s distorted and mangled bloody body, Mr. Wresfin confessed, “I’m going to be sick. Please, have pity. I beg you Sir, quarter. I beg quarter. I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it. I do.”

Captain Blair was untied and checked for signs of life. Stephen and Eric threw his torn and broken body over the bow, weighted with a large ball and chain tied to his ankles.

Gunner took Mr. Wresfin, who was now shaking in his boots, and threw him in a cell below deck. “You’d better pray you can please the captain.” Slamming the cell door, Gunner locked it shut and held on to the key.

Following Captain Blair’s execution, Darby O’Dell and a few other crewmen happened upon Edward’s popper hat.

“Watch this, mates,” said Darby mischievously, as he picked the hat up and tossed a few smoking matches in. He quickly handed the hat to Edward before the smoke could billow out. Edward just casually threw it on.

As the smoke swelled under his hat, Edward began to smell something funny. Confused about how it seemed to be following him and the strange looks he was receiving from his shipmates, he finally noticed from his peripheral and shouted, “My head!”

Darby and the others vigorously laughed as Edward jotted about in hysterics. Darby’s patronizing antics triggered something deep within Edward’s being. Unbeknownst to him, the pure exhilaration he felt from their earlier skirmish with the English Pride had filled his blood with such a thirst for more that he exploded into the monster he was meant to be. The billowing smoke exaggerated his deep-set eyes and, combined with his overpowering size and newfound rage, made Darby and the others a bit nervous. Edward used this newly found adrenaline based power to put Darby in his place.

Taking Darby by the collar, Edward lifted him up off his feet, suffocating him with his powerful grip. Stephen jumped on his back, but Edward just reached behind and threw him overboard with a single motion. Black-Hearted stepped up, cocked his pistol and shoved it deep into the center of Edward’s forehead, causing it to bleed slightly.

“Drop him or I’ll split your skull in two,” demanded Black-Hearted, who was still bigger and broader than Edward. “I can use a man like you – better alive than dead. And dead is not somethin’ I hesitate about.”

Edward dropped Darby to the deck without a word more. Darby stood up gasping for air and with a notable scowl, just walked away.

All hands were aboard the Rogue, as Roger’s Jolly sat empty, just off the starboard side. Black-Hearted was in need of a captain for Roger’s Jolly and he went to his trusted crew for a vote. “Who do you elect as captain o’er Roger’s Jolly? What say you?”

“Gunner!” shouted an anonymous crewman.

“Aye, Gunner” voiced another.

No one contested Gunner’s name, as he was unanimously voted in as Captain of Roger’s Jolly, but graciously declined. “I wish to continue under Captain Hearted as quartermaster aboard the Rogue, if it be granted me.”

Though proud to keep Gunner on a quartermaster, Black-Hearted was disappointed and turned again to his crew. “Choose you another!”

“Mr. Shane Garrison, bids I”, shouted a crewmember by the name of Fischer Todd.

“Darby O’Dell,” shouted Darby himself.

“Darby’s Irish and everyone knows that Irishmen make for a poor captain!”

“Take it back or I’ll run ya through!” Darby cautioned.

“I’ll not take it back,” replied Fischer. “You’re an Irish coward and a fool! Not a soul on this ship would be fool enough to cast a vote your way.”

“Shut your fool mouths!” intervened Black-Hearted. “Any other names be bid upon, make your nomination known.” The men stayed silent for a good minute. Without a reply, Black-Hearted demanded, “Then make your choice. Which is it to be, Darby or Aaron? All those for Darby, put your sword to the sky.” Several men made known their approval. “Alright then, all for Aaron?” Most of the crew raised their swords in opposition to the first vote. “Majority rules for Aaron! It’s done then. Captain Garrison, which man among these will be quartermaster on Roger’s Jolly?”

“Mr. Bones Henry’ll do just fine.”

Bones Henry had only been with Black-Hearted for nine months. Although he was a conniving individual, he was a great seaman and leader. Black-Hearted knew Bones would do well as quartermaster, but was more comfortable with Bones aboard Roger’s Jolly than his own ship.

“Bones Henry it is,” confirmed Black-Hearted.

Festering inside, Darby had enough and challenged Fischer with a drawn sword. “No good Irish, am I? You filthy English pig!”

Fischer stood his ground drawing out his own cutlass. “You dare challenge me? Well then, you really are a fool, aren’t you?”

“If it wasn’t for you,” assumed Darby, “I’d be Captain now!”

“Captain Garrison!” interrupted Black-Hearted. “Here be yur first test o’ captainship. What say you ‘bout this here dispute? The articles state that any dispute is to be settled in a manner befitting the dispute and the captain is to choose the manner in which it be settled. What say you ‘bout these two fools?”

After only a moment Captain Garrison made his first decision as Captain. “We’ll lay anchor at Widow’s Reef on our way to Port of Errors. The dispute will be settled there.”

Amid the outburst of favorable cheers, Gunner stated, “Aye, you’ll make a fine captain, indeed, Captain Garrison.”

Widow’s Reef was a broad mass of coral and rock, as flat as the sea and located where no other land was in sight. This reef could only be seen by the lookout in the crow’s nest. The reef was completely covered by the sea, rolling water over the jagged surface in swells as the sun beat relentlessly upon it.

Three hundred yards out from Widow’s Reef, the two ships dropped anchor. Darby and Fischer were taken by longboat to the far side of the reef and forced out at separate ends. Preparing each man with a small dagger, they were forced onto the reef without shoes.

Gunner offered a brief explanation. “The first man to reach the main deck of the Rogue will be allowed to rejoin their crew. The other will suffer a slow death on the reef, with no shelter, food, or fresh water. The surface of the reef is covered with razor sharp coral so watch your step.”

The longboats returned to their respective ships and upon the sound of a single gunshot, the struggle commenced.

They both darted toward the ship through ankle-high water, but once the jagged reef tore through the soles of their naked feet they fell to their knees. Now crawling, they each increased their pace, fighting through the pain and bleeding profusely. Reaching the outer point of the reef at the same time, they lunged toward one another, knives at the ready. Falling short, they both slipped to the surface losing both their knives to the sea. They landed just above an old skeleton wedged at the torso in a narrow crack in the reef.

“You’d better get used to him,” said Fischer. “You’re going to be here for a long time.”

Darby reached out and picked up the skull. “Not if I can help it,” he replied, slamming the skull into Fischer’s face. Fischer fell back bleeding at the bridge of his nose.

“You’re a dead man,” shouted Fischer, springing back with a loose femur in hand.

With a quick smack to his jaw, Darby fell back against the reef. Finding the other femur he blocked a second incoming blow. For the next several minutes they fought with the two femurs as though they were swords. But soon they ditched their efforts and rolled over into the sea to race toward the ship. Swimming side-by-side, they continued to force each other apart.

Darby fell short and reached out for Fischer, grabbing him from behind and forcing him beneath the surface of the water. They continued on like this until they could hear the cheers and the jeers from the two ships. They both reached the Rogue at the same time.

There were two long ropes awaiting them at the side of the ship leading to the main deck. As they ascended, Fischer took a wild swing, striking Darby in the face. Darby let go of the rope and fell back down a foot or two. With a second wild swing, Fischer over reached, allowing Darby to catch and twist his arm. With a huge smile Darby threw Fischer to the sea and continued upward.

As Darby placed both feet on the main deck, Fischer was left to Widow’s Reef where he awaited his own death. He was left with a small loaf of bread, a pint of rum and a pistol with a single round. Fischer could only watch as Roger’s Jolly and the Rogue grew smaller in the distance. Soon the ships were merely two insignificant dots on the horizon. Fischer lowered his head, knowing he would be dead before weeks end.

Captain Garrison made for a fine captain aboard Roger’s Jolly. He carried a large cutlass and a rare triple barrel pistol, which few pirates preferred. He maintained the peace and kept good order.

Black-Hearted’s new ship, the Rogue, was doubly reinforced and dressed with thirty-one cannons. Having three large masts, the Rogue could carry about one hundred and ten pirates without losing her speed.

With two separate crews at the ready, Black-Hearted prepared for his next big attack. Mr. Wresfin was forced to lay out all the proceedings of an English run vessel. Within a limited time, he was to make certain each crewmember looked and acted as though they were part of the Royal Navy. If Black-Hearted was to accomplish his design, Mr. Wresfin was expected to do the best job possible.

Spending the next two weeks at sea, Black-Hearted felt they were ready for their plight. Before their assault, Black-Hearted planned one last stopover at Port of Errors. While on Port of Errors, Mr. Wresfin was to talk to no one about their plans or face the same consequence as Captain Blair and Mr. Wresfin knew that dead men tell no tales.

Chapter VII

Trouble had been brewing over the last several months concerning Spain’s rumored alliance with France. Word came of a Spanish vessel called la Real, a merchant ship, owned by a wealthy Don named Rafael Reina. He had petitioned Queen Anne for the right of passage through her waters, since la Real was bound for France with nothing more than merchandise. The Queen approved the passage for the unknown merchant vessel and no English ship was to prevent its progress.

However, Queen Anne did feel somewhat uneasy about la Real’s destination. An unwelcome alliance between Spain and France was unnerving. There was a lot of tension between Spain and England, but Queen Anne did not wish to cause further tensions.

Captains Stirvin and Flynn were both summoned to the Queen’s Court. They were told to obtain any and all information in regards to this would-be alliance, by any means at their disposal. But, under no circumstances were they to attack or harm la Real.

Captain Stirvin dropped anchor at Port Lorne in pursuit of information linking Spanish plans to form an alliance with France. Knowing Port Lorne was the most recognized location for international trade, he felt it would be easiest there to find the information he needed. Admiral Flynn cruised to Port Lorne to corroborate information with him.

“Gather the men,” Captain Stirvin ordered Tweed. “Make sure they understand clearly that they are to return within four days, by six o’clock precisely.”

As soon as the men were gathered, Tweed addressed them. “You are free to go where you choose. Do as you please, so long as it is within the boundaries of our law! However, you must be back within four days. If you do not arrive four days hence you will be deemed a deserter, a crime punishable by death. You are to report to your commanding officer at precisely six o’clock that evening at which time we will weigh anchor and set sail for our next timely destination.” He looked over the men for a moment and shouted, “Dismissed!” Everyone quickly gathered up their things and departed from the ship. Tweed assigned two watchmen to guard the ship before he went his own way.

Tweed, Mr. Hall, William, and Royal Hawkins from the Crimson Reef, met up with Brent Sherman and Scott Coles, of the Sentry. Their plan was to cruise out to Port of Errors, knowing it was illegal for anyone assigned to an active vessel, such as the Crimson Reef at this time, to leave the town in which his ship was docked. Every sailor on active duty had to be ready at a moment’s notice and easily accessible.

They planned to meet up with a known privateer, Sir Fouste, just outside a nearby brothel along the harbor. Sir Fouste was prepared with a ready ship to ferry them the distance to Port of Errors. But dealings in secret with any privateer whether he was government sponsored or not, were seen as a traitorous act so the risk was great.

Sir Fouste offered them commoners clothing as a means of disguise. “Once aboard my ship, you’ll keep your mouths shut,” Sir Fouste warned, “or you’ll be in a mess of trouble.”

“So, when we meet this Darcy,” asked Scott, “we just provide the information and we’ll be given the gold, no questions asked?”

“Well, Darcy Wenham’s word is as good as his word is ever going to be and that, my friends, is as clear an answer as you are ever going to receive from the likes of such a man as he. Just remember, when you deal in treasonous affairs you deal with liars and thieves. Do you truly expect complete honesty and loyalty from someone willing to buy this information? Do you expect him to trust six mysterious men who are willing to turn on their own country for a little money? He has as much right trusting you as you do him. Just remember to keep a weathered eye upon your backsides. But don’t fret,” he said with a hint of a chuckle. “You have nothin’ to worry about, gents. Nonetheless, if I were in your boots, I would make certain to be on Darcy’s good side. Make the man happy and so shall you be.”

“And how do we find place on his good side?” questioned Royal, “We have never met the man.”

“You’ll want to stop at the marketplace in center of town and purchase yourselves a bottle of rum. Mr. Darcy Wenham is very fond of rum.”

“There’s still one thing that troubles me,” stated William.

“And what would that be, mate?”

“We’ve paid nothing for your services. What’s in it for you?”

“The answer to that, you’ll know soon enough,” verified Sir Fouste. “Just be satisfied to know it is well worth it.”

They changed into their commoner clothing in the shadows behind the brothel and soon were on their way to Port of Errors.

Captain Stirvin, still on Port Lorne, happened upon a couple of past acquaintances, Gabriel Rodrigo and Edgardo Lopez, South American adventurers, dealing in significant information on matters of international affairs. Very confident foreigners, they kept themselves well groomed, in neatly dressed attire. Both were very notably short and stocky, complete with pronounced accents. Although young, they were well versed in current politics of neighboring countries and gossipy tidbits of information.

They were flirting with a few local wenches outside a small tavern when Captain Stirvin found them. Edgardo and Gabriel were humorous to watch around the ladies. They always insisted that they were gifted in matters of love and romance. And although they never tired of trying, they succeeded in neither love nor romance. Gabriel loved tall red-headed women. He was speaking to such a woman, as Captain Stirvin watched in amusement from a short distance unbeknownst to them.

With his thick South American accent Gabriel inquired, “How are you doing this fine day, mi amor?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see ya down there.”

He laughed playfully, catching on to what he thought was a Scottish accent, “Scottish, are you?”

“Yur completely cabbaged. Had a pint too much, have ya? I’m Irish, eeijet!”

“Scottish, Irish – beautiful is beautiful in any province, mi lady.”

“Yur a bit thick aren’t ya. Do ya ever stop talkin’?”

“You’re a feisty one, mi amor. Aye, me gusta feisty. Grrr.”

“Shut yur hole,” she shouted. “Piss off, ya Bollocks, before I clatter ya good.”

Staring with lustful eyes, Gabriel pressed, “You have lovely long legs. I’ll have you know that sometimes it is worth it to live down here. The scenery can be quite pleasing.”

All the while Edgardo just stood by rolling his eyes in embarrassment.

“Oh, yur a gas if ever there were. But, I be in need of a real man,” she insisted. “Someone I might understand when he speaks. Someone tall and…” Her eyes suddenly grew wider, looking passed Gabriel “like that there fine piece of man.”

Captain Stirvin walked up to Gabriel and Edgardo from behind, greeting them with a firm hand upon their shoulders. As he pulled them away, Gabriel uttered his last tawdry line. “Till we meet again, my red dove.”

Taking a seat within the old tavern, Captain Stirvin inquired, “Have you any information regarding la Real, a merchant ship sailing past England on its way to France? She belongs to a Spanish Don who goes by the title and name of Rafael Reina. But what business has he with France? What information can you provide?”

“We have no such knowledge,” replied Edgardo, “as of yet. But I can assure you, we can secure information about this man over the next few days, for a good price of course. As you know, our services are not free. This can be dangerous work, mi Capitan.”

“Find the information and I’ll make it worth your while,” agreed Captain Stirvin. “But it better be reliable information or I’ll have you hanging in irons before week’s end.”

After leaving the tavern, Captain Stirvin met up with Admiral Flynn to discuss the probable alliance between Spain and France and how it might actually be an advantage to them.

“What we need to do is gain favor with Spain and create an alliance of our own,” suggested Admiral Flynn.

“That will never happen. You know The Queen already holds such animosity toward Spain and would rather have reason to wage war against them.”

“Yes she would and that is why we must find a way without her knowledge, for her wellbeing and that of the kingdom. Besides, she’ll never have reason to war against Spain. If so, we would quickly lose favor with our allies. The Queen knows this and so we stay in wait amid the unrest, until Spain’s eminent alliance with France. We may well be surrounded by the enemy before year’s end. We’ll not last long. We must take action now.”

“And what do you suggest?” asked Captain Stirvin. “We’ve no standing with Spain. King Philip holds the same animosity for us that Queen Anne does for Spain. Our threat is the very reason King Philip leans toward an alliance with France.”

“Daniel,” said Admiral Flynn in a clam and trusting tone. “What you say is true; however, King Phillip of Spain is young and inexperienced. He relies too heavily upon King Louis, who just happens to be his grandfather, mind you. Phillip already feels inadequate, constantly under Louis’ wing. As King of France, Louis continues to pressure Philip into an alliance, knowing he can use Philip to gain greater power in the Atlantic. But Philip is not yet joined in alliance, he is teetering. Philip might also feel the need to break away from this would-be alliance to make a mark of his own in the world. This we can use to our advantage.”

“Perhaps there is a way,” reasoned Captain Stirvin. “As you well know, a Spanish merchant of high standing with King Philip will be sailing through English territory from Denmark within a week’s time. Queen Anne signed the right of passage not two weeks ago. If we can find favor with this merchant, while at the same time, in confidence, suggest Philip’s dependence on France is making him appear weak, perhaps we are taking a small step in the right direction.” And then rethinking his objective, he considered his own integrity. “But Admiral, what of Queen Anne? I cannot keep such a thing from her.”

“Aye, Captain, but you must. She cannot know,” replied Admiral Flynn. “Once we have gained Spain’s trust, she will see the value and she’ll thank you for it. Our actions will prove us innocent and the outcome an advantage. We are doing nothing wrong, Daniel. We have only thought through the possibilities. We have not yet acted on them. But once we figure the proper steps, you will have to choose whether to follow this course without the Queen’s knowledge or let things happen as they may. Though, the latter may place our country in a very compromising position. No, Daniel, we must act and act quickly for Queen and country.”

Following a long and thoughtful pause, Captain Stirvin agreed on his own terms. “I am a man of faith, Roman Catholic by birth. As you know, the Church of England has gone through much change, parting farther and farther from its true traditions and beliefs. Queen Anne is the last of the Stuart line. Since she is barren, she will have to will her kingdom to another – outside of the Stuart Dynasty. If I can gain greater trust, I could be of some small influence on her decision and steer her toward a successor with more traditional beliefs. Yes, for Queen and Country is noble. But, greater still – for God and The Church, I admit that I must.”

They carefully considered every stratagem with much discussion over the following days. Finally, on the eve of the third day at Port Lorne and about three weeks subsequent to the English Pride’s yet undiscovered skirmish with Black-Hearted, Edgardo and Gabriel returned with some interesting information.

“La Real is a massive galleon,” began Gabriel. “There are a number of large cannons and a small military force on board. They carry something of great importance.”

“That does nothing for me,” quipped Captain Stirvin. “I already know of the wealth they carry and it is of no concern to me.”

Edgardo quickly interjected, “But Capitan, not only is there a mass of wealth, but Don Reina carries with him documents that prove an alliance not only between Spain and France but several smaller countries and provinces, all opposing English rule. What information the Don carries with him is of even greater importance to the alliance than any amount of wealth on board.”

“Then it may already be too late,” replied Captain Stirvin. “If those documents make it into King Louis’ hands, Queen Anne must be notified. She will have her reason to wage her war against both France and Spain.”

“There is already word of a planned skirmish over la Real, within the next few weeks,” added Edgardo. “Not much is known, but these plans do appear to be on a larger scale involving a growing number of pirates under a single flag.”

“If this is true and as time allows, la Real is to be attacked upon English waters.” Captain Stirvin stood to take his leave. “If we are swift enough, this may prove to be the very thing we need to gain Spanish trust. You have my thanks.”

“But Capitan,” said Edgardo in fervent haste, “Gabriel and I were hoping to see such gratitude in the form of something a little more tangible and monetary.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Captain Stirvin. “Come to the Crimson Reef tomorrow evening, before six o’clock and you’ll get your reward. But be aware, if you fail to arrive on time you will receive no reward. We must weigh anchor before sunset.”

Eager to find Admiral Flynn again, Captain Stirvin became all the more restless. But it mattered not; he and Admiral Flynn could not leave the harbor, but instead were obliged to await the return of their men the next day.

Using as much time as they could before their men returned, Admiral Flynn and Captain Stirvin plotted their course well into the early morning hours in hopes of pin-pointing the location of la Real, as she sailed from Denmark to France. They decided upon separate routes, meeting up again at Port Lorne, two weeks hence.

The approaching dawn was shortly coming. While they retired for the remainder of the night aboard their respective ships and anticipated the coming day, Black-Hearted and Captain Garrison dropped anchor at Port of Errors.

“We’re going to be here a few days,” explained Black-Hearted to Mr. Wresfin. “Mention anything ‘bout our intentions to anyone and you know what’s to come of you. Besides, you’ll be branded a traitor once they find out what you’ve done. What we do is on your head as well. Remember, silence is your friend… your only friend.”

Turning up a peculiar ring on his right index finger, Black-Hearted smeared a small amount of ink on what appeared to be a heart on its face. Mr. Wresfin watched as Black-Hearted then ominously placed it over a small flame. Black-Hearted didn’t flinch or lose his expression as the ring turned red. He then took Mr. Wresfin by the wrist and slowly branded a black heart into the backside of his right hand. Promptly Mr. Wresfin shrieked out from the burning pain. Black-Hearted quickly ripped it away, stating, “You’re marked as crew now. You serve aboard my vessel. You leave this island before we set sail and I’ll hunt you down.”

Gunner then took him by his trousers and thrust him overboard, bloodying his nose upon landing face-first on the water. Swimming to shore, he looked all about for an escape, knowing that if he could reach England, he would be safe. Nevertheless, he was confused, afraid to let anyone know what he had done in preparing Black-Hearted and his crew to act in the name of the Queen. He didn’t know what to do and so he turned instead to the bottle.

When Black-Hearted finally arrived in town he separated from his men, venturing on to Mr. Darcy’s residence. Taking his hat off, Black-Hearted placed it gently on the mantel. The holes in his hat appeared larger than normal in the light coming through the side window, projecting a few rings of light onto the wall.

“So, the plan is it in order then?” asked Mr. Darcy.

“Aye, very much in order,” replied Black-Hearted. “I have me a frigate and she’s a beauty. I be callin’ her the Rogue. So, what news have you?”

“There is talk of a Spanish merchant, sailing to France from Denmark, no doubt attempting to gain favor with King Louis. This vessel will be sailing through English waters within the next week. King Philip has petitioned Queen Anne for the right of passage in the name of a wealthy Don called Rafael Reina.”

“What good is a merchant vessel to me?” asked Black-Hearted, thrown off by the seemingly worthless information. “There be many a ship under the same lot and none be of worth to me in these matters.”

“Hearted, these are unsettling times,” began Darcy. “An alliance between Spain and France has caused quite a stir, making for very unstable relations in these parts. This ship will be well-manned and loaded with riches of every sort. But I have reason to believe there is something of greater significance aboard this ship; something of invaluable worth to King Louis of France.”

“And what might this be? Gold, silver, the finest art? I have seen them all. What else is left?”

“I have word of a document, signed by Savoy, Bavaria and others, including Spain. Hearted, they have come under contract to form an alliance, threatening English rule. Your attack, in the name of Queen Anne, will only strengthen this contract and may well provoke the very war you desire. The Queen’s allies will be sure to separate themselves from her, after this blatant act.”

“You have word? That’s not good enough. We must be sure,” cautioned Black-Hearted. “We need time to prepare. A week is not time enough.”

“But neither is two months. The next such opportunity will not come again for another few months, at the least, if not better than a year’s time. Your intent will be found out for sure by then. In two months the whole Eastern Atlantic will have word that you commandeered an English vessel and they are not ignorant, they will realize your plan to act in the Queen’s name. You must act now.” Paused for a moment to let Black-Hearted think, knowing this was the very opportunity he has been waiting for, Mr. Darcy continued, “Ever since Henry Morgan took Panama in the name of England, thirty years past, Spanish ties with England have rotted to nothing. While tensions are again wavering, you must use it to your advantage before things settle any more than they have. England wishes to gain Spanish Succession, but Spain and France will soon have an official alliance. The King of Spain is the grandson to the King of France. This alliance is imminent. To keep relations cordial, Queen Anne has signed the right of passage for this Spanish merchant. It may only take this one assault, in the name of England, to disrupt any peace. No country in the world will ever wish to side with England and her allies will cut her right off. She’ll not be trusted by any.”

“If I am to do this,” stated Black-Hearted, “I’ll need to know everything about Don Reina and his merchant ship.”

Mr. Darcy then disclosed, in detail, as much as he knew, though it was not very much. Following this brief summary, Mr. Darcy offered Black-Hearted a proposal of a different nature that he hoped would be of benefit to them both.

“Six English sailors, including a few officers, are arriving at my home later this evening,” disclosed Mr. Darcy, in confidence. “They are prepared to sell me some quite useful information. It seems the Queen’s Royal Navy has not compensated these men sufficiently to maintain their loyalty.”

“And what sort of information might this be?”

“I will tell you in exchange for the chest of doubloons that I am offering to them. However, if you choose to recover my gold, they cannot know that I had anything to do with it. I must keep an appearance of honesty, you know.”

“Honesty?” uttered Black-Hearted. “Darcy, you deal with traitorous men and pirates and everyone knows this. That, my friend, be an appearance far from honesty.”

“Well, it matters not,” he replied. “If you recover my gold, I will give you information concerning locations and destinations of the Queen’s fleet and where each ship might be on any given day.”

“I’ll bring back half your gold for the information. I require the other half.”

“I thought as much. Done, then! I can still sell this information for a goodly sum.” Mr. Darcy took a few silver pieces and placed them into Black-Hearted’s hand. “Here, go in to town. Have a drink or two on me. I can’t have you standing around while I deal with these men. It’s bad for business. Come back with a few of your men when you’ve had drink enough to satisfy and wait beyond the trees until their leave. Follow them beyond the boundaries of my estate and to the shore before you make yourselves known. We can’t give them reason to blame me for any of it. Do whatever you must to recover my money and then we’ll have us a chat. Hearted, after tonight, you’ll be well aware of your enemy’s position and always one step ahead.”

“Aye, says I, and vengeance be mine!”

Chapter VIII

It had now been about three weeks since Black-Hearted’s attack on the English Pride and a month and a half since he had taken Isabel from Scurvy as payment for the Weeping Lady. Isabel seemed to be happy despite the fact that they rarely saw one another these past six or so weeks.

Isabel did not yet know of the Rogue, Black-Hearted’s new flagship, anchored beyond the reef. She noticed Roger’s Jolly docked at the harbor as she walked down the hill from her cottage toward town. Figuring Black-Hearted would soon be by to see her, Isabel thought to acquire some freshly prepared fish and other necessary fixings for supper.

Knowing she had long had a place in Black-Hearted’s heart, Isabel was kind and sweet to the rough and callus pirate. However, she was also young and imprudent. Time and time again, her flirtatious ways placed many a man into the harmful path of Black-Hearted’s jealousy and rage.

Just before Isabel wandered blissfully into the marketplace, she took note that a handful of mysterious men were disembarking from a small vessel also docked at the harbor. It was the six traitorous English sailors. They were a mostly handsome bunch, with the exception of Tweed, who looked like a mischievous troll. Leading the Traitorous Six was Wiliam-Sean Guile, who was responsible for their insidious scheme to sell off a confidential log that described projected docking days, times and locations of each naval vessel. The Traitorous Six was comprised of Robert Hall, Tweed, Royal Hawkins, Brent Sherman, Scott Coles and William.

William had become quite the unsavory thorn in the Queen’s fleet after being pressed into service. Being very opinionated, disclosing his thoughts and beliefs all too liberally, William was often in trouble, but never thought of as a traitor.

The Traitorous Six were to attend a small dinner at the home of Mr. Darcy in recognition of their agreement. They organized themselves and wandered warily into town, prepared to exchange the master log for a chest of gold doubloons.

As they walked by the Marketplace in the center of town, Robert Hall remembered, “We need a bottle of rum for Mr. Darcy.”

“Forget the rum,” snapped William. “We have what he really wants. Let us finish this and be off this island before we’re caught.”

The rest of the men agreed. Mr. Hall went along for only a moment before turning back. “We don’t know what sort of bloke we are dealing with and if a little rum will soften him up, well then all the better. Don’t worry, go on. I’ll get the rum and be to Darcy’s before you can even begin negotiations.”

Mr. Hall was well-groomed and well-spoken with an appealing voice. He bore a light scar just above his right cheek, dramatically emphasized in harsher sunlight.

When he stepped into the marketplace, his ever-foolish eye fell upon Isabel, who was innocently meandering about in search of a few specific goods. He quickly picked up on her frustration and decided to use it to his benefit. Standing about a half-foot taller, he walked with upright confidence, under the guise of a more virtuous nature and calmly approached Isabel.

“My Lady, I could not help but notice, you appear to be in a bit of a quandary. Forgive me if I am a little shy in the presence of a woman so striking. But, may I be so bold as to offer my assistance?”

“I am in need of no assistance, Sir,” Isabel quipped, though, vaguely flirtatious. “You’re new to these parts, are you not?”

“I am unfamiliar with this island, ‘tis true, but not these waters. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Sir Robert S. Hall, second mate aboard her majesty’s vessel and former flagship, the Sentry.”

“Oh indeed. Knighted are you? I was unaware that a second mate in the Royal Navy might carry such a title. Besides, her majesty is not but a name on this island. ‘Tis neither owned, nor governed by King or Queen.” Isabel smiled, as though to egg him on, teasing playfully. “Tell me, Sir Knight,” she continued sarcastically, “do you truly imagine the title of second mate or knight holds any better a standing upon this soil than does a nameless Queen?”

“Well, ‘Sir’ is actually more of an honorary title.” Stumbling over his obvious lies, he stretched them as far as he could, claiming, “I saved the captain’s life in battle. It is not the sort of thing one’s captain would care to share.”

“Oh, that is impressive, indeed.”

“So, now that we have been properly acquainted, might I be of service?”

Smiling with advantageous innocence, Isabel accepted the offer with obvious implications. “Would you be so kind as to fetch that sack of sugar on the upper shelf for me?” Isabel pointed to a specific bag, knowing there were plenty at her reach, as did he.

“I’d be happy to oblige, on one simple condition - your name?”

After a few lengthy seconds in silent thought, she disclosed, “Miss Isabel Shaw. Now if you please, Sir, the sugar?”

“There are plenty of other sacks of sugar on lower shelves. Might I fetch one of them instead?”

“No! You asked to be of service and that is the one I require.”

As Mr. Hall reached up his body came closer to Isabel, who was standing underneath his reach. Pressing slightly against her, he moved a few small steps back when handing her the bag.

“Thank you, Mr. Hall.”

“Please, call me Robert.”

“Well, if it pleases you, Robert.”

“Oh, it pleases me a plenty,” he replied with evident lust dripping from the sound of his voice, revealing a touch of his true disposition.

They conversed a while longer before Mr. Hall was comfortable enough to place his hand upon Isabel’s exposed shoulder, tempting her approval.

Those within the marketplace, closest in proximity to Mr. Hall and Isabel, knew of Black-Hearted’s ready temper and quickly separated themselves from the area.

As Isabel’s breath grew noticeably heavier, Mr. Hall drew nearer. Taking advantage of her palpable excitement, Mr. Hall leaned inward. But Isabel dodged his lurid attempt, ducking under his arm and just passed him.

Unfortunately, Black-Hearted had concluded his business with Mr. Darcy and was foot-bound for the local tavern. Passing the marketplace on his way, he happened to catch sight of Mr. Hall and Isabel through the open walkway.

Black-Hearted took hold of someone exiting the marketplace. “Who be that there bloke speaking with my Isabel?”

“I overheard him say he was an officer in the Royal Navy,” replied the gentleman, scared for his life, “second mate if I understood it correctly.”

The heart-wrenching memory of Lorien and Richard quickly flashed through his mind. He couldn’t let it happen again. His temper flared in a tower of rage and he threw the local gent aside. Immediately he entered the marketplace.

Unsheathing his razor sharp machete, Black-Hearted exclaimed, “Take your hands off the lady at once, you filthy English dog!” Black-Hearted defiantly raised his weapon.

Mr. Hall’s heart pounded vigorously. “Please, don’t. I beg you!” He then sank, protectively covering his head with his arms.

Before Black-Hearted could follow through, he felt Isabel’s gentle touch upon his forearm, prompting him to withhold his blow.

“Please, don’t do this,” pleaded Isabel in a soft and soothing tone.

Mr. Hall tripped over his own feet in an attempt to get away. He was beyond out of sight before Isabel and Black-Hearted even knew it.

Isabel attempted to explain. “Hearted, he was only trying to help…”

“Aye,” blurted Black-Hearted, cutting her off. “I saw him helping himself to whatever you might be offering!”

Isabel took Black-Hearted aside, smiled and kissed his cheek. “Oh Davy, you know I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“That no-good worthless English dog, I’ll send him straight to Davy’s Locker, I will! Aye, he’ll come to taste the point of my blade the next time I see him. I swear it!”

“Davy, if you keep going down this road you won’t be around long enough to see us through. When will it end?”

“Izzi, don’t do this. I have to end what they started,” resolved Black-Hearted. “I will have my bloomin’ revenge!”

Now in tears Isabel continued, “I’ll not stand by and watch you hang. This needs to come to an end. Promise me when it is all over, you’ll be done with it once and for all.”

Black-Hearted could not withhold and did finally promise to end his life of piracy after avenging his family. No other woman had such an effect upon Black-Hearted since Emily at the orphanage, not even Lorien, his young love from so long ago.

Isabel had known Black-Hearted for years and although their communication and contact was limited by his lifestyle as a pirate captain, her feelings for him seemed to be growing fonder in their long anticipated relationship. Indulging in the only kindness he knew, Black-Hearted had always treated Isabel with respect and warmth. Isabel, in turn, wished to know everything about Black-Hearted that she could. Constantly in pursuit of more information about his vague life’s past, she wished to know more; where he came from and the details that no one else seemed to be aware of. Capping her curiosity, Black-Hearted kept his dark and troubled past to himself.

Black-Heart did manage to keep their relationship and his feelings for her hidden for the past several weeks. No other person outside Port of Errors, with the exception of his closest shipmates and Scurvy, knew of Black-Hearted’s feelings for Isabel. Though, rumor had begun to unravel and take shape.

As the Traitorous Six arrived at Mr. Darcy’s front door, Mr. Hall came stumbling up. Tired and out of breath he approached the door without so much as a flask of strong drink.

“What happened to you?” asked Scott.

“I’ll explain later,” replied Mr. Hall in an anxious hurry. “Let’s just get on with it.”

William knocked on Mr. Darcy’s fancy new door with an oversized knocker hanging from the center. Mr. Darcy welcomed them in and offered a pleasant meal which was laid out to perfection on his long and elegant dining table, complete with sweet ale for the drink.

Several guards, located at each end of the room were armed standing at the ready in silence.

As Darcy and his guests feasted, William held out a document rolled up into a formal scroll. “This here indicates the exact location of every English vessel, approximate arrival and departure and even an inventory of likely cargo.”

“That sounds splendid,” replied Mr. Darcy as he reached out to take hold of it.

William quickly pulled the rolled up document back with a flick of his wrist. “However,” he mandated, “we do have one condition on which this transaction shall proceed.”

As several guards moved in, Mr. Darcy waved them off. “Oh, and what might that be? And, mind you, I give fair warning not to press your luck.”

“Neither the Crimson Reef nor the Sentry are to be skirmished with, we lads serve on these two vessels and wish not to be caught in the center of it.”

“You have my word, good sirs,” agreed Mr. Darcy. Of course he knew full well that whomever he sold this information to would not consent to such an irrational stipulation.

Raising his arm, Mr. Darcy snapped his stubby little fingers, prompting a servant to enter the room carrying a small but hefty chest, simplistic in its look. Setting it on the table in front of William the servant unlocked the chest, leaving the key in the keyhole. William then nodded to Scott, who promptly stood and opened the chest to reveal the many silver pieces, gold doubloons and other valuable coins.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Darcy,” stated William as he handed the document to him.

“Yes, such business is always a pleasure,” muttered Darcy. “Now leave this island and never return. No one must know of our dealings. My men will see you out.” Four guards followed behind to escort the Traitorous Six to the edge of his property, where they were quickly abandoned.

Making their way back to the sloop in the dark, they nervously quickened their pace, anticipating the time it might take to get back to Port Lorne without being missed. As they approached the beach, they were relieved to see their ship docked close by. But waiting in the shadows of the outlying brush and trees was Black-Hearted, who unexpectedly stepped out with near a dozen men, including Stephen, Eric and Gunner. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, catching the Traitorous Six completely off guard and heading them off on every side. Black-Hearted drew his infamous machete and pointed with it, saying, “We’ll take that there chest off your hands.”

“Aye,” added Stephen, “It must be quite a burden, let us lighten your load, mates.”

The Traitorous Six were allowed to peacefully leave once the gold was in Black-Hearted’s possession.

As the Traitorous Six walked bitterly and cautiously away, Black-Hearted held back Mr. Hall. “Don’t let me see your face around here again, Robert.” Black-Hearted let him free unharmed, out of respect for Isabel.

Rigid with anger, the Traitorous Six were about to board their vessel, when Mr. Hall noticed someone stumbling about the harbor. As he and the others came nearer, Royal Hawkins recognized him as Benton Wresfin. His hand was bandaged and he was very much intoxicated. His mind was in a whirl of emotions, knowing he had just facilitated one of the most notorious pirates on the seven seas with instruction. He felt a traitor, having just trained Black-Hearted’s crew on how best to appear as an English frigate.

Royal approached Mr. Wresfin with hesitance, backed by the other five. “Benton Wresfin,” he addressed. “What brings you to this sorry waste of land? Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“Oh, thank the sweet Master above. Blessed be! I’ve been stranded, looking for a way off this rock. Not a single soul dared grant me boarding off this island. Our ship was attacked by that filthy pirate.”

“Who?” asked Mr. Hall, “what pirate?”

Mr. Wresfin began to sway and quiver from intoxication and fatigue. “Black-Hearted it was. He took possession of our ship, the English Pride. He’ll be the cause of war he will, causing all sorts of atrocities in the Queen’s good name. Please, take me with you.”

“Of course,” agreed William. “Of course we’ll take you with us. But, on one condition; you must swear you won’t tell a soul that you’ve seen us here and don’t ask what our business is. We’ll take you back to Port Lorne, but if you mention seeing even one of us, I’ll slit your throat before you can say more. Do you understand?”

“I don’t care at all about your business. Get me off this island and you won’t even exist in my mind. My lips are sealed.”

Mr. Wresfin became lightheaded and slipped to the floor, unconscious.

Allowing Mr. Wresfin to lie on the ground, William insisted, “He knows too much and I don’t know if we can trust him. He’s the only person that can place us on Port of Errors at this time.”

“What are you suggesting? He’s an officer,” insisted Royal. “We are not going to kill this poor soul in his sleep.”

“Would you rather die?” asked William. “Because that’s what awaits each of us. We’re traitors and we’ll be hanged when Wresfin mentions that we were on Port of Errors tonight. What does he matter to us anyways? He’s not from the Crimson Reef. His ship went down weeks ago, he should have died then. Besides, if you can’t remember, we just gave Darcy information that will lead to the death of many an officer, so what’s the difference if we kill this officer ourselves?”

“Benton Wresfin has been a good friend to me,” replied Royal. “I’ll not stand and watch you do this. He’s a good man.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” interjected Mr. Hall. “Let’s think about this. I’m willing to bet there will be a handsome reward for the information we just acquired from Wresfin about Black-Hearted.

“And how do you suggest we use this information without proving our own guilt?” asked William. “If we tell anyone where we found Wresfin, we’ll be linked to Darcy and hanged for sure. The only way out of this with our lives is to kill him. Can’t you see that we need him dead in order to stay alive?”

“What we need is for Wresfin to tell Captain Stirvin what Black-Hearted is up to,” explained Mr. Hall. “The brand on his hand will tell the truth of it. We’ll just have to keep him drunk enough to make sure anything he says about us being on Port of Errors is not believable. I’m even willing to bet we can convince Wresfin that he’s on Port of Errors when he’s speaking to Captain Stirvin on Port Lorne. Only this plan won’t work with a dead man.”

“So, how do you suggest we set this up?” asked William.

“We’ll take Wresfin to a tavern that Captain Stirvin is comfortable with and keep him drunk the whole time he’s there. We’ll just have to be sure and fetch Captain Stirvin before he wishes to weigh anchor. It’s perfect. Black-Hearted will pay for what he did to us and at the same time, we’ll be rewarded for bringing this to Captain Stirvin’s attention.”

Without further discussion, the Traitorous Six boarded their vessel with Mr. Wresfin, who was too drunk to care about Black-Hearted’s earlier warning. When they arrived at Port Lorne, William and Scott boarded the Sentry. Brent and Royal took Mr. Wresfin to The Boars Milk, a tavern popular with English crewmen and which Captain Stirvin had been known to frequent every now and again. They kept the rum and whisky coming and convinced him that he was still on Port of Errors.

Mr. Hall and Tweed ran off to fetch Captain Stirvin. They halted and stood at attention upon finding him in conversation with Gabriel and Edgardo. Concluding his dealings with them, Captain Stirvin turned his attention to Tweed, since he was his first mate. “What is it that is so important you feel it was worth the risk to interrupt my affairs?”

“Captain, we just came across First Mate Benton Wresfin,” began Tweed. “We feel you might want a word with him concerning a recent assault on his vessel, the English Pride.”

Captain Stirvin calmly inquired, “Yes, under Captain Blair. So, why did you not bring him to me?”

“Begin’ your pardon Sir, but he was too drunk to walk. Though, he still sits at the tavern. A few of the other men are holding him there, awaiting your visit.”

“And which tavern might this be?”

“The Boars Milk, Sir, a quarter hour distance by foot at the east end of the village.”

“Tweed, you are to take command of my ship while Mr. Hall shows me to Mr. Wresfin. I’ll return within the hour.”

“Aye Captain, we’ll await your return.”

Keeping a tight ship, Captain Stirvin persisted, “See to it that any man arriving after six this evening is logged in at the time of arrival. I’ll deal with these men myself.” Then turning his attention to the situation with Mr. Wresfin, Captain Stirvin ordered Mr. Hall to lead the way.

When Captain Stirvin and Mr. Hall walked in to The Boars Milk, Mr. Wresfin was patiently waiting with Royal and Brent. Approaching the table, Captain Stirvin wasted no time. Mr. Wresfin quickly stood at attention and saluted, though his balance was thrown and he immediately fell back into his seat.

“Mr. Wresfin,” began Captain Stirvin. Upon noticing the black heart brand on the back of his hand in his sloppy backward salute, Captain Stirvin asked, “May I inquire about the mark on your hand?”

“The pirate Black-Hearted; this is his mark! Though I must admit, ‘twas a better fate than that of Captain Blair. Keelhauled he was. Dead. ”

“Black-Hearted killed Captain Blair? What of his crew?”

Just then Edgardo and Gabriel waltzed into the tavern and sat at a nearby table.

“That Black-Hearted, he’s a cunning one, Sir,” confessed Mr. Wresfin in a drunken slur. “He commandeered our good vessel after marooning all the men, save one – poor Captain Blair, rest his soul. Black-Hearted intends to use the English Pride in the Queen’s name. Aye, he’s plotting for something all right, you can count on that; somethin’ wicked, he does. I overheard him say he planned to attack a certain Spanish vessel while she sailed in English waters.”

“A Spanish ship?” wondered Captain Stirvin, determining, “His intention is to pursue la Real.”

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” replied Mr. Wresfin, too drunk to really be sure of it. “If you hurry up, you can catch Black-Hearted. He can’t be too far. He’s still here on Port of Errors. These fine sailors,” he continued, gesturing sloppily toward Mr. Hall and Royal, “they can show you. They’ve been here on Port of Errors this whole time.”

Captain Stirvin looked to Mr. Hall and Royal, wondering curiously. “Where did you find this man?”

“Right here, Captain,” replied Mr. Hall. “We were just walking in to have one last pint before reporting for duty.”

Just then Mr. Wresfin regurgitated a mouthful of chunky liquid all over the floor at his feet. “Oh, exude me... excludes me… ex… I think I feel a little sick. Keeper!” He shouted, “Another pint if you please. I accidentally spilt my last drink!”

Captain Stirvin respectfully thanked Mr. Wresfin, adding, “You’ve done a great deed for your country. You’ll be hearing from me soon. Good day.”

On his way out the door, Royal tossed a piece-of-eight to the tavern keeper. “I’ll pay his next drink.”

“Well, give me a pint then,” said Mr. Wresfin to the keeper. “I deserve at least a pint.”

“Oh, and you plan on payin’ for this pint?” asked the innkeeper.

“That man just paid you for it. I demand a pint, Sir, for pity’s sake!”

“No, you’re mistaken, indeed, Sir. That piece-of-eight was a gift. You’ll pay for your own, thank you very much.” Mr. Wresfin could do nothing but sit and sulk. He picked up the empty mug in front of him and tried licking it clean.

As Captain Stirvin and the others headed back to the ship, Edgardo and Gabriel caught up with them. Edgardo thoughtfully suggested, “Mi Capitan, forgive us for eavesdropping, pero we know that Black-Hearted has a close compañero, goes by the name of Shaw – Scurvy Shaw. He might prove to be very helpful.”

“And how does this information serve me?”

“Scurvy will know where to find him,” replied Gabriel. “He’ll know his plan of attack.”

“So, if he’s such a close friend to Black-Hearted, what makes you believe he would lead us to him?”

“Sir, all cutthroats have a price,” assured Edgardo. “And Scurvy is the biggest cutthroat you will ever meet.”

“Such a man as this would surely take the money and run.”

“Pero, Capitan,” replied Edgardo, “it is rumored that Scurvy Shaw has una niña, a daughter, who resides on Port of Errors, solamente.”

“Abducting a woman to bring aboard my ship, this is your advice? Women are a curse to any vessel where only men are found. There is no place in battle for woman.”

“But, Capitan,” argued Edgardo, “this may be the only way to locate Black-Hearted.”

“We will locate la Real and stop Black-Hearted,” finalized Captain Stirvin. “However, if we are unable to prevent this attack I might be so inclined as to discuss such a route. Until then, do not ask me again.”

By this time, the Rogue and Roger’s Jolly had set sail. Black-Hearted was in a serious hurry to get things underway and attack la Real, knowing Mr. Wresfin had escaped Port of Errors and could have already gotten word out. Fuming mad, Black-Hearted swore to find and punish Mr. Wresfin, especially if he brought to light his dark plan. But, until he could complete this plan, he couldn’t dwell too long on someone as trifle as Mr. Wresfin.

They reached a small island called Raven Bridges, which was actually a cluster of five inlets grouped closely together. In the center sat the main inlet with two arches extending outward, east and west. The west arch pierced the waterline, forming a broad reef.

The roar of the crashing waves echoed loudly through the arches. From a distance on the horizon, Raven Bridges had the appearance of a giant bird of prey, as the booming roar of the rumbling waves echoed through the arches, voicing her call.

Black-Hearted ordered Captain Garrison, “Drop anchor and await my return. We have only one English flag and enough uniforms for one crew. With such a wealthy load, la Real will be sure to run if she suspects anything.”

Black-Hearted and his crew dressed themselves in the uniforms taken from Captain Blair’s men. They stripped the Rogue of all outward pirate indication and quickly sailed for the waters bordering Spain and England, in search of la Real.

A bombastic old colonial fool named George Hutchins, better known as Captain George, managed la Real.

Captain George had been living in the American Colonies for the past fifteen years and moved to Spain upon Don Reina’s invitation. Don Reina met the captain while visiting the Americas a few months prior and felt that his wild nature and undaunted spirit would do well aboard la Real.

Black-Hearted, looking quite dapper in his tightly fitted uniform, soon sighted a large mast on the horizon. Knowing la Real was a slow-moving vessel and could not sail windward very fast; Black-Hearted was able to position himself for the imminent raid.

The firepower from la Real’s undisclosed number of cannons made this task much more difficult to gage. However, nothing could stop Black-Hearted from his scheming appetite for vengeance.

Nearing, they spied a Spanish flag waving about her mainmast.

The trick worked and the men aboard la Real were fooled into believing that the Rogue truly was frigate in possession of England’s Royal Navy.

“Raise the Queen’s colors,” ordered Black-Hearted. “Be proud, me hearties!”

Without warning, but not in position for a full broadside attack, Black-Hearted called the order to fire her cannons. Sporadically firing, several cannons bellowed forth in shocking terror.

La Real was loaded with heavy firepower and was not about to yield.

As the two ships came within yards of each other, Black-Hearted gave the order, “Forward the guns for broadside blast!” Sixteen starboard cannons were pushed into position within the gunwale and gundeck. “Fire,” he shouted.

It was a damaging blow to la Real’s portside hull. The thunderous roar of the ominous blast sent several men flying through the air, a few of which ended up in the water between the two large vessels. At this point, an hour-long battle was initiated.

Thick black smoke billowed from both ships, turning the afternoon sky into night within minutes. Knowing salt would put out flames and soak up the expected blood, Gunner commanded the men, “Salt the decks, ya fools!”

Don Reina hid below deck while his crew readied to board the Rogue. When the roar of the cannons ceased, a few seconds of pure silence prevailed. Soon the clanking sounds of grappling hooks reverberated against the gunwales of the Rogue. Pulling the Rogue closer, the two ships clashed violently, causing the men in the water between the ships to gradually drown.

As the ships came together, the formation of the crew on the main deck of the Rogue wasn’t perfect, but mimicked that of English forces. Although it left a bad taste in his mouth, Black-Hearted cried out, “Long live Queen Anne!”

Several men ran to the edge of the gunwale shouting the same, adding, “For Queen and Country!” and “God save the Queen!”

As the battle raged on, Stephen, Gunner and Eric found an unmanned area of la Real and climbed aboard. They found Captain George nearly alone on the quarterdeck reloading his pistol and shouting orders, unaware that the three pirates had boarded.

Gunner quickly subdued Captain George, who was quite small and skinny, while Stephen made a noose and slipped it around the captain’s neck. With the other end of the rope in his mouth, Eric being a very large man climbed the aft mast. A few of Captain George’s men ran to the quarterdeck to contend with Gunner and Stephen. Gunner thumped Captain George in head, knocking him out cold.

Eric continued on until he reached the main yardarm. Several steel balls grazed the mast by his head. “Look out, you’re going to kill someone!” he exclaimed.

Now standing on the yardarm, Eric took the rope from his mouth and tied a small loop, placing both hands through, to insure his hold wouldn’t slip as he clung tight to the rope just above the knot.

Captain George came-to and glanced up at Eric. “No!” he cried, feeling the other end around his neck. Suddenly Eric stepped off the yardarm bringing his hands close to his chest, while holding tight to the rope. The battle seemed to take a brief pause, as Eric descended toward the main deck.

Captain George’s fearful cry came to an immediate stop, but was replaced by an awful gurgling moan, when his body was abruptly jerked off the ground by his neck. At the same time, Eric’s descent quickly began to decelerate as his hands were yanked above his head when the rope promptly became tot from the stress and weight of Captain George’s body verses his own. Unable to bring his hands back down as he dropped through the air, Eric groaned with an agonizing pain when Captain George’s ascent unexpectedly angled toward his groin and connected. Counter balancing one another, Eric and Captain George came to rest high above the main deck. Complete silence engulfed the unbelievable scene, as Captain George’s body kicked and convulsed about, slowly strangling.

With his bloodstained machete in hand, Black-Hearted stood over Captain George’s fallen First Mate. No other figure of authority was left standing on the side of la Real, prompting her crew to abandon ship in the few remaining longboats.

Eric was now dangling above the main deck in tears. Just within reach of Eric’s head, Captain George’s legs kicking wildly in reaction to his dying nervous system. But with his hands still tied up above his head, he could do nothing but anticipate each blow in frustration.

Black-Hearted, still in uniform and character along with his men, gave no real chase, allowing Captain George’s crew to escape. Firing on them only twice, he convinced them that they managed to escape on their own. Black-Hearted had to make sure they spread word of his assault as a blatant English attack.

“Will someone please help me down!” yelled Eric.

Black-Hearted cut the rope with one quick swipe of his machete. Eric fell a ways down to the deck on his back, only to be smacked in the face by Captain George’s loose fist and a knee to his groin, knocking him out completely.

The ship was completely free of Captain George’s crew. However, Don Reina was yet aboard, still hiding from the massive onslaught and unaware of what had transpired topside.

Black-Hearted immediately ordered his men, “Loot her to the bilge and set her ablaze! We’ll leave her ashes for proof of the deed.”

Darby O’Dell questioned with a pleading tone, “But she’s a keeper, with hardly a damage ‘bout her face. She’s clean through, Hearted. Grant me be captain under your jack. A third ship in your own fleet.”

“She’ll stay where she sits and burn until only ash and charred remains are afloat. We’ll not make the mistake of keeping her with us as proof of the truth.”

Soon after the booty was gathered, flames raced upward from the bilge and through the corridors, violently lashing out from every side. The mainsail disappeared as it rolled upward into itself, vanishing into ash. A loud crackling sounded through the blaze as the timbers combusted, shooting out shards of cinder with every snap and resounding pop. Climbing the riggings and masts, the fire grew until the ship was completely engulfed in the destructive conflagration.

Standing on the quarterdeck by Black-Hearted, Darby noticed someone running through the flames. His jaw hung low as he hypnotically stated in his thick Irish accent, “’Tis a bloomin’ banshee.”

The personage then leaped from the ship in a blazing array.

“It’s Old Roger himself,” added Stephen, “gone back down below.”

“The loot is cursed, it is!” added Darby.

Some of the other men noticed that the supposed banshee or Old Roger was physically and frantically splashing about just beyond the flame-flooded ship. Eventually, Don Reina was fished out with a few minor burns. Black-Hearted, refusing to give his name, acted as though he were under the Queen’s command.

Don Reina, mildly burnt, swore, “Sir, you shall hang by your neck until you are dead for this insufferable outrage! We have the right of passage, signed by Queen Anne’s own hand.”

“Hanging by the neck until I’m dead?” questioned Black-Hearted. “That thought does not help your situation, Mate.”

After preparing his heart-shaped ring with ink, Black-Hearted put a hot flame to it, sadistically blistering his own finger in the process; a finger which had long since lost all feeling when it was broken and set crooked as a young boy. Watching in disgust, Don Reina cringed. “Are you insane?” he asked, now even more fearful of Black-Hearted’s mental state. “What are you doing?” Taking him by the wrist, Black-Hearted forced Don Reina’s hand to a palm-down position. “What do you intend to do?” he grunted, squirming and fighting in vain against Black-Hearted’s strong grip. “What do you intend to do?” Unsympathetically, Black-Hearted branded the back of Don Reina’s hand, ripping the ring violently away and taking with it a portion of skin. Don Reina let out a horrific scream. His fear only intensified when Black-Hearted tossed him back into the sea. “I don’t deserve this!” he cried, smacking the water with a force indicative of a thirty foot free fall.

Gunner stood over one of the dead bodies lying on the main deck and stuck his dagger deep within its chest. He sliced violently downward to its navel and ripped it out again in a sadistic manner, until the clothing was drenched in blood. He then lifted the body over the gunwale and pushed it overboard, close to Don Reina.

Gunner shouted out to Don Reina, “You never live through this to tell a soul. You’ll be a feast for the horde.”

Black-Hearted added, “See, now I need not worry about hanging by the neck until I’m dead. Good Day Don Reina!” He then carelessly sailed off, leaving Reina to his demise.

Only the crackling of the ships timbers could be heard in the quiet of the sea. Chills ran through Reina’s body with the anticipation of what surely awaited. And then it happened. A large shark approached the disfigured body that Gunner had thrown overboard and ripped into its leg. One turned into a few, and a few into a horde. They quickly devoured the dead and dying bodies. Don Reina, however, continued to remain amazingly unscathed.

The Rogue had set sail for Raven Bridges to meet up with Roger’s Jolly. From there, Black-Hearted planned on sailing to Port of Errors to meet Scurvy, who was currently on his way to further plans with him and Mr. Darcy.

Chapter IX

After a few tiresome days later, hoping to find la Real before Black-Hearted, the Crimson Reef arrived at the remains of the once Spanish merchant ship.

“Ahoy the main deck!” cried the watchman. “In the water, fifteen yards portside!”

Don Reina was still alive, though he could hardly keep his eyes open. When they plucked him from the sea, he was in the final stages of hypothermia. The harsh sun over the past few days in combination with the cold temperatures over the ensuing nights had weathered his waterlogged body. Shivering cold and delirious, he was dehydrated which led to him smelling of his own excrement. Captain Stirvin quickly saw to it that his injuries were properly treated since his burns were more than just moderate. Offering fresh water and a bite or two, he stuffed everything he could into his mouth and began to weep. Finally able to allow his body rest, Don Reina just passed out. Captain Stirvin personally carried his limp body to the captain’s chambers and placed him on his own bed.

Noticing the burn on the back of his hand, Captain Stirvin discerned the mark. He quickly recalled to his mind Mr. Wresfin, who claimed Black-Hearted had branded the same black heart upon the back side of his hand.

Unable to speak in his unconscious state, Captain Stirvin would have to wait to question him. A few days passed and the Crimson Reef came to rest at the London Harbor. Before they arrived, Don Reina was sitting up and rehearsed all that had happened. In this brief conversation, Don Reina confirmed, “It has been five days since the attack. If my crew did survive, word of this incident has most certainly found its way back to King Philip. You will need to act quickly if you are to save relations.”

When Captain Stirvin arrived at the Royal Estate, Queen Anne was livid. “So, this Spanish vessel was attacked in my name? Do you have any idea how this makes England look? Do you have any idea how this makes me look? I granted la Real the right of passage, only to be seen as the aggressor! Every country sympathetic toward Spain along with our own allies will be outraged.”

“I’m sorry, my Queen. When we arrived, the attack had already been carried out,” explained Captain Stirvin as he bowed and knelt. “The fault is mine, I was too late.”

“I am immediately dispatching a ship to Spain along with a correspondence clarifying the circumstances,” explained Queen Anne. “Be sure Don Reina is aboard that dispatch. Upon Admiral Flynn’s return, following the delivery of this correspondence, he will depart for Spain to personally smooth things over, if at all possible.”

“I’ll have Don Reina aboard the dispatch before the day is out. Admiral Flynn may yet be a few days, Your Majesty. He continues his search for la Real. We were to meet in the council chamber two days hence. I hope this will give adequate time.”

“The letter I am sending should make do until Admiral Flynn’s return,” assured the Queen. “I hope to resolve this matter with King Philip before the week is out.

“I am optimistic we will succeed, My Queen,” replied Captain Stirvin. “However,” he continued, “there are further details you must know. Count Reina carried with him documents that forge a deeper relationship with France. Once Don Reina returns to Spain, the alliance between France and Spain will be made final. They had also hoped to bring Denmark into their alliance, but this they could not bring to pass.”

“If word gets out that we have attacked this innocent Spanish vessel without incident, we will undoubtedly be left to ourselves, without a single ally. Nothing will stop Spain or France from rallying a greater alliance together, including Demark, Savoy and others. It will be they, not I who will rule these waters. And that is unacceptable!”

“If it pleases Your Majesty, allow me to escort the Don to Spain,” Suggested Captain Stirvin. “I can weigh anchor within the hour and speed word to King Philip…”

Queen Anne immediately cut him off. “What you will do, Captain, is assure me that Don Reina boards that ship! You will then set sail and, by whatever means necessary, bring that pirate to justice. He is to be hanged as soon as is possible! Unless you specifically see fit, for the security of this nation, no longer are we to have ties with any pirate claiming to be patriotic. All pirates, whether privateer or not are to hunted down and hanged.”

“Your Royal Majesty,” respectfully replied Captain Stirvin. He stood at attention with his hat tucked under his arm, awaiting dismissal.

“You will not let me down,” commanded Queen Anne. ‘I trust you understand me. Mark my words, Captain, either he or you shall be hanging on the gibbet for all to see by month’s end!”

“Yes, My Queen,” Submitted Captain Stirvin. “Your word is my command.”

Collecting Don Reina, Captain Stirvin quickly escorted him to the Queen’s awaiting dispatch. Before the day was out, Don Reina was safely on his way to Spain with the contract of alliance.

The next night Kale, a bounty hunter who commanded a small group of eight mercenaries, arrived at Port of Errors. As they cautiously pulled along the eastern side of the island, their location was kept concealed by the thick of the trees, beaching their skiff about two miles from the edge of town.

Kale was there for one reason only, having spent the last several years in the orient learning skills that might better his way of life; he wanted to die wealthy and infamous.

Keeping only to the wooded areas, they scrambled through the thick brush, staying away from all roads and marked paths, wishing to keep their presence on the island unnoticed.

Arriving just within the borders of town, they were able to view a large portion of it. Kale noticed somebody walking alone and decided to follow at a safe distance. He then eyed two of his men, Damon and Hunter Jade, brothers by birth, gesturing toward the poor gent. Damon and Hunter ran a small length to the side of a wooden shed. The man turned, having heard a small scuffle nearby within the dark of the woods. Becoming paranoid, his pace increased to a slow jog. He could hear the sound of footsteps simultaneously echoing along with his own. The accompanying steps just behind him became louder as his jog accelerated into a run. Continually catching the sound of steps keeping in sync with his own, he stopped and turned. But there was no one within his range of view.

“Who’s there?” he muttered. “Who’s there, I say? Show yourself.”

Turning back toward the harbor, he felt a warm blow and snapping sound resonate within his head and everything suddenly went black.

Coming-to, this innocent victim found himself deep in the woods, surrounded by Kale and his men, each with a ready weapon in hand and burlap bags over their heads with cut-outs to see from. Kale was at the forefront and carried a large cutlass, and a long barrel musket slung over his shoulder.

“What is this?” questioned the old gent.

“When I ask, you answer!” demanded Kale. “Nothing else need be said. Now, what is your name?”

“Jon,” he sobbed with a fearful sniff. “Jon Laughlin!”

“I assume you live on the island, close by.

“Aye, have most me life, Sir.”

“Then I take it you know a woman, goes by the name of Isabel Shaw?”

Fearing for his life, he hesitantly replied, “Oh, please Sir, what do you mean to do?”

Kale smacked him across the cheek with the back of his closed fist. “Don’t forget old man, I ask and you answer! If you so much as think about givin’ a false answer, I’ll bleed you dead, Jon!”

Jon begged, “Please, don’t make me do this. I can’t be a part of such dealings.”

Kale struck him even harder. “I won’t be askin’ again, Jon!”

Damon leaned in close. “I’d listen to the man if I were you. This is not a game, Mate; and he doesn’t play kindly.”

A small drop of blood ran down the side of Jon’s cheek. “She…” he paused knowing that if Kale didn’t kill him, Black-Hearted most certainly would.

Kale slapped him again with an open hand. “She what, Jon? Tell me!”

With no way out, Jon finally gave in. “She lives about a mile to the north, she does, in a small cottage on the border of town at the woods edge. ‘Tis the only place with a red door.” Feeling completely defeated, Jon lowered his head and whispered in tears, “I’m as good as dead.”

“Right now, the only thing you need fear is me,” cautioned Kale, thinking Jon was afraid of Scurvy, knowing nothing about Black-Hearted’s relationship with Isabel. He continued, “There’ll be nothing left for Scurvy if you’re lying to me!” He smacked Jon once more in the same manner.

“It isn’t Scurvy I’m afraid of,” said Jon. “What do you mean to do with her?”

“That’s none of your business,” said Hunter as he pulled Jon to his feet and forced him to go with them.

The mercenaries approached Isabel’s home and walked up to her front door. They found it unlocked and quietly helped themselves in. The wooden planks creaked, as they set foot on the floor, but continued on without hesitation.

Isabel woke up to Kale standing directly above her. Before she could let out a scream, Damon covered her mouth. The others tied her up carried her out.

“I’m sorry Isabel, I’m so sorry!” confessed Jon, who lay prostrate on the ground, defeated and undone.

“Shut-up!” yelled Kale as he struck him across the mouth with his musket, knocking him to the floor in a slight daze. “Stand him up!” he ordered.

Damon took Jon by the arm. “Come on, get up you old fool!”

Suddenly and without warning, Kale thrust the point of his curved blade into Jon’s abdomen. Jon immediately fell to the floor.

As they fled Isabel’s home, Kale pulled a letter from his vest pocket and threw it onto Isabel’s bed, explaining the situation to Scurvy. There was no name attached the letter, only directions on negotiations for Isabel’s release. Payment in an unspecified amount for his assistance was to be rewarded if he complied.

The next day Black-Hearted arrived at Port of Errors followed by Roger’s Jolly, only to find the letter of abduction made out to Scurvy and signed by Captain Stirvin lying on Isabel’s bed. Black-Hearted had long known of Captain Daniel Stirvin and all his heroics, but had never met him face-to-face, or so he thought. In a violent rage, Black-Hearted ripped the letter in half and rushed to Mr. Darcy’s, where Scurvy and Captain Garrison were now conducting business, underhandedly as usual. Black-Hearted kicked the door open, cracking it at the hinge and busting in the frame.

“I’ll kill him Darcy!” exclaimed Black-Hearted. “Who took her? I’ll slaughter him slow and painful!”

In all the commotion, Mr. Darcy ran to the entry, where Black-Hearted stood. “You broke my door!” he cried. “Did you have to bust apart my new door?”

“Forget about that shoddy peace of dung!”

“It’s a nice respectable door,” said Mr. Darcy in a disappointed tone.

“I don’t care about your blasted door!” shouted Black-Hearted in return.

Scurvy and Captain Garrison also rushed over and noticed the door hanging on a single hinge. “What happened?” they questioned in unison.

“Someone took Isabel! It’s Stirvin, I know it is. He must have hired someone to kidnap her!”

Cresting his voice at a thunderous peak Scurvy added, “She’s my daughter!”

“I brung no woman into this mess,” added Black-Hearted. “That English coward shall have to pay just the same.”

Scurvy then inquired, “How’d you know it was Stirvin?”

Black-Hearted threw the torn letter onto the floor at Scurvy’s feet. “With the letter came a right of safe passage to the London Harbor! No one else but the Queen can offer such a decree.”

Scurvy pieced the letter together. “It’s addressed to me.”

“Seems they wish to bargain with you.”

“Bargain for what? What can I offer them in return for my own daughter?”

“Read on and you’ll find that it states that they wish for you to turn me in for your daughter’s safe return.”

“Well this is quite the circumstanciation,” realized Scurvy, with his frustrated and ornate mispronunciation.

“Actually,” contested Mr. Darcy, interrupting the intensity of the conversation, “this circumstance is better than you realize.”

“And how so?” asked Black-Hearted.

“With Scurvy on the inside, you can do a lot more than merely get even.”

It was no secret that Scurvy Shaw was not the most trust-worthy of characters. But Black-Hearted had no choice but to allow the negotiation to take place if he was ever to see his sweet Isabel again.

Black-Hearted took Scurvy by the vest and pulled him close, “Betray me and I’ll cut your heart out!”

Scurvy smiled back. “Hearted, I’m not as foolish and naïve as you would like to think.”

“We’ll meet up at Raven Bridges five days hence,” ordered Black-Hearted.

Scurvy quickly took up his sail, hoisting the white flag of neutrality and, with a ready crew, straightway cruised out for England. Arriving at the Port of London, on the River Thames, Scurvy was pleasantly surprised to have had such an easy go of it, thinking he would have been stopped and harassed many time along the way while in English waters.

Scurvy and Bones exited the vessel and paid the docking fee. Having arrived with time to spare, they waited near Roger’s Jolly for someone to escort them to the Crimson Reef, as indicated by the letter. Awaiting their arrival on the main deck, Captain Stirvin respectfully greeted them as they walked up the plank. Along with a few of his men, Captain Stirvin ushered them to his quarters where they hoped to negotiate a deal.

“So, where is she, Captain?” asked Scurvy. “Where might my daughter be?”

“That, I cannot say, but I can assure you, she is safe.”

“Am I to trust you, her abductor?” questioned Scurvy.

“I give you my word as a gentleman,” confirmed Captain Stirvin. “I can assure you; your daughter is in a safe place and will soon be under my personal watch.”

“Alright Stirvin, but if she comes to harm, your entire fleet couldn’t stop me,” warned Scurvy. “Just try me, Captain.”

“Do you mean to threaten me aboard my own ship, Mr. Shaw? That is very foolish indeed and it is cause enough to nullify our brief truce.”

“It seems to me, breaking contract is a bit of a habit,” hinted Scurvy, trying to rile Captain Stirvin’s emotions. “I heard about the Spanish vessel attacked in these waters. Aye, says I, seems we’re all pirates at heart, are we not? What was the booty, Sir? Spanish gold I take it?”

“Don’t test me, Mr. Shaw,” replied Captain Stirvin as he handed him an official document. “Here is your letter of marquee. The Queen has officially commissioned you as a privateer to perform the duty of taking part in the arrest of Black-Hearted the Pirate. You are to bring this Black-Hearted back to England where we intend to hang him. You will accept the Queen’s offer, or suffer your daughter to serve a pirates fate on the gibbet, alongside your own corpse.”

“Aye, I’ll do anything for monetary compensation,” replied Scurvy with a distasteful grin. “You needn’t have taken the girl. There be nothin’ but silver and gold that truly matter, for the deed you ask of me be done for riches before blood.”

“You’ll be under the Queen’s command and be mindful; I do speak for the Queen. Do you understand, Mr. Shaw?”

Scurvy answered in a flippant tone, “Aye, Mr. Stirvin.”

“You’ll be paid half the ransom upfront, complete with supplies for the journey. You’ll receive the rest once your mission has been carried out in full. Isabel will not be turned over until you locate Black-Hearted or assist in his capture.”

“Like I said before, the money is enough. Though, the daughter is a welcome reward.”

The discussion ended with a handshake and the negotiation was made final. But, before departing the Crimson Reef, Scurvy decided to throw things a little more off balance. “There’s one more thing. Something you should know before we part ways, Captain.”

“Oh and what would that be? And hurry you up; I have business to tend to.”

“Seems to me there be some rotten apples ‘bout the bunch ‘board your vessel.”

“And what would a pirate know of the loyalty of my men?”

“Last week six humbly dressed sailors aptly found their way to Port of Errors. They happened to barter with an acquaintance of mine, offering information about your fleet in exchange for a small chest of silver and gold. Four of these men were from your ship and two from another.”

“Impossible,” stated Captain Stirvin, “we were on Port Lorne last week.”

“Oh, and for how many days?” replied Scurvy. “I would venture to guess that only some of your men stayed on Port Lorne. Seems to me you were docked far too long to take proper notice that they were even missing.”

“Well, if what you say is true, you must know who they are?”

“I only know one name for certain.”

“And who might that be?”

“Does the name Robert Hall bear any meaning of importance to you or your crew?”

The trust Captain Stirvin had in his own men was now compromised. “Yes, yes it does bear meaning, indeed.”

Before Summoning Mr. Hall, Captain Stirvin demanded every detail that transpired, to which Scurvy and Bones conveniently divulged. When all the details had been fully laid out, Captain Stirvin asked Scurvy and Bones to stay. Captain Stirvin sent a quick dispatch requesting Admiral Flynn’s presence as soon as possible, knowing he had returned to the Port of London earlier that day and was now aboard the Sentry. In the dispatch, Captain Stirvin explained everything in his own words.

Upon Mr. Hall’s summons, knowing something was going on, Tweed, Captain Stirvin’s first mate, immediately vanished. When Mr. Hall arrived at the chamber door, he walked calmly in, feeling thick and disconcerting tension.

“Sir, you requested my presence?” he asked simply and respectfully.

“Please, have a seat, Mr. Hall,” directed Captain Stirvin with an unexpected firmness. A few guards blocked the exit, causing Mr. Hall to panic slightly within himself.

Motioning to Scurvy and Bones, before taking a seat, Mr. Hall questioned. “What are they doing here?”

“That is none of your business, Mr. Hall.”

“Captain Stirvin, might I ask what this is about?”

“No, you may not. Now sit down!”

“Yes Sir,” he replied politely, taking his seat in complete silence.

Sitting in the unsettling quiet for the next few minutes, Mr. Hall flinched when a loud knock finally came to the door. Admiral Flynn walked in uttering his apologies. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Captain. You may commence at your will. But I cannot promise you I will just sit and listen.” Eyeing Mr. Hall with an unnerving expression, he added, “There is much to say; much to say indeed.”

Mr. Hall took a deep breath in a flustered sweat. Captain Stirvin began the questioning. “I’ll get directly to the point, Mr. Hall. Last week, I gave implicit orders to stay on Port Lorne while we were docked there. However, Mr. Shaw here tells me you and several others chose to ignore my orders and venture beyond. In fact, they tell me, you were seen on Port of Errors. Please tell me this is not true.”

The look upon Mr. Hall’s pail continence confirmed the truth of it. Yet, he spoke in defiance, stuttering, “Begging your pardon, Sir, but are you going to believe a filthy pirate?”

“Mr. Shaw is a privateer in the Queen’s command and he is none of your concern at this moment,” replied Captain Stirvin. “Answer the question, Mr. Hall.”

Mr. Hall started, “Privateer, Pirate, they are all cutthroats, Sir. His intention is to pit us against each another.”

“Yet you still refuse to answer the question!”

Admiral Flynn then angrily interjected, “There were six of you. And you will tell us who the other five are!”

Mr. Hall refused to speak. For the next full minute an uncomfortable silence prevailed. Impatiently, Admiral Flynn stood and back handed him across the face. “You will undoubtedly die for your foolish actions. How you choose to leave this world is up to you. It can be quick and painless or it can be slow and unrelenting!”

With no way out, Mr. Hall’s heart sank, as he broke his silence and divulged all the names, excluding Tweed. Suddenly Mr. Hall began to heave out half-digested chunks of food. His nose dripped from the outburst as he looked up; his face covered in the filth of it.

“Who is the last, yet unmentioned, in your rabble of six?” asked Admiral Flynn.

“First Mate Tweed, Sir.” Mr. Hall lowered his head in complete shame. “Please have mercy, Sir.”

“Tweed?” shouted Captain Stirvin in complete repugnance. “Get this man out of my sight!”

Mr. Hall was escorted forcefully to a cell below deck. Tweed was nowhere to be found. But the other four traitors were immediately arrested and detained below deck with Mr. Hall. There they would await an armed carriage that would take them to the nearest courthouse the next morning to be formally charged and tried. As the five traitors were being escorted below, Captain Stirvin spitefully informed them, “You should know that when you chose to deal with liars and thieves, you chose to deal with backstabbers and cutthroats. Darcy Wenham told Black-Hearted of your transaction. Why do you think that pirate was able to find you so easily with the gold?”

Captain Stirvin quickly ordered a search for Tweed, while Admiral Flynn left immediately for the Royal estate to speak with the Queen about the dispatch she had sent to Spain in preparation for his arrival there. His mission was to personally smooth things over with King Philip and settle the unease caused by Black-Hearted.

The traitors were in the process of being escorted off the ship when Captain Stirvin noticed someone hiding along the wall near the entrance to his chambers. He cocked his pistol, motioning to the guards to keep moving. Nearing a few storage barrels on the main deck, something slammed into his face with such force he fell back, helplessly firing his pistol. Startled by the gun shot, two guards rushed back to the main deck leaving only two to watch the traitors, only to find Captain Stirvin completely out cold.

Tweed then jumped out from the shadows and shot the two guards. He quickly reloaded his weapons and surprised the other guards, ordering them to throw their weapons overboard and to free his traitorous friends. He then forced them to jump ship.

Tweed and his cohorts escaped in a small two-mast sloop on the starboard side of the Crimson Reef, opposite the dock.

An hour later, in his bedchamber, Captain Stirvin came-to. Both Scurvy and Bones were standing there with a few drenched guards, who had been ordered overboard by Tweed.

“What happened?” he asked, as sat up holding his head. “Who hit me?”

“It was Tweed, Sir,” Replied one of the guards. “He surprised us all.”

The other guard chimed in, explaining, “Tweed was hiding on board while we escorted the others to the prison carriage. He clobbered you with a pulley and killed two guards, demanding the traitors’ release. He forced the two of us overboard.”

Captain Stirvin was so furious; he threw off his bandages and stormed off the ship to the awaiting carriage at the end of the dock.

The Traitorous Six fled toward Spain where they might use the information obtained from Mr. Darcy as a token of safe passage. They were stopped by a Spanish war ship, which sent word of their arrival to King Phillip. The Traitorous Six then awaited word from the Spanish Crown.

Captain Stirvin met up with Kale and his mercenaries at Sadler’s Musick House. They quickly carried Isabel to the Crimson Reef, where she was thrown into a cabin at the rear of the ship under the quarterdeck.

Standing amidst a small pile of food and supplies, just off the docks, Scurvy ordered his men, “Alright, you avaricious fools, load the bounty onto my ship!”

They immediately carried everything off to the Weeping Lady, about seventy-five paces down from the Crimson Reef. Along with the supplies came a letter of marquee in Scurvy’s name and a small sack of the Queen’s gold as the first portion of payment for his assistance in the capture of Black-Hearted.

Scurvy set sail for Raven Bridges, where he was to meet up with Black-Hearted and Captain Garrison. Upon arrival, Scurvy dropped anchor about fifteen yards from the Rogue, opposite Roger’s Jolly.

Scurvy rowed over to the Rogue with a few of his men. Without warning Scurvy stepped up to Black-Hearted, pulled a fifty caliber single barrel pistol from his vest and stretched it forth, digging the barrel into the center of Black-Hearted’s forehead. Everyone was taken-back by this daring move. With a devilish look about his eyes, Scurvy boldly stated, “Black-Hearted! By high commission of Her Royal Majesty, Anne Stuart, Queen of England, I hereby arrest you for and in behalf of Admiral Grey Flynn, High Commander of the Queen’s Royal Navy.” Pausing with a simple smirk he continued, “Now bend over and I’ll give you a sound lashin’, ya vagabond.” Lowering his pistol, Scurvy laughed aloud in his creepy way, “He!-He!-He-He!-He!”

Without a change in expression, Black-Hearted sarcastically chuckled, only smiling slightly with his lips for a second or two. He then became abruptly serious. His eyes kept their commanding fire, unwilling to be humored.

Scurvy asked Bones to present Black-Hearted with the bounty from Captain Stirvin and the Letter of Marquee. Black-Hearted and Scurvy then discussed how they might steal back Isabel, using Scurvy’s Royal Commission as a basis for their revenge.

With Scurvy now ready for his role is creating a more even field, with which to negotiate for Isabel’s return, the Rogue and Roger’s Jolly set sail for Port of Errors one last time. But Black-Hearted, too, had a role to play if things were to go awry.

Although Black-Hearted’s relationship with Isabel was a secret to most, Captain Stirvin’s two South American informants kept digging deeper. Black-Hearted recognized it was only a matter of time before this curious liaison might be discovered. If so, Isabel might play a greater role in Captain Stirvin’s vindictive strategy. Black-Hearted felt Captain Stirvin would use her more aggressively, knowing of their relationship; not caring if she lived or died, if it meant seizing him. For now Isabel was safe, used only to control her father, Scurvy.

Chapter X

Queen Anne’s Royal dispatch arrived in Spain with Don Reina, well ahead of Admiral Flynn. Nevertheless, word of the supposed English attack upon la Real had reached both King Philip of Spain and King Louis XIV of France. King Louis petitioned Spain for war. The attack on la Real simply gave France what it wanted, a reason for Spain to declare war on England with the backing of the full alliance. With so strong an influence behind him, King Phillip was within weeks of a formal declaration.

Don Reina was hoping for war, looking to gain more power in his position as a wealthy land owner. He was therefore determined to find his way to France to side with King Philip. The day following his arrival in Spain, Don Reina was given word of six men who had committed a treasonous act against England. Assuming residency in the area, they were granted clemency as former English sailors, having brought documented information about Queen Anne’s royal fleet, obtained through Mr. Darcy.

Don Reina contacted Wiliam-Sean Guile by dispatch. The next evening he and the Traitorous Six sat to discuss with them a lucrative opportunity.

“I am willing to pay double the amount you would have received from your little mishap on Port of Errors,” tempted the Don.

“And how did you come to know about the incident?” replied William.

“All I know is you and tu compañeros were proven traitorous and now live here, in España. Treachery comes only through disloyalty and greed. I am willing to pay that which will quench your thirst for your riches; this will in turn secure your loyalty – at least for a time. Gentlemen, if money is your driving force, I have the perfect opportunity for you with limited allegiance. I only ask that you accompany me to France and that is all. I will pay a portion to you now and the rest upon my safe and timely arrival to France.

“Rafael, I fear our presence could only put you in harm’s way,” cautioned William.

Still determined, Don Reina insisted, “I will disguise you in the proper attire. You needn’t worry.”

“Now is a dangerous time for me and my companions,” insisted Mr. Hall, “to be found sailing within these waters.”

“That is precisely why I need your protection. I was attacked once. I lost far too much. And it mustn’t happen again.”

“And what of our safe return to Spain?” asked Royal Hawkins. “War is on the horizon. We mustn’t be caught in the middle or that coffer of gold you offer us is nothing more than a dead man’s chest.”

“I’m prepared to offer you a safe home in France, if you so desire,” proposed Don Reina. “But that is all I can ensure at this time.”

Weighing the pros and cons, Mr. Hall realized how close to Port of Errors they would come on their way to France. A terrific and devious plan grew about his mind. Mr. Hall asked for some privacy, dismissing Don Reina from the room while the Traitorous Six together discussed the possibilities.

Once the Traitorous Six had made their decision, they invited Don Reina back into the room. William offered the conditions. “We will agree to escort you safely to France on the condition that we stop first at Port of Errors. We need to…”

“Agreed,” concluded Don Reina, interrupting William. “I do not wish to know your plight nor such reasoning behind this stop at that dreaded island. We will set sail come morning. My men are loading the vessel as we speak. You are to be at port upon first light.”

Within a few days’ time they were on the high seas aboard a small neutral two-mast sloop, called Corazón del Mar. Considered to be the safest form of transportation, its size and versatility were unmatched.

The Traitorous Six were dressed in clothing resembling those of Spanish servants. Their faces were partially covered.

After several days Corazón del Mar dropped anchor at Port of Errors, west of the harbor, beyond the reef. The vessel was definitely small enough to pass over the reef and dock at the harbor, but they were hesitant to get too comfortable. The Traitorous Six took several crewmembers and set for shore before dark in two longboats. Don Reina decided to stay aboard his ship for fear of the English traitors intentions and unknown consequences.

Taking Scott and four of the Don’s men with him, William insisted, “I’ll find Mr. Darcy.” Then, believing Isabel was still on Port of Errors, he directed the others, “You locate the wench.”

Mr. Darcy’s property was no small estate. William and his men approached the west end through a large grouping of trees. Once they reached a safe position within the estate, William ordered Scott to an open window. Poking his eyes and nose over the window ledge, he looked around for a few seconds and dropped back to his knees.

“It’s all clear,” he whispered. One by one they climbed through the open window. Once inside, they scrambled through the dining area and living quarters, cautiously looking about until they reached the stairway beneath Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber. Nervously placing one foot in front of the other, they began to walk up in single file. When they reached the top of the staircase, each man reached for his weapon.

“We’re either very lucky or very foolish,” uttered Scott ever so quietly. “It’s too quiet. We’ve not seen or heard a single guard or servant this entire time.”

William smirked, disregarding the cautionary notion and entered Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber. “We’re not going to turn back now. We’re going to get what we came for.”

“I’m with Scott,” confessed Royal. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Suddenly a voice sounded through the darkness of the room. “That’s because you should never have come here,” acknowledged Mr. Darcy, who was awaiting the foolish young English traitors.

Scurvy, Bones and Captain Garrison stepped out into the open, together with Mr. Darcy and his guards, surrounding William and his men. A vicious fight quickly ensued, beginning with a volley of gunfire. Three of Mr. Darcy’s men were shot as well as two of Don Reina’s.

As soon as the volley ceased, Scott was backed into a corner by Scurvy, who put a blade through the left side of his chest, puncturing his lung. With a breathless groan, he fell to the ground, holding his mortal wound with both hands. He then exhaled and died just as Black-Hearted had promised.

Mr. Darcy squared-off against William and sustained a devastating blow just beneath his collarbone. Mr. Darcy managed to pull the hidden trigger of his hunter’s sword, striking William in the abdomen. Surprised by the abutting reverberation, William fell to his knees, holding his belly and gnashing his teeth in agony. Mr. Darcy staggered to his feet, covering his wound. Immediately, William commanded his men to fall back. Carrying William out, they busted open the front door in their escape.

Scurvy and Captain Garrison pursued the intruders. Mr. Darcy saw his precious door in ruin and, with a cracking voice, muttered, “No, not my door!” Weakened from his wound, he walked unsteadily toward the door, stumbling over his own feet to the floor. “Not my door.” His eyes closed, where he lay.

“Poor Darcy,” stated Captain Garrison. “He was a good man.”

“He was a cutthroat, same as you and I,” insisted Scurvy.

“Aye,” agreed Bones, “The man’s dead. Let’s get out of here.”

Captain Garrison and Scurvy left the estate in haste. Once they were out of sight, Mr. Darcy’s remaining loyal servants gathered over his body, staring in silence out of respect. Taking a knee by his side, they quickly rummaged through his pockets.

In the meantime, unknowledgeable of Isabel’s abduction, Robert Hall and his men crept up to Isabel’s door. One of the Don’s men stood guard as the others followed Mr. Hall inside. Even though Isabel was no longer there, upon entering Isabel’s room they seized an actual body lying underneath her covers. Wrapping the body snug in her blanket, they didn’t notice that she hadn’t screamed or struggled in the least. Continuing quietly on, they managed their way to shore, close to the harbor, when unexpectedly, a steel ball pierced the blanket from within. The person wrapped within the blanket was dropped like a brick. A cloud of smoke and feathers scattered about, obstructing everyone’s view. The shock and commotion was so sudden that no one noticed Tweed had dropped to the ground. A gaping hole in his cheek indicated the bullet pierced his face. Most of his teeth on the left side of his mouth were chipped or completely blown out. In all the confusion, Black-Hearted, Gunner and Eric were suddenly there, surrounding Mr. Hall and his men, prompting them to drop their weapons.

“Did I get’m?” asked Stephen. Wrapped within the blanket, Stephen was the closest size in comparison to Isabel and he was helpless to free himself. He did manage to poke his eyes and nose out of his cocoon, still unable to use his hands.

Neither Black-Hearted nor his men were able to lend Stephen a hand, while pointing their weapons at Mr. Hall and his men, who were more than twice the number.

“Drop your weapons,” demanded Black-hearted. As they did so, Black-Hearted continued, “Now, leave this place. Don’t look back or I’ll put a hole through your fool skulls!”

As Mr. Hall began to walk away with his men, Black-Hearted grabbed him by the sleeve. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

Taking Mr. Hall by the wrist, Black-Hearted slowly sliced through his index finger. Mr. Hall screamed out in horrific pain as his blood gushed out and ran down his forearm. His face went pale as his finger was dismembered. Black-Hearted then extended his ring to Eric, who put a torch to the tip of Black-Hearted’s ring until it turned bright red. Pressing it against the back of Mr. Hall’s right hand, Mr. Hall screamed aloud as the ring seared into his skin.

“Do you take me for a liar or a fool?” asked Black-Hearted, asserting, “Did I not inform you that you would die if ever I saw you again?” Mr. Hall went white with the anticipation of what might be coming and he stayed silently petrified as Black-Hearted continued. “Now, says I, on – your – knees.” However, due to the pain, loss of blood and prospect of death, Mr. Hall lost consciousness and slipped to the ground.

Completely exhausted from their fight, Scurvy, Bones and Captain Garrison came within a fifty yards, or so, of Black-Hearted. As they approached, a fifty-caliber steel ball screeched passed them, tagging Black-Hearted in the leg. He very quickly dropped to the sand like a brick. A few more rounds zipped by, forcing everyone else to duck for cover behind a nearby log and a patch of tall grass. Now on his back, Black-Hearted scrambled for the same fortification. The men that had come to shore with Mr. Hall then joined in from the rocks closer to the water’s edge, about thirty paces out. However, the first few shots seemed to be coming from the harbor.

Black-Hearted, now throbbing in pain, looked to the harbor and could see the flickering lights of several long-barrel muskets and a few pistols discharging aboard an unfamiliar vessel now docked. The sound of each shot was as a tiny ping, muffled by the roar of the sea.

Don Reina had decided to pull into the harbor under the dark of night. Upon hearing the echo of gunfire, he and his remaining men had gathered their weapons in an attempt to help their crewmates, firing from the ship a few hundred yards away.

Feeling the urgency of the situation, Don Reina noted that Black-Hearted was in the fight. Fearfully yelling to his men, he gave the order, “Weigh up the anchor and stand by to set sail!”

“Hearted!” yelled Captain Garrison. He, along with Scurvy and Bones then ran toward the fight on shore, firing their pistols and striking one of Don Reina’s men in the forehead. A small array of bullets then showered them from the men in the rocks and Corazón del Mar. But Captain Garrison, Scurvy, and Bones didn’t slow down at all. Charging courageously forward, through the hail of bullets and around the small band of men hiding in the rocks, they made it to Black-Hearted’s side. Yelling out with a loud lion-like roar, Black-Heated returned fire toward the direction of the oncoming barrage.

Stephen was still entangled in the blanket frantically popping about as if to dodge the unseen gunfire. As he frantically sought a route of escape, he finally freed his mouth. “Get me out of here!” he shouted.

Scurvy nearly got his head blown off trying to reach out to poor Stephen.

Strangely enough, the shooting subsided to a disturbing quiet. Black-Hearted took a swift glance over his barricade. William, who knew he would soon be dead from loss of blood, was walking toward Black-Hearted, drunkenly waving his pistol in the air. Seizing the opportunity, Royal and Brent along with the other men hiding in the rocks, fled back to Corazón del Mar, where Don Reina was ready to set sail.

As William neared Black-Hearted’s position, Black-Hearted fought through the pain from his wound and immediately stood and threw his machete, catching William directly in the chest. Very nearly flipping over backward, William landed on his back with a solid thump in the sand. All the breath in him exited his body with one quick groan. Wiliam-Sean Guile was dead and Black-Hearted’s leg gave way, forcing him once again to the sandy ground.

When Royal, Brent and Don Reina’s men were safely aboard, Corazón del Mar set sail for North Cove, an isolated bay on the north side of Port Lorne. Having made plans to meet at North Cove if things were to go amiss, they hoped to meet up with Tweed and Mr. Hall in the coming days, if they were still alive. North Cove, by distance of location and seclusion was thought to be the best place to reconvene.

Black-Hearted turned to finish Mr. Hall. But to his dismay both he and Tweed were gone.

Stephen, still unable to escape the uncompromising grasp of the blanket, cried out, “Will somebody please help me?”

Tired of the whining, Gunner finally had enough and took it upon himself to free Stephen. Eric helped Black-Hearted to his feet and then assisted him to the longboat, followed by the rest of his men. With only one thing on Black-Hearted’s mind, the Rogue weighed anchor and departed from Port of Errors. Black-Hearted was determined to get Isabel back and destroy Captain Stirvin. However, with Isabel aboard the Crimson Reef there would be no chance of an assault on Captain Stirvin, though Black-Hearted had sworn his revenge.

Roger’s Jolly, under Captain Garrison’s command, followed close behind. Bones took temporary command aboard the Weeping Lady at the rear of this fledgling fleet.

Unwilling to rest, Black-Hearted and Scurvy strategized aboard the Rogue, how best to prepare themselves for battle if Scurvy failed in his forthcoming mission; but even more importantly – if he didn’t.

Chapter XI

Admiral Flynn had finally arrived at the Queen’s estate. They spoke in private about the need for diplomatic affairs, concerning Spain, to settle to a peaceful resolve. But the odds of war loomed heavy, as reconciliation hung by a thread.

“There is a good possibility that you will be entering hostile territory,” declared Queen Anne. “But we cannot afford to send an entire fleet into Spanish waters if we are to manage some peaceful accord. We cannot risk an insinuation of aggression. Spain must make the first move and once it has come to light that we did not attack la Real, our allies must side with us in our retaliation.”

“I will do whatever Your Majesty desires,” replied the admiral. “I will leave for Spain at once. What more would you have me do?”

“I desire for you to bring this pirate with the black heart, who has done so much damage, to his knees. Bring the truth to light before it is too late.”

“If I am repelled by Spain, my first order of business upon my return will be Black-Hearted and his drift of swine. I will take him alive, I can promise you that. If he does not confess his fraud before the masses, the church will force his confession before the world, proving England blameless. And then under pain of death his sinful corpse will be purified and your bitter vengeance made sweet.”

Admiral Flynn soon departed, making his way back to port. After loading up the supplies, the Sentry set her sights for Spain. Admiral Flynn approached the Spanish waters with caution, as an uneasy feeling grew within his breast. The closer he advanced, the greater the anxiety. But, it was the Queen’s command that he speak with King Phillip, or prove Spain the aggressor. However, it mattered not that England was innocent of the attack upon la Real. The War of the Spanish Succession was about to ignite.

As Admiral Flynn gazed across the open sea, a large and mighty brigantine appeared in the distance dressed with forty-five cannons and over two hundred sailors. She appeared to be approaching at an aggressive pace. Admiral Flynn, knowing the appearance of battle, prepared his men for the worst.

As the Brigantine neared the Sentry, not a word was spoken. Without so much as a warning shot, the Sentry took a direct blast at her bow, wounding several men and provoking a merciless battle. Spain was the aggressor as Queen Anne had desired. Upon the second strike, Admiral Flynn was the first person hit and propelled ten feet back, ripping his right leg at the knee and shattering his tibia in several places.

Kenneth Lunt, Second Mate under Admiral Flynn, saw the entire incident. It was apparent that the ensuing pain had yet to affect Admiral Flynn, when, unable to stand, he continued to give the orders. Bombarded by spontaneous blasts to the Sentry’s starboard hull, several men fired their pistols into the air, waving their swords in anticipation of hand-to-hand combat.

Bottles of pitch capped in flame were also used on both sides, many of which ended up in the sea. However, several of those that did hit their mark forced many crewmembers from the fight to help the young powder monkeys put out the flames.

Kenneth was young but had a large physique. When he arrived at Admiral Flynn’s side, he wished to carry him to safety. But Admiral Flynn instead ordered him to fight. “Attempting to save my life is of no use to me or my men.”

Fearing for the worst, Kenneth knew his Captain would die if he didn’t take some sort of action immediately. He sprang to his feet, turned to face the battle and dashed forward, bellowing forth a burning cry, ripping a pistol from its holster. He spied out the enemy captain partially hidden behind the main mast shouting orders to his men. In an unpredictable and heart-pounding motion, Kenneth darted for the front end of the starboard side of the ship, where the heaviest gunfire was being sustained. He took a daring leap into the open, atop the gunwale. Taking quick aim, he fired his one round. The fifty caliber steel ball screeched through the barrel, zipping by a few Spanish sailors and splintering the mainmast. The bullet finally came to rest as it sank within the skull of the unsuspecting commander, snapping his head backward, instantaneously knocking him onto his back in a large puddle. The water quickly turned a deep shade of red, as he lay there in his demise.

Kenneth jumped for joy in complete surprise, until a stray bullet ripped through the backside of his shoulder, forcing him backward in a half twisted flip to the deck where he smacked his face on the butt of the cannon just behind him, leaving him unconsciously sprawled out on the floor.

The Spanish crew attempted to continue in the conflict but instead found themselves in utter chaos having relied too heavily on the leadership of their captain. The second in command turned the ship about and retreated back toward Spain.

Admiral Flynn was rushed to his quarters, where his surgeon Dr. Andrew Rees awaited. A few officers shoved everything off the desk and laid him down. Dr. Rees extended a bottle of rum to Admiral Flynn. “Drink this for the pain.”

Giving Admiral Flynn time to drink, Dr. Rees treated Kenneth’s injury.

“What are you planning to do?” asked Admiral Flynn before consuming the rum.

“I’m sorry Captain,” replied Dr. Rees as he finished wrapping Kenneth’s wound, “but I’ll have to amputate.”

“No!” replied Admiral Flynn. “You cannot take my leg! There must be something else you can do!”

“I am sorry, Captain, but there is no other choice,” sympathized Dr. Rees. “The bone has been completely shattered. If I don’t amputate, the infection will surely kill you. Your leg is no good. Please, Captain, drink the rum. If I don’t begin right away you will bleed to death!”

“No!” petitioned Admiral Flynn, refusing to believe. “There must be another way! Please!” Admiral Flynn sat up nauseously, attempting to force his way off the table.

Dr. Rees ordered the officers in the room, “Hold the captain down!” As they did so, Dr. Rees extended the bottle of rum once more. “Forgive me, Captain, but you must drink the rum. Drink it or I’ll be forced to take your leg without anesthetic. Either way, I am going to take your leg.”

As Dr. Rees reached for his tools, Admiral Flynn commanded redundantly, “I order you to stop! I order you!” As the officers began to submit to their captain’s demands, Dr. Rees continued, “I said hold him down!” Knowing Dr. Rees was right they recommitted themselves to the task and took a firmer hold.

Crying with an increase of panic, Admiral Flynn hollered, “You are fired! You are all fired!”

“Please, Captain, you must, for your own good, go through with this,” insisted Kenneth.

Dr. Rees tied a rag as tightly as he could around Admiral Flynn’s upper thigh as the admiral turned back with a transparent glaze and choked down the rum.

“Now we can begin,” said Dr. Rees. As he pulled out a thick piece of leather from his bag and placed it between Admiral Flynn’s teeth. Admiral Flynn bit down, breathing in and out through his nostrils with quick forceful spurts. As the officers continued to hold him down, Dr. Rees took an amputation knife saw from his bag and placed its sharp edge approximately four inches above the knee. With one quick pull on the handle, he was nearly an inch into the meat of the leg. Admiral Flynn let out a horrific cry, gnashing his teeth deep into the leather. Dr. Rees continued until he reached the bone. Once there, he pulled from his bag, a large amputation saw and applied a little more pressure while pulling back on the saw, shattering the exterior of the bone. Admiral Flynn tensed up, tightly gripping the men who were holding him at the shoulders, slightly puncturing their skin with his fingernails. Within five minutes he splintered through the rest of it, severing nerves, arteries and tendons. As soon as Dr. Rees broke entirely through the bone there were still several inches of flesh and muscle to saw through. Grunting in exhaustive pain, minutes seemed like an eternity. Finally, Dr. Rees was through. Though the very worst was over, the surgery was not yet complete. Dr. Rees took his surgical pliers and began to dig into the open fat and muscle, pulling out fragments of bone, splintered throughout and deep within the wound. Once void of bone fragments, Dr. Rees cauterized the end of what was left of Admiral Flynn’s leg with a searing-hot iron. Letting out a terrific scream as his body quickly tensed up, the pain and the smell of his burning flesh was too much for Admiral Flynn, who promptly passed out. Clean bandages were then quickly set in place.

In the days following the amputation, Captain Stirvin received word of the incident through a string of communications, originating from both sides, and he readied his crew for action. However, with the absence of First Mate Tweed and Second Mate Hall, Captain Stirvin was in need of new leadership. Having followed Captain Stirvin’s career for the past two years, Kenneth Lunt had, a few months previous, requested a transfer to the Crimson Reef, hoping for some future opportunity to serve under him. With Admiral Flynn’s ready commendation, the transfer was offered and accepted with a grateful heart.

Captain Stirvin didn’t expect to see such a young lad as Kenneth was, being twenty-one years of age. Captain Stirvin was, at first, weary, knowing the men on his crew were extremely experienced and may not give him the kind of respect that was needed in such a position of authority. But Kenneth was full of ambition and could out-do most any crewmember. Although Captain Stirvin had never worked with such a young first mate, he trusted in Admiral Flynn’s judgment and therefore felt very confident in his abilities.

Garland Davis, another young and ambitious sailor was promoted to Second Mate. He was an exceptional sailor and believed strongly in obedience. Garland was short and stout, but held his ground well, unless confronted alone. He was afraid of nothing but death itself.

Awaiting Kenneth’s return was a vibrant young Spanish woman named Marisa Delatori. Marisa was a beautiful young woman who lived with her widowed mother. Having been poor most her life, Marisa had high hopes for a bright future with Kenneth. They had been awaiting a promotion for Kenneth to announce their plans to marry; and though his promotion had been attained, marriage would have to wait due to the start of the War of the Spanish Succession, which was now underway.

War between their two countries was damning to his relationship, since communication between an officer privy to confidential intelligence and the enemy, however innocent, was strictly forbidden. Traveling to Spain to see Marisa would be considered an act treasonous against the crown. With communication now limited to secrecy, Marisa’s mother, who continued to attempt to marry her off to some rich suitor, had grown distressfully wary of any possible union.

During frequent visits to Port Lorne when he was younger, Kenneth became acquainted with Marisa, who lived there for a short time before her father died. They exchanged letters until the War of the League of Augsburg, when Kenneth joined the Royal Navy. When the war came to a close, Kenneth and Marisa began to correspond once again. But now, knowing of the love they truly reciprocated, no war was going to keep them from sharing that love through some sort of correspondence.

Marisa’s mother was aware of Kenneth, but thought it was time for her to be more realistic. “You know that I want you to be happy, but this charade cannot go on forever. You must choose a suitor. When your father died he did not leave us with enough to support ourselves forever. Soon we’ll have to sell everything. It is up to you to make certain we will have a future. A good and wealthy suitor will not wait for a young and beautiful woman to become old, like me.”

“I know, but I have already made my choice.”

Frustrated with Marisa, her mother threw up her arms. “Letters are letters. He cannot support us with letters!”

Marisa looked down and covered her face with both hands. “Mama, I cannot marry just another. I will not be unhappy for the rest of my life.”

“I know child, but if your father were here you would have to marry the man of his choosing. You should be happy that I have given you a choice at all.”

“Mama, I am happy. But I’ve made my choice. Please understand. I just need a little more time. I love him.”

Before long the Crimson Reef was on its way to seize the Rogue and put an end to Black-Hearted. Captain Stirvin still hadn’t heard from Scurvy and so insistent had the Queen been to capture Black-Hearted, he made it a priority over the war to do so.

With the ship steadied at sea, there was finally time for Kenneth to tour it. Bryan Black, the Crimson Reef’s master gunner, took Kenneth on a tour of the ship to acquaint him with the crew. Standing above the quarterdeck, Kenneth could hear what sounded like a woman weeping. “Is there a woman aboard this vessel?” Kenneth listened and was again witness to her cry. “There is a woman aboard this ship. Where is she?”

Mr. Black stopped in front of a locked door. “Sir, you’ll have to speak with Captain Stirvin before I can let you in. He told me specifically to let no one in without his express permission.”

Kenneth was confused. “This was the captain’s doing? Who is this woman?”

“Her name is Isabel,” confessed Mr. Black. ‘Please Sir; you’ll have to speak with Captain Stirvin about this. I wish no trouble from the captain.”

Kenneth quickly found his way to Captain Stirvin’s chambers. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t mean to be paranoid, but what is a woman doing aboard this ship?” asked Kenneth straightforwardly. “Our articles, and those of the navy, state specifically that women are strictly forbidden to a vessel. Please excuse me if I am overstepping my bounds, but are we not in violation of that law? I’m just trying to understand, Sir.”

“Kenneth, I know my actions may appear contradictory, but this is no ordinary woman. I take full responsibility for my actions and that of my crew. If there is one thing I have learned from the Admiral, it is that the safety of our country supersedes that of any article or law.”

Still determined to know who the woman was, Kenneth delicately pressed, “So, who is this woman of such great an importance?”

“She’s the daughter of Scurvy Shaw, who is a friend to Black-Hearted. She is our means of control. Scurvy will do as I say, so long as she is with us.”

“Begging your pardon Sir, but this just seems to me to be just a vengeful act.”

“Do not question my intentions, Kenneth. You must understand. This is our only way to Black-Hearted; the only foreseeable way to put an end to his treachery. We are now at war with Spain because of this pirate.”

“For the record, Captain, I will do as you command but I am against the act. But you are my captain and I will trust your judgment. However, as First Mate, I need to know every person aboard this vessel, even a female prisoner. If something were to happen to you the woman will come to be my responsibility. You must agree Captain, is it not my right? May I see her? I wish to make certain our guest is in good health.”

“Aside Mr. Black, no one but you and I, may step foot in her quarters. You are young and very trustworthy and I feel we can use this to our advantage. You must make her feel welcome in your presence and then find out as much information about Scurvy and Black-Hearted as you can. But I’ll be watching. You are a great leader and a respectful man. I would like to see you further your career.”

Mr. Black escorted Kenneth back to Isabel’s room under the quarterdeck. On their way across the main deck, Kenneth thought to spark a conversation that might add additional light to the situation he was still so uncomfortable with.

“So, the woman is Scurvy’s daughter?”

“Aye, Sir,” replied Mr. Black, “Scurvy is working for the Captain as a privateer, due to her presence here.”

“Even so, Mr. Black, a female aboard this vessel can be very dangerous, arousing unwanted feelings amongst men who have been out to sea for far too long.”

“Captain Stirvin keeps a tight watch,” insisted Mr. Black. “The Captain is a man of true integrity and he made a promise to keep her safe.”

“I can only hope some good might come of this,” replied Kenneth.

When Mr. Black unlocked and opened the door, Kenneth was surprised to see such an attractive woman, though drenched in tears. But, he did not center his thoughts on her beauty, keeping in mind his true love, and therefore kept his composure. “So, what can you tell me about your father? He’s a friend of Black-Hearted, is he not?” Isabel said nothing. Kenneth felt sympathetic toward her situation, but knew his own involvement with Black-Hearted’s capture was more important to his career than anything else. He apologized, “I’m sorry things have to be this way. I do not wish to see you or any other woman in this situation. However, it has become necessary and I do not expect you to understand.” Kenneth stood up and began to walk toward the door. Just before exiting the room he vowed, “I can promise you one thing; I will make your circumstances here easier to bear.”

As the days passed, Isabel grew kinder toward Kenneth. He began to visit her more often than allowed. They talked not only of Black-Hearted and Scurvy, but of their lives and dreams. An innocent trust seemed to form between them as a forbidden friendship began to blossom.

In the coming days As the Crimson Reef sailed on to find the Rogue and Kenneth gained Isabel’s trust, Isabel soon expressed to him that Black-Hearted often sought for spiritual direction from an old acquaintance by the name of Father Morgan. Though Isabel did not know where Father Morgan lived, she seemed hopeful that such a man could be tracked down.

Captain Stirvin’s curiosity concerning Father Morgan brought back to his mind Father Whittaker, who directed both him and his best friend Davy, to visit a priest by the same name in a place called the Brier Wood. Captain Stirvin found this coincidence slightly odd and it heightened his sense of urgency to find him.

Named for its abundance of rosy brier patches and surrounding groves of trees, the Brier Wood was isolated from the rest of the world. Captain Stirvin knew they were close enough to investigate. Captain Stirvin ordered the ship’s navigator to reset their bearings, realizing the Brier Wood was located somewhere on the outskirts of St. Petersborough. Once they arrived, Captain Stirvin chose five men to accompany him on his trek inland to find this isolated township of approximately six hundred.

Captain Stirvin was unfamiliar with the area and knew not how to find the Brier Wood. They directed their paths toward the nearest church, thinking that a priest might be conscious of Father Morgan’s possible existence and whereabouts.

Upon finding such an individual, they were directed to a location hidden within boundaries of ghostly superstitions, where none dared venture. Without fear, Captain Stirvin and his men set out on foot for the Brier Wood.

When they arrived at the borders of the Brier Wood they were greeted by a few townsmen who came out to investigate their uninvited guests. Mayor Aden Longfellow was the first to be introduced. “Gentlemen, what sort of business have you in our humble little township?”

“I wish to speak with Father Morgan,” replied Captain Stirvin, “if he still lives.”

“What sort of business requires our priest?” Mayor Longfellow inquired in a defensive tone. “I can assure you that we support Queen Anne. However, the people of this village have been through enough. So, I must ask, what is the nature of your business with Father Morgan? And be aware; we are ready to defend what little we have with our very lives!”

In disbelief of their blatant disregard for his authority, Captain Stirvin felt to put these townsmen in their place. But, knowing they must be apprehensive for a reason, he put his feelings of flagrancy aside. “Mayor, we mean no harm. A moment of his time is all that is required.”

Mayor Longfellow lowered his guard. “It is a hard thing these days to trust anyone, Captain. Too many of our sons have been pressed into your navy unwillingly and we already number so few. Privateers also come seeking volunteers. What else are we to do? They plunder our homes if we decline! Are we to just stand by and watch our peaceful settlement disappear?”

“I suppose I understand but let me assure you, I come only to speak with Father Morgan.”

“You and your men will have to hand over your weapons.” demanded Mayor Longfellow. “I, in return, shall personally escort you to Father Morgan.”

“I shall go alone. But my men will stay here and retain their weapons,” agreed Captain Stirvin. “It is their right and duty under Royal Command.”

Mayor Longfellow, with a few townsmen, escorted Captain Stirvin in to the Brier Wood. Upon entering the seemingly empty and abandoned township, Captain Stirvin noticed a few frightened faces peeking out from several hiding places.

They arrived at a small church building in the center of town. It was quaint and mildly run down. There were fallen leaves scattered about the dirty walkway and steps. A large brass knocker hung from the center of the door. “Here we are, Captain.” One of the townsmen reached for the door and pushed it open. “We’ll have to accompany you inside, I hope you don’t mind.”

Father Morgan was a true worshiper and wore the usual garb. He was an odd-looking frail old man in poor health, with hands unusually large for a man of his height. Though he did not stand very tall, he was very nearly three-hundred pounds and slightly hunched over. He could barely walk ten feet before he had to relieve himself, which was an unusually artful and swift bowel movement to relieve the pain caused by a gastro-intestinal ailment.

After proper introductions, Captain Stirvin stated, “I have been charged by Her Royal Majesty, Queen Anne, to capture Black-Hearted the Pirate.”

Father Morgan stared for a few seconds, grinning in disbelief. “You were an orphan, were you?”

“For eight years,” he replied.

“Your given name is Daniel, is it not?”

Captain Stirvin explained, “Once I was taken in, my parents gave me this name. In the orphanage I went by Joseph. ”

Father Morgan passed gas with an irreverent excitement. “Joseph? Your name was Joseph?”

“I’ve not heard that name in so long. Why is my name of such significance to you, old priest?”

“I think I’ve something for you,” claimed Father Morgan, clearing his scratchy voice. “Something that appeared to be of great worth, or so it seemed to the other lad.”

Father Morgan stood slowly up and waddled over to his library. Captain Stirvin could hear the sound of books falling to the ground, paper ripping and a few cries of pain from objects striking Father Morgan’s head as he rummaged through the years of clutter. This continued for several minutes as Captain Stirvin, Mayor Longfellow and the townsmen stood in wait.

Father Morgan soon burst out of the library having finally found the item he was searching so diligently for.

The frail old man then placed a relic of some sort wrapped within a crinkled piece of old papyrus “This was intended for you.”

When Captain Stirvin unfolded the paper, a chill crawled up his back. Closing his eyes, Captain Stirvin spoke in a calm whisper. “I know this relic. But it cannot be. He died in a fire years ago. I saw the bodies.” He opened his eyes, still refusing to look, “Where did you come upon this cross?”

“He’s not dead,” replied Father Morgan. “He left it with me, not five years ago, for proof to your knowing, Joseph.”

“How often do you see him?” asked Captain Stirvin.

“Every four or five months, without fail, he asks if you have come by. But now, I can finally give a proper reply.”

Captain Stirvin contained his emotions, stating, “I love Davy like a brother and I will return; there’s now no question about that. But right now I am here on the Queen’s business. There is a certain pirate that I must turn my attention to and in so doing, must ask you, Father, have you been in the company of Black-Hearted?”

“He is a recent acquaintance, but I dare not say more.”

“This man has sparked a dooming war between England and Spain. To keep such information from me is contradictory to the security of our country.”

“Captain, there is more to it than matter of security. I can sense the vengeance within your heart. There is a higher power by which I am held and to allow such reckless hate would be contradictory to that higher power.”

“Father, you have given me a hope long lost in a boyhood dream that I thought was dead,” said Captain Stirvin, as he handed the necklace back to Father Morgan. “I will leave this with you as promise of my return. However, upon my return, if I have not succeeded in my plight, I will not be as forgiving as I am today in my leave.”

“Please here me, Captain. I must tell you something that happened long ago and which has tied our fates together. You may not understand now, but if you stay a few more days, my story will make more sense.

“Years ago, before I was a priest, a warrant for my arrest was issued by King Charles for the wrong I’d inflicted upon others. But when England waged war on Spain I was forgiven of my crimes and knighted a privateer. I was later placed Governor over the island settlement of Jamaica. However, I still had such wicked enemies; enemies who would stop at nothing to see me and any of my family dead. Such was a young pirate by the name of Shawn Averson. He had once been a loyal member of my crew, but had since become captain of his own. After some time, he grew suddenly ill and almost died along with many of his crew. I wouldn’t help him for fear of death. He also had an insatiable appetite for riches; riches that I hid from him following a significant raid. So, he vowed to take my life no matter the cost. He killed my daughter. Your priest, Father Whittaker, helped me disappear, but in so doing, forced me to forsake my only son in order to save his life. I had to fake my own death, using a potion that slowed my heart and pulse.

“Ever since that day I have vowed to change my ways. I serve only God now. It is better to rid yourself of this hate. And so, I tell you in good faith that hunting your man down should be for the right reasons. You must open your eyes to all the facts before you can do this.”

Captain Stirvin had an understanding heart, but his will to avenge the crown and his good name was strong. “Whether for the right or wrong reason,” he replied, “this man deserves nothing but a slow and agonizing death. The world will be a better place without Black-Hearted.”

“Please, Captain, I understand your unquenchable hatred for such a man, having been laden with such evil upon my own heart. But, I beg you, stay a few days longer and your friend will return. Only then will you understand my dilemma in telling you more.”

“Father, I can’t make such a promise. If I find Black-Hearted, I will destroy his vessel and run him through with my own sword. Beside the news of Davy, capturing Black-Hearted myself is the only thing that will save your life for not cooperating.”

In that moment, without a word more, Captain Stirvin was gone. He quickly met up with his men at the boarder of the Brier Wood and without delay, departed in haste for the Crimson Reef. With the wind in their favor, they were then on their way to Port Lorne

Chapter XII

Within the high and broad walls of North Cove, the bay was calm and serene. The moonlight cascaded brightly down, shimmering upon the cold, pitch-black body of water. North Cove was partially secluded and totally devoid of people. With over a dozen or so sea-caves within the walls of the bay, a small ship, such as a sloop, could easily hide.

Sailing cautiously into North Cove, Don Reina, Royal Hawkins and Brent Sherman needed to regroup with Mr. Hall and his best friend Tweed as was planned in the case of failure. Corazón del Mar entered North Cove through the only opening on the northern side of the island, opposite Port Lorne. Surrounded by walls of rock, they could hear the soft echo of the sea off the inner walls of the cove.

Corazón Del Mar, with lowered the sails, rowed toward the eastern side of the cove where she dropped anchor

That evening, before the sunlight was completely gone, a large frigate baring an English flag entered North Cove closest to the hiding place of Corazón del Mar, where she sat unnoticed in the dark. Two shots aboard this English vessel were fired into the air. Don and the remaining traitors awoke, startled by the sudden and unexpected intrusion. Standing at the starboard gunwale of this ominously frigate, was Sir Fouste and Mr. Robert Hall. The tenacious worry could be seen upon Mr. Hall’s face. Upon the hull of the ship could be read the Blue Raven, prompting Corazón del Mar to come out from her hiding place. An expression of relief could be read upon the countenance of those on board Corazón del Mar.

When Don Reina and Mr. Hall’s men boarded Sir Fouste’s ship, they saw Tweed’s face wrapped in his own blood soaked shirt, with nothing to dull the excruciating pain as he grew paler. He was still awake, but with fever and he shook the shirt from his face exposing his vile wound, which began to bleed excessively. Becoming lightheaded, Tweed fell into the skiff unconscious.

Don Reina and Mr. Hall stood at the bow discussing their situation. “You may have failed in this one thing,” suggested The Don, “but you can still come out of this as rich men. Put this behind you and concentrate on getting me to France.”

“Look at us!” replied Mr. Hall. “Besides myself, only three of my men live and one of them is dying! I’ll have that pirate’s filthy black heart for what he did to me and my men.”

Don Reina was afraid and unwilling to sacrifice more. “I need to make it to France alive! There is nothing more we can do save only suicide and that is exactly what you are asking me for!”

“You can complete your journey with Mr. Hall and his men as they have promised,” interjected Sir Fouste, as he sauntered over to them. “That is the price I ask for Black-Hearted’s life.”

“You ask the Don for no money?” asked Mr. Hall. “What is in it for you and why are you so eager?”

“I have more invested than you could possibly imagine and I already have a plan in place. But this plan involves the Don’s successful journey to France. However, it has been widely rumored that Queen Anne has cut all ties to her previous privateers. She will no longer sponsor my ship and in fact intends to have me hanged. I am running low on supplies and with limited backing, this has become my only resolve. So the deed will not be without monetary costs”

“I am not against Black-Hearted’s capture,” confirmed Don Reina. “He destroyed my ship, killed my crew and insulted me! If I can sail to France unharmed and yet be of assistance in the capture of Black-Hearted, I am more than willing to finance the expedition. But, you must be willing to work as a privateer under the command of King Philip of Spain.”

“Tweed will not survive the journey to France,” added Mr. Hall, “Please keep him on. You have a good surgeon.”

Sir Fouste agreed with his own stipulation, motioning toward Don Reina as the subject of their discussion. “Mr. Hall, you must assure the Don that he will fulfill his mission to France.” Then, looking directly at Don Reina, who was in notable agreement, Sir Fouste continued as though he was speaking directly to him. “He must deliver the contract.” Looking back at Mr. Hall, he concluded, “But once the task is complete, you must return for one last mission. If you want Tweed to live, you will be quick about it.”

Once all were in agreement, Tweed was left in Sir Fouste’s care. Mr. Hall and his men took Don Reina and departed on Corazón del Mar for France to deliver Don Reina.

Chapter XIII

While the Rogue and Roger’s Jolly sailed for Raven Bridges, Black-Hearted spied a large sloop, approaching from the East. Pulling out his telescope, he unexpectedly discovered Corazón del Mar proudly waving her colors on her way to France from North Cove. Looking out to where he might best cut her off, Black-Hearted realized that Widow’s Reef sat close to the potential intersection of their crossing. Motioning to Captain Garrison, Black-Hearted plotted their assault.

Shocked at the sight ahead, Don Reina panicked. This happenstance meeting was not looking very good for Corazón Del Mar. With a strong determination to continue on to France, Mr. Hall advised Don Reina, “We must try and make a wide pass around them or we’ll never make it to France alive.”

“If we hadn’t stopped at Port of Errors in the first place to satisfy your wounded pride,” replied Don Reina, “we should not have been sailing out of North Cove at this moment and therefore in this predicament! We would have been dining safely in France and all six of your companions would have been with us instead of dead or badly wounded.”

“We cannot change the past. If you wish to complete your mission, we can still sail around them. This vessel is fast and maneuverable. We can do this if we commit to it now.”

Don Reina’s first instinct was to escape the English Channel all together and sail back to Spain, where he might venture to Paris by land and complete an untimely mission. However, against his better judgment and nervous to give the order, Don Reina commanded the pilot to continue on toward their destination at a slightly altered trajectory. As the ships neared, Don Reina and Mr. Hall grew nervous, yet faithfully kept their course.

“Ready the starboard guns!” commanded Black-Hearted.

Now too close and without a clear way around, Corazón del Mar found herself within range of attack.

“Fire!” ordered Black-Hearted. But the shot came ten yards shy. He needed to get closer.

Don Reina and Mr. Hall began to panic when they saw Roger’s Jolly making its move from the other side of the Rogue. Mr. Hall ordered his men, “Turn this ship windward!” By the time their sloop turned part way it was too late. Roger’s Jolly was too close. In a panic they fired their pistols and long barrels.

Ordering a massive broadside, Captain Garrison fired. In an instant all cannons on the starboard side exploded into one powerful blow. Corazón del Mar’s gunwale was splintered at the stern.

Captaining Don Reina’s sloop, Mr. Hall fired back with three spontaneous blasts, damaging Roger’s Jolly near the quarterdeck. Mr. Hall then thought to ram his way out, sailing directly ahead in a collision course with Roger’s Jolly. Captain Garrison’s men were at the bow firing their pistols and muskets, when they realized they were about to be rammed. Captain Garrison took a step back and called to the helm, “Turn this ship portside! Brace for an impact!”

Captain Garrison was positioning Roger’s Jolly so as to fire upon Corazón del Mar at her keel’s front.

Black-Hearted was now in a much better position to attack. Extending his machete above his head and dropping his arm, he exclaimed, “Fire!” All at once, a substantial roar rumbled across the hull. Corazón del Mar was shaken with the enormous eruption, as she took a damaging hit just above the base of the mainmast and the gunnel at several points. A shower of slivers exploded onto the main deck. The mainmast came down with such force, many of her crew jumped over the gunwale and into the sea. With nowhere else to go, Mr. Hall simply joined the men in the water. The mainmast slammed heavily against the bow, cracking the bowsprit, which gradually weighed down until a portion of it crashed to the sea, still barely holding to the ship by a thick splinter of wood. Soon everyone, including Don Reina, had abandoned ship.

However, the unmanned ship, now burning in ruin, continued floating toward Roger’s Jolly at a slightly damaging speed. Luckily, Captain Garrison was still in position and fired at her deserted bow, cracking the upper end of her keel. Several more spontaneous blows to her weakened hull, a few flaming bottles of pitch and Corazón del Mar could take no more. The sky went dark with ash and smoke. Don Reina and Mr. Hall, followed by their men, quickly swam toward Widow’s Reef no more than a hundred yards to the south.

If Black-Hearted’s plan to steel back Isabel did actually work, a massive battle was imminent. Knowing Captain Stirvin would be on Port Lorne over the next few days, Black-Hearted contemplated a risky excursion to Port Lorne to try and even his odds with Captain Stirvin. As Black-Hearted sailed alongside Roger’s Jolly, he committed to his contemplation, and deviated from his planned route and changed course for Port Lorne. Signaling to Captain Garrison, Black-Hearted directed him to stay the original course and await Scurvy at Raven Bridges.

Over the next several hours, Don Reina and Robert Hall sat on Widow’s Reef. As a sign of their imminent demise, Fischer Todd’s half-decomposed and waterlogged body, wedged within a small crack, spanked the reef with each little movement of the sea. But emerging from the thick dark cloud of smoke, set against the yellow hue from the burning ship, the Blue Raven looked almost ghostlike as she pierced the blackness of it.

“Well, he’s a little too late,” said Mr. Hall. “Don’t you think?”

“At least we’re saved,” replied Royal. “But Black-Hearted better pay for this.”

Once aboard the Blue Raven, Don Reina’s frustration and anger peaked. But Sir Fouste put his mind at ease. “Night is falling. Get some rest and we’ll discuss our options in the morning. Believe me, I know what to do.”

Knowing Black-Hearted was in possession of the navy’s itinerary and might attempt an attack due to Isabel’s unwilling presence, Captain Stirvin was prepared with three other frigates docked at Port Lorne. The Sentry on which Admiral Flynn was still in direct command; The London, commanded by Captain ‘Mac’ Richards; and William’s Revenge, commanded by Captain Bradley Nokes were each battle ready. Close to five hundred English sailors stood ready for an assault that might never come to fruition. And many were skeptical that such a wanted pirate would show himself so boldly.

In order to draw Black-Hearted in Captain Stirvin felt it was crucial that The Crimson Reef follow the itinerary over the next few months, aware that Black-Hearted knew Isabel was held captive there.

As the sun gradually faded beneath the broad horizon, the sky slowly darkened to a beautiful deep blue. Night was falling fast as the wind swept softly through the masts and rigging.

“Might I request a short leave,” asked Kenneth aboard the Crimson reef. “All I ask is a couple of hours, Sir.”

“I cannot believe that you, of all people, are asking this of me. But even so, if you are asking, then there must be some importance behind it. Kenneth, if you can be back here within the hour you may go. But remember, you are first mate. You need to be on this ship more so than any other.”

Ever since Captain Stirvin saved Mr. Black’s life in that storm, Mr. Black had been particularly protective of him. And he did not trust Kenneth following his many unscheduled visits to Isabel’s quarters. Backed by Second Mate Garland Davis, Mr. Black arranged for Gabriel and Edgardo, who were unfamiliar to Kenneth, to spy on him as he ventured into town.

Finding Kenneth sitting at the Boar’s Milk by himself, Gabriel and Edgardo watched curiously from a short distance, at a table with a slightly more hidden view. Soon Kenneth was joined by a peculiar gentleman, who sat with his back toward the two spies.

Witnessing some sort of exchange between Kenneth and this individual, Gabriel and Edgardo became all the more suspicious. It seemed to them that Kenneth was passing a purse of payment for what appeared to be a secret document of some sort. When the mysterious gentleman finally stood to leave, he turned to face Edgardo and Gabriel, who could then identify him. They were surprised and disappointed to know who he was. He was about forty five years of age and known very well amongst those in the pirate community.

The two adventurers then slipped away without being seen and followed the gentleman to an inn, where he had been staying. When they felt they had all the information they needed, they found their way to the Crimson Reef, where they informed Captain Stirvin directly. Mr. Black’s and Garland’s involvement in spying on a senior officer was to be kept in confidentiality or payment to Edgardo and Gabriel would not be remitted.

As Kenneth sat quietly at the same corner table with a pint of rum, he ripped open the secret document, which happened to be a private correspondence. Unable to take his eyes off the letter, he lost track of the hour. It wasn’t until he noticed, from the corner of his eye, Garland and Captain Stirvin approaching his table that he realized his sad position. Becoming flushed in the face, he quickly folded up his letter and stuffed it deep into his coat pocket.

“You’re late, Kenneth,” said Captain Stirvin, standing there with Garland and a few other officers. “Is there some other reason you have neglected your post than sitting alone with a drink in a common brothel?”

“So sorry captain, I’ll return at once,” replied Kenneth eager to return without explaining himself.

“Is it true?” Captain Stirvin asked, as Kenneth neared the exit.

Kenneth felt chill as he turned about to face Captain Stirvin. “Begging your pardon, Captain?”

Getting right to the point without further hesitation, Captain Stirvin explained, “I was informed you were supplying information to someone in exchange for profit. Please tell me it is not true. I have had enough with such treachery!”

“I was not exchanging any such information,” confirmed Kenneth wholeheartedly. “And I can assure you that I’ve received no such remittance!”

Captain Stirvin called out to an awaiting guard, “Bring in Mr. Rubio!” The guard stepped into the tavern with Alfonso Rubio, who was now in shackles. “This man also denies receiving any such information,” said Captain Stirvin, “But he did not deny the fact that the two of you did meet. Is this not the man you spoke with in secret? Was there not an exchange of information; some sort of currency for documentation?” following complete silence, Captain Stirvin grabbed Alfonso by the collar and brought him close, jerking him about in front of Kenneth. “Alfonso Rubio is a wanted smuggler and thief. He will do anything for anyone for the right amount. He deals with pirates and other such filth every day.”

Kenneth spoke up quickly. “I am no traitor, Captain!”

“Mr. Davis,” ordered Captain Stirvin, “take this man,” referring to Alfonso, “back to the ship at once and lock him up. See to it that all the men are assembled and ready. No one is to leave the ship for the remainder of our stay!”

“Aye, Sir!” replied Garland, without question as he turned and walked out as instructed.

Captain Stirvin turned back to Kenneth, “If you received no money, you must have the document. Where is it?”

“It is only a letter from a woman that I am courting. That is all. I swear. That’s it.”

“Let me see this letter for myself,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” persisted Kenneth. “But I swear to you, I’ve done no wrong.”

“Then if it is what you say, why do you appear so afraid? Do you not understand the consequences, Kenneth? I have no idea what kind of information you have been sharing and I must know!”

Captain Stirvin ordered Kenneth to be searched. He found the letter and read it. It was just a letter of affection from his love, Marisa Delatori. Nonetheless, it was an unauthorized correspondence from Spain. But, it mattered not in the eyes of Captain Stirvin. Captain Stirvin then ordered his guards to place Kenneth under arrest.

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Yet you hold a woman prisoner aboard your vessel when the articles clearly state it is a violation of the law. You, Sir, are nothing but a hypocrite! In kidnapping Isabel, you are just as guilty, but you can’t see that. You won’t see that!”

Kenneth was quickly escorted back to the ship where he was locked up. In an adjacent cell sat Alfonso Rubio, the very man who manipulated the correspondence between Marisa and Kenneth.

Alfonso laughed. “You should have been more careful, mi compañero.” said Alfonso, speaking through the bars between them. “But for all your running around in secret, you are indeed more naïve than I gave you credit for. There are more pirates aboard this ship than those hunted by Stirvin. At least amongst pirates, there is no more than one face per – eh, varón – per man. There is no pretend in any one character, no falseness. Even if they are liars or disloyal, the label is worn upon the sleeve and everyone knows it and accepted it. It is only when they are on the side of the government that they grow a second face and wear it where it cannot be seen.”

“What do you mean by there are more pirates on this ship? I am not a pirate. I am not a traitor to my country.”

“See what I mean by naïve?” replied Alfonso. “Señor Kenneth, it is not you of whom I speak.”

“Then who are you talking about?” asked Kenneth, worried and confused.

“Well, besides those six men who truly did turn on Stirvin…”

The doors leading to the cells suddenly opened with authoritative force, cutting Alfonso off in his explanation. Captain Stirvin emerged from the small dark and claustrophobic path into the confinement area.

“We will finish our little discussion later,” stated Alfonso to Kenneth at a whisper’s pitch as Captain Stirvin approached.

Kenneth quickly stood at attention, still loyal to his unwavering and uncomprehending captain. Walking up to Kenneth’s cell in complete frustration and holding onto one of the many surrounding bars, Captain Stirvin looked shamefully upon him.

“Why did you have to go and do this?” asked Captain Stirvin. “Why could you not wait? You could have called on me for direction. You should know have known better!”

“What would you have said to me?” replied Kenneth. “Already, one war has kept us separated and yet another looms to keep us apart forever. I do not have the luxury of loving someone who lives within boundaries set by Kings and Queens. Love has no boundaries, Captain!”

Alfonso just listened on, entertained by the conversation, smiling with indulgent satisfaction.

“I am sick and tired of my highest-ranking officers disobeying my orders and setting examples to the rest of the men of such illegality – illegality of what appears to be of even treasonous proportions! What has happened to loyalty, Kenneth? I cannot lead a crew with officers upon which I cannot rely. You have gone behind my back and broken a major law!”

“How can you stand there and accuse me when you, yourself, have broken a major law? You have placed a woman aboard a ship belonging to the Royal Navy? The law I have broken, fails in comparison. Does it not?”

“The needs of the Royal Navy, Kenneth, far outweigh the laws of our lands. What I have broken can mend a nation. My actions were necessary and urgent to the security of Queen or Country. What I have done will eventually lead to the safety of our lands! To what great end have your actions been to the security of our nation? Other than treasonous, what have your actions done for our Queen? All for a woman?”

“I love her and that is all, Captain. Do I not have the right, same as any, to love? Is there some great law against pursuing a happy ending? I am not consorting with the enemy!”

“You have knowingly committed a crime against the crown in a time of war! Can love not wait the length?”

“Captain, I was only following my heart. Where is the wrong in that?”

“I cannot let such a thing as this go unpunished or I lose the respect of my entire crew; I lose the respect of my countrymen. If I am to one day assume the role of Admiral, I cannot have such a reputation. I am sorry, Kenneth, but my hands are tied. And I will not be disobeyed so blatantly!”

“We have never spoken of it, but I have heard that you are very happily married. Is this true?” Captain Stirvin nodded in agreement, inciting Kenneth to follow up with an additional question. “Do you not love her this very moment?”

“Of course I love my wife!” he replied sharply. “But that is not the point here.”

“If you knew you would never see her again, would you not cross all obstacles and boundaries in your path to see her one last time, whether right or wrong?”

“Yes I would, Kenneth. But I would also be willing to pay the consequences. I am angered that you felt the need to do such a thing, but I also have admiration for your courage to risk everything for this woman. However, I will not have that admiration blur my judgment and you will be tried for those actions and face the consequences.”

“You are a lucky man to have a woman that you can love unreservedly and without complication. I’ve loved Marisa for a long time, yet I’ve never been able to hold her in my arms or look into her eyes with that kind of sentiment. We were only children when we met and became close friends. It was only after we grew to know each other over years of writing back and forth that we fell in love. The words she writes to me are amazing. But I would much rather hear them from her own lips.”

Captain Stirvin, not knowing how to reply, departed the brig, leaving Kenneth with Alfonso once again. Alfonso smiled his disgusting smile and stated, “Love. What is love but an addiction that makes an individual do what he would otherwise never do? It blurs the boundaries of a man’s devotion to anything else. It is an irrational craving that produces no gain. The only sensible addiction is ganas de la joya, no? – desire for treasure.”

“Mr. Rubio, Marisa is my treasure,” replied Kenneth. He then insisted, “But I will not speak to you of love. What were you saying about pirates aboard this ship? Are there traitors, other than Mr. Hall and William Guile that Captain Stirvin should know about?”

“No, Mr. Lunt. It is your captain who hides a second face. How else do you think he managed to find the type of men, outside his precious navy, who would be callus and willing enough to take Isabel from her home and bring her aboard this ship?” Alfonso then laughed at the suggested hypocrisy and irony of the situation. “Stirvin has you locked up for dealing with a man like me when it was he who used my services to break the law – for, as he says, Queen and Country.”

Chapter XIV

The sun hadn’t yet risen, as the Weeping Lady sailed toward the London Harbor. Scurvy’s Letter of Marquee had brought him this far and he thought himself lucky to have so easily managed his way to England under the current conditions of law. But Captain Stirvin had seen fit to assure his safety as a legal privateer until Black-Hearted’s capture.

“Down the anchor!” shouted Scurvy. Although the Weeping Lady was built to carry upwards of seventy men, she only carried thirty-five this day. Scurvy wasn’t willing to chance much attention. When the Weeping Lady finally docked, Scurvy hand-picked Bones, Edward, Gunner, Eric and Stephen; they were to accompany him in to London to help carry out his mission. “The rest of you maggots,” he addressed as usual, “stand ready for a very quick departure.”

“Who goes there?” shouted the harbor guard, “I say who goes there?”

The reply came as he walked out into the dim light. “Scurvy Shaw, Lieutenant.”

“I’m not a Lieutenant Mr. Shaw. What sort of business have you on my dock at this hour?” he said, continuing on with a snide snicker and sneer, “Have you Black-Hearted in your custody already?”

“For your information, we’ve news that Black-Hearted is planning to take Lady Stirvin hostage – tonight. You must inform your commanding officer at once.”

“And how did you come across this information, Mr. Shaw and not the captain himself?”

“I happen to run in the sort of circles that would have a man such as yourself in cuffs and chains for the rest of your life. I hear many a thing that would otherwise not reach the captains ears but by my lips alone. I am no fool, mate. But the man I be lookin’ at would be the greater fool not to inform his commanding officer at once, but rather continue squabbling about.”

“Right, I’ll inform the chief officer, but if you are wrong about this, I’ll have your head, Sir.”

“Understood, Mate. Now get on with it, will you? Go and fetch the good chief.”

The harbor guard returned to Scurvy’s ship with the commanding officer, who was in the company of about a dozen officers. Taking the matter seriously, the commanding officer probed Scurvy for more information. After relating all that he wished to divulge, Scurvy asked if he could supply them with a dozen more men. Scurvy’s men included those previously mentioned plus six more, who, in Scurvy’s mind, were expendable.

“Keep a ready eye,” said Scurvy, keeping them nervous and anxiously stressed. “If this is to happen at all, it is to happen in the dark.” Since the sun hadn’t yet risen, everyone was over conscious and eager.

When they reached the Stirvin’s estate, Scurvy suggested, “Me and my men will keep watch outside of these walls, commander, while you and yours tend to the Lady. I’d hate to spook her with the look of my indignant men.”

“I will make the decisions and give the orders Captain Shaw. You’ll mind your own tasks on my orders. This is not your ship and rabble.”

“Right, sorry about that, Sir. Just a bit of habit being captain and all.”

Looking to the men in his company, the commanding officer repeated Scurvy’s suggestion, taking his own men to the door. As Scurvy watched from without the walls, the door opened to Lady Stirvin herself, who then allowed them entrance. Leaving two men at the entry way outside, the commanding officer respectfully stepped in with the rest of his men.

Pointing them out one by one, Scurvy gave an order to his more expendable crewmembers. “Listen here,” he began. “I need you to walk over to that entry and kindly offer your assistance. When you come close enough, I want you to kill them. Don’t allow them to call for help; their voices must be silenced if you’re to keep your presence undetected by those within the residence. The moment you take out the guards, you’ll have to burst in and startle them into confusion; start shootin’ and killin’ the lot of them. Just don’t hurt the lady. You do this and you’ll have your reward.”

Scurvy’s expendables soon approached the entrance very cautiously, walking up to the two guards, whose mindset was substantially relaxed since Scurvy’s men were, as they saw it, ally’s with them; the guards were more annoyed than defensive. Without warning, Scurvy’s expendables simply slit their throats, keeping the attack silent to that point. The door was partially open, allowing them quick and quiet access. The shooting began almost immediately. When the shots ceased, Scurvy and the rest of his men approached the front door. With the sound of tinkling blades tangled in battle echoing through, several servants burst through the front door to the outside, where Scurvy and his men quickly silenced their escape. He wanted no witnesses to his underhanded plan.

When Scurvy and his trusted men stepped up to the entry way, the door was wide open. Positioning himself so as not to be seen by those inside, he took a quick peek and could see one of his expendables holding Lady Stirvin, who was screaming in a panic. Scurvy and his trusted men stood just outside the room, while four expendables took on the two remaining officers. When the last officer had fallen and only three expendables remained, Scurvy and his trusted men strategically entered the room, charging in as though coming to the rescue. With their guns blazing, they killed all but one of the expendables. Shocked that Scurvy had so blatantly set him up, the last remaining expendable pulled Lady Stirvin tight and close, shielding his body from certain death. But Scurvy needed to keep the scene as real as possible, proving to Lady Stirvin that they were there on a mission to save her, leading her to go with them without a fight.

“Let the lady go!” demanded Scurvy.

“No, I’m not doing that. I’d rather stay alive if that’s alright with you. I’m walking out of here with the wench.”

“No you’re not, Mate,” replied Scurvy, with a taunting and teasing laugh. Sarcastically, he reminded the wretched fellow, “I told you you’d get your reward if you done what you did.”

Suddenly, he took a quick aim and with complete confidence, pulled the trigger, tagging him directly between the eyes. Shaken up and not knowing what to say, Lady Stirvin began to sob sadly, yet thankfully. Unable to contain herself, she ran to Scurvy and threw her arms around him.

“My name is Captain Scurvy Shaw, Royal Privateer, me Lady. I come, calling on behalf of Captain Stirvin.”

As Katherine took a quick seat, Scurvy and the others did not.

“I am sorry, Me Lady. But we must ask that you accompany us for your own safety and protection. I don’t wish to alarm you more, but a pirate by the name of Black-Hearted intends to make a hostage of you and we cannot afford any mistakes. These attacks do come in waves – it’s the way of war, you see. But Black-Hearted will never suspect that Captain Stirvin would place you aboard a pirate ship. ‘Tis the perfect escape until Black-Hearted is hanging in irons.”

“Why hasn’t Daniel come himself or bothered to write?”

“You should put your trust in me.” Scurvy showed her the letter of commission signed by Queen Anne and Captain Stirvin, assuring her of his authenticity. “Queen Anne has commissioned me a privateer; the only privateer with legal accountability. If she trusts in me, I think you should as well.”

“Where do you intend on taking me and how much time do I have?”

“I am sorry, but you have no time at all. We must leave at once,” stated Scurvy in a nervous tone, “We’ll be going to my ship and from there, well, elsewhere. I was instructed to share this information with no one, including you, Me Lady. Word travels fast and we cannot compromise your safety.” Scurvy put forth his hand, “Come, we must leave at once.”

“I cannot go right now,” stated Katherine. “I need to gather my things.” She wrote a quick letter to Captain Stirvin, packed a few items and innocently placed her trust in the men before her.

“May we appropriate your carriage?” asked Scurvy, ever so kindly. “It’ll save us a long walk as well as conceal your departure.”

Katherine innocently yet aptly agreed.

As they progressed forward to the Weeping Lady, Stephen rode on the carriage top with Bones at the reigns. Edward followed on Duke, Katherine’s prize-winning horse.

The evening grew dark and a deep anxiety filled the air. Although things did not seem right to Katherine, she did as she was asked. As they continued toward the harbor, Stephen noticed around a dozen men on horseback, blocking the path up ahead.

Bones pulled up forcefully on the reins and halted the carriage about fifty yards from the blockade.

“What’s going on?” asked Katherine.

“Keep quiet,” replied Scurvy. “It could be a trap.”

“But, how could anyone know that I’m here?”

“Gunner, Eric, ready yourselves,” ordered Scurvy, as they cocked their pistol. A shot was heard from without the carriage. Scurvy, Eric and Gunner leaped from the carriage and found Stephen lying on the ground, shot in the side. Bones jumped off his seat, as Edward and Gunner came around, joining Scurvy, who was crouched low to the ground by the carriage door. Soon Edward was able to join them as well. Being nothing more than a show pony, Duke ran off, spooked by the gunshot.

“I’m Captain Benjamin Hornigold. What business have you here?” he hollered, pointing his firearm toward the carriage.

“We’re on official business!” shouted Scurvy in reply. “And what sort of business have you? Privateers are banned – all but for me. And, my apologies, but I hereby arrest you in the name of Queen Anne. Throw down your weapons and give yourselves up!”

“I’ll have you know, Scurvy, that Admiral Flynn is a longtime friend to me and trusted officer to the crown; the highest ranking, in the navy. You’re not the only legal privateer in these parts, Mate. So, I’ll ask you again – what sort of business brings you to these parts? You wouldn’t happen to have Lady Stirvin with you now, would you?”

Speaking very rapidly, Scurvy whispered to Lady Stirvin, “I’m sorry, Lady Stirvin, but there is no way out of this tonight. When they take you, do not fret, I promise I will come for you. Hornigold will not risk killing you; you are his ransom and your death would cost him a lot of money. You must do all you can to struggle free from him and cause him much trouble. Remember that it was I who saved your life. He would have you believe otherwise. You cannot trust this man.”

“Benjamin Hornigold killed my brother for a small ransom,” replied Lady Stirvin, “I’ll never trust him.”

“Good,” said Scurvy. He then replied to Captain Hornigold, shouting, “The official sort of business brings me here. What would give you the idea I would have such a woman?”

Speaking to his men, Captain Hornigold was done playing around with meaningless gibberish. “Bring them to me!”

“Aye Sir,” replied Bones and Edward simultaneously, as they pointed their pistols at Scurvy and the others, who were still crouched with their backs to the carriage.

Scurvy was in complete shock. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You might call it official business,” said Bones. “Now, shut your mouth and stand up!” Bones kicked Scurvy to his feet as Eric, Gunner and Katherine followed with their hands up, free of weapons. Stephen was lying on the ground with his face down in the dirt, apparently lifeless from the shot.

Captain Hornigold ordered his men to snatch Lady Stirvin from Gunner’s side. Scurvy, Gunner and Eric were tied up and placed into the carriage.

While Captain Hornigold departed with Lady Stirvin, the smell of smoke slowly filled the inside of the carriage, where Scurvy, Gunner and Eric sat. As the flames shot through the frame, they struggled ferociously to free themselves. The carriage began to move when the horses became spooked from the flames and the faster they ran the more intense the fire grew. After several minutes the heat and smoke completely engulfed the carriage. Each man was sweating profusely, due to the consuming heat and anxious situation; they could hardly breathe. As they shouted for help they were overtaken and began to pass out.

Suddenly a voice could be heard without the carriage as it sped aimlessly about. “Woe!” yelled Stephen as he pulled back on the reins of the coach, “Woe!” Stephen had found Duke, not far from the ambush and used him to catch up to the carriage. Looking around in a panic through the darkness, he spotted a sizable pond and he raced toward the water, slowly steering the horses in. The freezing water quickly flooded the cabin midway. Stephen then hurried to the side door prying it open with a large tree branch.

Promptly untying each person, Stephen explained what happened. As he persisted in his narration, they noticed his sleeve soaked through and dripping with blood. Using the horses from the carriage, they quickly rode off to the Weeping Lady, where Stephen’s wound was directly treated upon their boarding.

Scurvy gathered his crew, “We’ll have to wait here ‘til Stirvin arrives tomorrow eve. Rest up me hearties, we have a long day ahead of us.”

Black-hearted continued to sail toward Port Lorne. Knowing that the Crimson Reef and the Sentry would both be docked there, he ordered the helm to sail to North Cove, where he ordered a longboat prepared and lowered into the water. As the evening sky fell upon the two ships Black-Hearted made his thoughts known. He, Darby O’Dell and four others entered the longboat and rowed toward Port Lorne. Several large barrels labeled salt were centered in the longboat with them.

The trip would take half a day with four men rowing at all times. The sea was calm and the wind was in their favor, as they stuck tight to the shore, pushing themselves slowly along over the shallow reef. As Black-Hearted rounded the corner of the last protruding rock, Port Lorne and the harbor, on which the Crimson Reef sat, came into view. Beaching their longboat, they left their salt-labeled barrels by the water’s edge. They then pulled their longboat over the soft and sandy shore, into a nearby grouping of brush and trees, leaving their boots within the boat. Black-Hearted was not going to risk being caught by the knocking sound of boots against the wooden deck of an enemy ship. Now completely barefoot, they returned to their barrels and pushed them into the water until they began to float. They then commenced their precarious advance toward the Crimson Reef.

Thinking Black-Hearted might come for Isabel on any given night, Captain Stirvin wished to be prepared and made sure his lookouts stood watch over the broad sea. He felt that if Black-Hearted was to come, he would arrive boldly and in plain view so the main focus was the distant horizon. But, unbeknownst to those stationed there, Black-Hearted and his men waded through the water toward them, under the guise of early morning darkness. Knowing most of the crew would be asleep, Black-Hearted was confident his plan could work.

Continuing deeper on into the water, they soon had to swim. To save their much needed energy, the barrels labeled salt, being very heavy but air-tight, helped to buoy them up in the cold ocean tide. Unable to keep their pistols dry, their blades would have to suffice if they were to be discovered.

When they arrived outside the Crimson Reef, a rustle was heard against the ship in the water by one of the lookouts. Peeking over the side, he could see nothing passed the bulging hull. However, treading water with their backs to the ship and barrels to their sides, Black-Hearted and his men, kept just out of sight by the protruding belly of the massive hull. Darby noticed a small latter extending down from the dock to the water a few yards away. Black-Hearted and two of his men cautiously ascended the latter to the floor of the dock adjacent to the Crimson Reef. Two lookouts could be heard pacing about on the forecastle deck just above them at the front of the ship. Darby and the other two men stayed in the water with the barrels. Upon hearing the captain speak to his lookouts on the forecastle, Black-Hearted and his two men quickly dropped to their bellies on the dock and snuck as close to the ship as possible.

“You men keep watch!” ordered Captain Stirvin. “I’m going to turn in for a few hours. Wake me the very moment you see anything suspicious.”

When Captain Stirvin closed the door to his quarters, it was time for Black-Hearted and his men to complete their task. Black-Hearted rose from his belly to a crouching position and spotted a rope hanging over the gunwale. The end of it was nearly touching the dock upon which they stood. Standing below the bow, they were careful to keep their steps soft on the creaking old planks of wood, as they made their way to the rope at the rear end of the ship. When Black-Hearted gripped it tight with both hands, placing one foot against the broad hull and proceeded to walk upward, followed by his two men. Placing hand over hand and foot over foot they slowly continued upward. Without the boot tread, having left their boots with the longboat, it made for a slippery climb, but they managed it quite well. A few subtle creaks on the wooden hull created an anxious worry within each man. But not a single sound was noticed by the lookouts. As they reached the gunwale, they carefully slid over the top and stepped onto the main deck undetected. Rushing over to a bulk of supplies bunched up against the quarterdeck wall, they quickly hid between the wall and the supplies. While they sat in wait for an opportunity to act, several large and diseased rats scurried about their feet.

“We have to hoist the barrels up,” whispered Black-Hearted. “Be careful. Be silent.”

Creating a plan to hoist their salt-labeled barrels up to the main deck, they crept nervously out to a position against the gunwale just over Darby. Black-Hearted lowered a rope down, while the other two kept watch on the main deck, hidden within the shadows. Darby and the men in the water with him then tied the end of the rope around one of their barrels. As Black-Hearted, now assisted by his two men, began to hoist the barrel up, a rumbling reverberation of the rope against the gunwale was heard by one of the lookouts. As he walked over to investigate, the intruders stopped what they were doing and pulled out a few small blades ready for a confrontation. Unable to pinpoint the sound, which had now stopped, the lookout walked back to his post with only a slight suspicion. Placing a rag between the taught rope and the ridged gunwale, the sound became muffled enough for Black-Hearted to proceed. As the barrel was dropped on to the main deck, a scratching thud alerted the two lookouts still pacing about the quarterdeck. The two lookouts curiously, yet cautiously, raced back down to the area of the sound, as Black-Hearted and his men hurried back to their hiding spot behind the bulk of supplies. As the lookouts shuffled things around, looking for the origin of the sound, Black-Hearted grabbed two really sizeable rats by the tail ends and flung them out into the open. As they raced off in separate directions, they created their own commotion, similar to anything the lookouts thought they may have heard.

“I’m getting way too jumpy,” said one of the lookouts. “Everything sounds like a pirate to me!”

“Just keep to your task ‘til it’s time to change out our post for a hammock,” stated the other in a calming tone. “It’s only minutes more.”

As they talked themselves back to their post, Black-Hearted and his men placed the barrel behind the supplies at the quarterdeck wall, where they rested for a moment.

“Alright mates,” whispered Black-Hearted, “let’s finish the task before it’s too late. If they even suspect we’ve been here before they ship off, this will all be for naught.”

Black-Hearted and his two men then hoisted the second salt-labeled barrel to the main deck with greater efficiency, setting it by the first. But, as the third and last barrel ascended, it softly tapped the side of the ship, making barely a sound. Black-Hearted and his men stopped pulling for a moment, listening for movement from the lookouts in response to the sound. With nervous tension they waited, but the lookouts somehow gave no notice. Black-Hearted continued until all three barrels were sitting against the quarterdeck wall.

When the task was finally complete, they mischievously pulled the lids from the existing salt and water barrels. Using a bucket close by, they dumped loads of salt into their fresh water. They then drenched all the existing salt with buckets of water, purposefully leaving the lids loose enough to breath, creating tuff and hardened clumps, useless to put out a fire or soak up blood in battle.

Climbing back down, Black-Hearted and his men made their way back to Darby and the others still treading water at the base of the ship. Swimming back to shore, they used the docks, swimming underneath and keeping out of sight. After swimming past the shelter of the docks, still hidden within the darkness of the morning dim, they stayed low in the water until they were far enough away to run on shore for their longboat.

Over the next ten hours, they rowed back to North Cove, finally reaching the Rogue. Exhausted, Black-Hearted boarded and gave the order “Set sail for Raven Bridges.”

Without ever knowing that Black-Hearted had been aboard his ship, Captain Stirvin was anxious to return home. He finally arrived at the Port of London, unaware that his fight with Black-Hearted had hit so close to home.

As he pulled into the harbor, he noticed the Weeping Lady docked amongst the other vessels. As the crew of the Crimson Reef secured her lines, Captain Stirvin took several men and approached the Weeping Lady.

Scurvy invited Captain Stirvin and his men to the main deck, where he informed Captain Stirvin of Katherine’s abduction and blaming Captain Hornigold for the entire incident. Scurvy embellished the story with heroic attempts on his part to stop Hornigold from taking Katherine, even producing a self-inflicted wound to the shoulder to prove the story’s authenticity.

Captain Stirvin took Scurvy by the collar and pulled him close. “What are you trying to say? Where is she, Scurvy, where’s my wife?”

Scurvy explained everything to Captain Stirvin in a manner that would lead him to believe as he wished him to. And Scurvy knew that Lady Stirvin would collaborate.

“I know where Hornigold will be,” acknowledged Captain Stirvin.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

In addition to Mr. Black and Second Mate Grey Davis, Captain Stirvin rounded up a few more men. Convincing Captain Stirvin that he could use his assistance, Scurvy was allowed to accompany them. Following hours of searching several taverns and brothels and interviewing numerous patrons, Captain Hornigold’s location was finally uncovered. Hiding out at an inn close to the harbor, Captain Hornigold continued to hold Katherine against her will.

Directed to Hornigold’s room by the innkeeper, Captain Stirvin leaned up to the door for a listen. He could hear his wife arguing and struggling with a few men inside. Growing angrier, he cocked his pistol and, followed by Garland and Mr. Black, busted in through the door. “Don’t move!” shouted Captain Stirvin. “Be still or be dead!”

Caught off guard, without a weapon, Hornigold pivoted about, throwing his hands in the air. Katherine screamed in confusion, but soon realized her husband and Scurvy had come for her as Scurvy had promised. Without thinking clearly, she raced forward toward her husband. Several other men in the room, including Bones and Edward, also submitted to the captain’s request, raising their arms in the air and freezing.

But unseen by Captain Stirvin, Alexander, one of Hornigold’s men standing directly in front of Bones, was not so gracious as to give-in without a fight. Reaching for his pistol located on a desk a few feet from where he stood, Alexander quickly placed Captain Stirvin within his sights. But Katherine, rushing hysterically toward her husband, blocked Alexander’s view, while at the same time unintentionally drawing Captain Stirvin’s attention and view to the assassin. But it was too late; Katherine was now directly in the line of fire, shielding her husband from Alexander’s attempt.

Helpless to stop Alexander with Katherine in his way, Captain Stirvin frantically rushed forward, calling out, “No, wait, stop!”

Alexander began to press slightly on his trigger. But, suddenly a gunshot sounded just behind and to the right of Captain Stirvin, who was still lunging forward. Before Alexander could set his round off, a bullet penetrated his eye socket and exploded through his brain. The blood and fluids along with chunks of meat and gelatinous fat quickly splattered Bones in the face. Bones immediately forced bloody pieces of fleshy gristle from his mouth with his tongue; sinewy portions inexorably clung to the spaces between his teeth. With his gag reflexes now wildly provoked, Bones grew instantaneously nauseated and woozy.

As the echo of the blast reverberated against the walls, Captain Stirvin tackled his wife to the floor, protectively holding her, thinking she had taken the bullet. Mr. Black instinctively darted to Captain Stirvin’s side, as Garland and a few sailors rushed to a defensive stance around their captain as he cradled his dear wife.

Just as Alexander’s head snapped back, his fingers tensed up and flinched closed, completing his shot, which changed course as his wrist flicked awkwardly away. The shot he fired then entered the back of his crewmate’s head, just in front of him. With both shots concurrently sounding, Hornigold and his men flinched away and to the ground, huddled vulnerably against a wall by which each stood, without a means to defend.

Before Alexander fell to his knees and eventually his face, crimson blood, thick and raw, ran down the side of his cheek from the gaping hole in his eye. At the same time, his crewmate fell forward, straight and stiff. Both he and Alexander were dead before they dropped. Feeling fainter from the chunks of brain in his mouth, Bones hit the floor simultaneously with the two dead men.

Still on the floor, crouched next to his traumatized wife, Captain Stirvin looked up at Scurvy, whose pistol was still extended out toward Alexander. The barrel of Scurvy’s gun continued to emit black smoke, indicating to Captain Stirvin that he had saved Katherine’s life. Captain Stirvin thanked Scurvy silently with a nod of unspoken gratitude. Captain Stirvin was joyfully shocked when his wife looked up at him with eyes not at all indicative of someone that had just been shot.

“Are you okay?” he asked, searching about her for signs of harm. “Are you hurt, Kate? Are you hurt?”

“Well, I don’t know if okay is the best account of how I am feeling right now.” She replied, quivering from the frightful experience. “But I’m not hurt.”

Captain Stirvin stood and lovingly helped his wife up. “Kate, was Captain Hornigold holding you against your will?”

“I tried to get away. He told me it was for my own good. I just wanted to go home, but he would not allow it.” Wiping herself off, Katherine looked around the room, shaking. Hornigold tried to speak his case, but was immediately silenced by Captain Stirvin. Katherine then began to cry uncontrollably. “Yes, he did. He held me against my will and he would not let me go.”

Ordering Mr. Black, Captain Stirvin insisted, “Take a few men and escort Lady Stirvin directly to my ship. I will deal with Hornigold myself.”

Before she left the room, Katherine still sobbing, walked as gracefully as she could up to Scurvy, thanking him for his courage and right mind to act. Leaving the room with Mr. Black and two sailors, she picked up her things sitting by the doorway and kissed her husband softly on the cheek, looking into his eyes with an unsaid sentiment.

The sound of moaning and gagging could be heard as Bones came-to. “Oh, I feel sick. I think I’m…” Expelling his last meal onto the floor, Bones began to go pail again, but managed to get to his feet. The smell was horrific, vomit intermingling with the stink of rotting flesh.

With a sardonic smirk of satisfaction, Scurvy expressed to Hornigold, “It’s just business, Ben – the official type.” Sniggering snidely, he smiled and tipped his hat to Bones and Edward in the same sarcastic manner, adding to it a repugnant wink. Turning to Captain Stirvin, Scurvy excused himself. “I have business I must attend to, I’m sure you’ll understand. I assume all is now well with you?”

“Yes, everything is just fine,” replied Captain Stirvin. “Be sure and keep me updated on your progress with Black-Hearted.” Scurvy nodded, as he departed from the room. Captain Stirvin ordered Garland to have Hornigold and his remaining men placed in irons.

Insisting to be heard, Captain Hornigold questioned, “You believe Scurvy? Do you not know who he is; what he is? He runs with Black-Hearted the pirate. His lies are a poisonous trap. Can you not see that?”

“It would do you good to keep your filthy mouth shut!” snapped Captain Stirvin, pushing him out of the room and into the hallway. “You talk about lies, do you? You may have gotten away with your lies when you killed my wife’s brother those many years ago, but now you’re going to be hanged for kidnapping, piracy and finally, in my eyes, for his murder!”

“So, you would simply believe Scurvy Shaw based on your hatred of me and what you think happened in the past? Well then, just do with me as you see fit. Your wife’s blood will be on your hands.”

“Shut your dirty lying mouth!” shouted Captain Stirvin, as he ordered his men to escort Hornigold, Bones, Edward and the others out of the inn.

Hornigold continued to press him aggressively and without reservation. “Scurvy’s only business is to abduct your wife! Can you not see what is going on? He is very smart, very clever. While you are playing around with me, an innocent man, Scurvy Shaw has bought enough time to overtake the very few men you have ordered to accompany Katherine to your ship. He knows these streets and you have basically given him the route they intend to take to the Crimson Reef. Why do you think he left so suddenly following your wife?”

“Why were you holding her against her will? Why not just bring her to me? Why not send me some sort of communication about what you say happened?”

“She needed to stay with us in order to stay safe. I did send word to you a few hours ago. Are you really going to let this happen to your wife because of a grudge you have with me concerning a man that I had to defend myself against? All because your wife convinced you I was in the wrong? She wasn’t even there. Did you not speak to any eye witness of the affair? The accusation, once again, was false!”

“You have sent no such word to me, as I have received none. There are way too many false accusations upon your head. Now shut your mouth and keep walking!”

About half an hour later, in a secluded area of town, ten men under Hornigold’s command surrounded Captain Stirvin and his men.

“Drop your weapons,” demanded Hornigold of Captain Stirvin and those with him. “Do as I say and I promise I will let you go. But you must hear me out without bias.”

Outnumbered and with no foreseeable way out, Captain Stirvin hesitantly dropped his weapon. “Do as he says,” demanded Captain Stirvin, ordering the sailors and officers with him.

“That’s right,” said Hornigold. “Now, take these shackles off.”

Captain Stirvin motioned to Garland, who then released Hornigold from his irons. Captain Hornigold walked up to Captain Stirvin. “Now, you listen to me. For the record, Captain, that night I went to collect from Nathan Spencer the money owed to me, by right of law. He pulled a pistol on me. I killed him. I had no other choice.” Knowing Captain Stirvin would be a threat no longer, Hornigold took a few steps back, ordering his own men to lower their weapons to put Captain Stirvin a little more at ease.

Bones then spoke up, “I was quartermaster on Scurvy’s vessel. He’s working with Black-Hearted. I sent word to Captain Hornigold about Scurvy’s plan to kidnap your wife. Scurvy will take her straight to Hearted.” Handing a letter addressed to Captain Stirvin, he continued, “This was left on your bed when we arrived to stop Scurvy. We were only minutes late and had no time to send you word.” Captain Stirvin took the letter. It read:

My Dearest Daniel,

I have gone as you have requested, with Captain Shaw. I don’t know where I am going, as you have instructed in this trying time. I trust I will see you soon. May God watch over you and keep you safe.

Love always, Kate

Running through a gamut of emotions, Captain Stirvin stared at the letter for what seemed like an eternity. “I never told Scurvy to take Katherine anywhere!” Lost in his rage, frustration, worry and guilt, Captain Stirvin didn’t know what to do. But snapping back into the reality of what happened over the last hour, he questioned, “How did you come to know of my wife’s abduction? How did you know Scurvy was going to attempt such a thing?”

Bones stepped forward. “I was first mate aboard the Weeping Lady, Scurvy’s vessel. I was there when he planned it with Black-Hearted.”

“Then you know what they plan next,” deduced Captain Stirvin, with a hopeful heart. “You know where Scurvy is taking Katherine?”

“They’ll be sailing to Raven Bridges and they know you’re coming. Scurvy left a note for you at your home. Besides, he’s an intelligent man. He’ll know we’re having this conversation and count on my telling you. They’ll have a small fleet and Black-Hearted will be there waiting. He wishes to trade Isabel for Katherine.”

“Then I must be on my way!” he determined. “But if it’s a fight Black-Hearted wishes for, it will be granted in numbers he will never forget.”

When the men aboard the Weeping Lady noticed Scurvy and his trusted men coming toward the ship with Katherine, they began to weigh anchor in a hurry. The Weeping Lady was ready to set sail the moment Scurvy boarded. “To Raven Bridges!” he shouted.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Katherine. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Shaw?”

Lady Stirvin kicked and screamed as Gunner carried her to the bilge where he tied her to a chair.

With no time to waste, Captain Stirvin hurried back to the Crimson Reef. Lying there on the side of the road on a secluded street were two dead crewmembers and Mr. Black, who was in a daze with a fresh cut on the back of his head.

“What happened, Mr. Black?” asked Captain Stirvin, pulling him on to his feet. “What happened to my wife? Has Scurvy taken her?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, holding his aching head. “I can’t remember. I just blacked-out.” Placing his hands on his head, he took in a deep breath and continued, “I think someone hit me over the head. I feel kind of dizzy. I don’t know what happened.”

“Scurvy took her,” assumed Captain Stirvin. “Scurvy took my wife! He knocked you unconscious and killed the others. Come! We must find him.”

“But, how?” questioned Mr. Black, still lightheaded from the assault. “He must be miles away by now. We’ll never find him without help and even then it might take several months.”

“I know where he’s going. Black-Hearted will be there too.”

Captain Stirvin directed Garland to assist Mr. Black in following him to the Crimson Reef. When Captain Stirvin arrived at the harbor, a stranger approached him with a great sense of urgency. Although Captain Stirvin was in a dreadful hurry to reach the Crimson Reef, the stranger explained that he had dire news. “There has been an attempt to abduct Lady Stirvin. I can assure you that she is safe. You must come with me; I can take you to her.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be one of Captain Hornigold’s men,” inquired Captain Stirvin, “would you?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied. “But you must come with me at once. She is in great danger.”

“Thank you, but I must decline. There is more to the story than you realize.”

“But, it’s Lady Stirvin, Captain.” Blowing him off, allowing the latecomer to stress, Captain Stirvin just left him in his confusion and worry.

Meeting with Admiral Flynn and a few other captains to discuss Black-Hearted’s cunning invitation to battle, Captain Stirvin explained the situation, pertaining to both his wife and Isabel. After no more than an hour of preparations, Captain Stirvin was finally boarded his vessel. He was in such a great hurry; he did not resupply the vessel as needed.

With commanding orders, Captain Stirvin shouted, “Weigh anchor and Ready the guns! We set sail for Raven Bridges and to war!”

As Captain Stirvin’s crew hoisted the main sails and pulled up anchor, even the winds seemed to catch the pulse of war, filling their sails and hurrying them urgently along. Several other ships followed close behind; the Sentry, the London, and William’s Revenge, and all were willing to sacrifice their lives to stop the terrible reign of Black-Hearted on the high seas. Admiral Flynn saw this as an opportunity for Captain Stirvin to show his abilities, proving to Queen Anne that he would make the best replacement as Admiral upon his retirement. But this time, the battle was not for Queen and Country, but for Katherine and revenge. Captain Stirvin was ready to fight!

Chapter XV

Father Morgan had a great deal to worry about. There was too much at stake to come out of hiding, though he knew there were more lives on the line.

“If I confront Stirvin about who I really am,” confessed Father Morgan, “I’ll be found out and Averton will be sure to come for me. He’ll kill me and my son. He’ll burn down the Brier Wood. And then he’ll think about getting his revenge. I’m too old and I cannot defend against such reckless and unstoppable hatred.”

“You should not fear Death. You need only fear God. Have you learned nothing, Morgan?”

“Aden, I was an evil man. I will be judged of God and that is a fact. The longer I live, the more chance I have for redemption. Aden, you have no idea what I have done; no, not to the fullest extent.”

“You forget that I do, Henry. Remember, I was there.”

Father Morgan’s countenance changed, as he glanced up to Mayor Longfellow. “I’ve done much worse than what you have seen. Worse than you can imagine.” He lowered his head. “Worse than I can bear to say.”

“I know you Henry. Your heart has changed for the better. Always remember that it is better to be a once wicked man pressing forward than a lifelong man of God walking in the wrong direction. It’s where your heart is that matters.”

“God could not forget what I have done,” snapped Father Morgan, in retort. “What I know he has witnessed, he could never forgive.”

“It is worse to deny God his forgiving power than never to ask. He has said he will forgive the penitent. Do you not believe his words?”

Just then, Sterling Wade, Father Morgan’s adoptive son, walked in, “What’s going on?”

“Morgan will not go.”

“Father,” replied Sterling, “from what you have taught me, not to go would be a selfish act. You will feel this guilt for the rest of your life; guilt for what lives could have been saved by simply going. You don’t want to have such a great regret.”

“I’ve killed enough! I’ve looted and murdered and committed sin beyond that which I can say! And now I must go and possibly shed even more blood?”

“You’re not going to plunder and murder,” continued Sterling. “You are going to defend lives, even at the cost of your own. Haven’t you wished for such an opportunity in the past two decades?”

“And death it’ll be, for if I am killed, I’ve certainly lost me soul.”

“It’s a sacrifice worth taking. To die for such a cause, believing that you may save another at the cost of your own life! A just God has to take that into consideration.”

“With the exception of Sterling,” added Mayor Longfellow. “We have all felt the same guilt these many years. But hiding will not make it disappear. Even in hiding we can’t escape the fact that we’ve done what we’ve done. Sooner or later we will have to pay the price! I for one would much rather pay for it in this life, than the next. How are you willing to pay – in service or denial?”

Father Morgan just sat in silence as he pondered his options.

“After you committed these many crimes,” continued Mayor Longfellow, in a soft-spoken voice. “King Charles fully pardoned you, did he not? You were made Governor of Jamaica and still you continued to sin. God almost took you once by way of illness. You swore to Father Whittaker that you would follow God for the rest of your days, if he would only grant you a longer life to pay for your crimes. Well as you can clearly see, he has. Nineteen years so far! Not many men have lived to such an age. After your life was threatened, your men risked theirs to bring you to the Brier Wood. God’s been watching over you and you still can’t recognize it.”

“The Great Henry Morgan,” stated Mayor Longfellow, “now a cowering old fool! If you cannot see God’s hand in your life, you are a fool.”

“And no Father of mine,” stated Sterling angrily and without thinking.

“You’ll watch your tongue,” shouted Mayor Longfellow, in defense of his good friend. “We would’ve all been damned if it wasn’t for this man.”

Bringing the argument to an end, Father Morgan stood up and in the excitement, he broke wind. “Give me rest and leave me to my thoughts. In the mornin’ you’ll know my final decision. Now, leave me be!”

As they departed, Mayor Longfellow replied, “We are all willing to go and die if necessary! We, too, need this sacrifice, Henry.”

After lying on his bed, deep in thought, for about twenty minutes, Father Morgan stood up and walked to the fireplace in the next room. Strangely, a young boy, maybe nine years old, stood in the center of the room, staring at him.

“What are you doing?” asked the child.

Shaken from the unexpected voice, he turned. “Whose child be you and what are you doing here at this hour? You should be at home asleep, child.”

“What are you doing?” asked the boy again.

“I am attempting to decide my fate.”

“I can help. I know about fate.”

“You cannot help me. Why’ve you come in me home?” Father Morgan looked and saw that the door was locked. “How did you find your way in, lad? How long have you been here?”

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about you right now?” inquired the young lad. “We all die. Do you really want to leave this world knowing you could’ve done something right for a change, but didn’t? Believe me; dying with regret is the worst fate of all. You don’t want to live with regret and guilt forever! Do you know what forever is like? I’ve seen grown men cry and they never stop. Not ever!”

“How do you know what I’m feeling? Longfellow put you up to this?” Father Morgan stood up and waddled over to the window to take a peek. As he looked back to question the young lad, the boy was nowhere to be found. “Lad?” he called. “Me lad?” Father Morgan checked all the rooms but found no one. The door was still locked from the inside. Father Morgan tried to dismiss the thought. “I must be going mad.” However the words of the young boy stuck. Father Morgan pondered on his words as he lay again in bed. He dozed off so fast and slept so well that when he awoke in the morning he was refreshed and ready for whatever the day was to bring.

He sat at the edge of his bed in the same clothes he’d worn the previous day, shoes and all. There, sitting at the foot of his bed was a cross, wrapped in papyrus. A chill crawled up his back when he realized he hadn’t placed it there and no one else was around to do so. In that moment he knew what he had to do. Father Morgan grabbed the cross, threw on his hat and walked to the front door.

Just outside Father Morgan’s door stood Sterling and Mayor Longfellow. Behind them were over twenty men, the youngest being about fifty-three years of age, aside from Sterling Wade, who was barely sixteen.

“Shall we go?” asked Sterling.

After a brief silence, Father Morgan smiled in the affirmative. “Aye, we shall! Now fetch the supplies and food for our departure,” he ordered, “We’re to leave at once!”

Sterling turned to the crew, “You heard the man! Fetch the food and supplies! Meet back here in two hours!”

When they were finally ready for departure they set out for the only ship the village claimed, which was docked at the St. Petersborough harbor and actually owned by Father Morgan. He named the vessel, the Brier Sea, after the village. As they walked toward St. Petersborough, the little boy that Father Morgan had spoken with the night before stood there waving him on with a glowing smile. Father Morgan walked over and asked, “I never did get your name, me lad. What’s your name?”

Pulling on his garment, the boy wished to speak in his ear. Father Morgan knelt, as the young lad whispered his curious answer. “Thank you,” said Father Morgan in a sincere heartfelt gratitude. And the men of the Brier Sea happily continued on their way.

“Whose child is that?” asked Mayor Longfellow

“I’m really not sure, but we had a meaningful discussion last night and you can thank the child for my decision to go.” Father Morgan turned to wave good-bye and found that the boy had gone just as quickly as the night before.

Once they reached the Brier Sea, they loaded the food and supply. The crew consisted of a tight bunch of senile, almost deaf and arthritic men. But they were fearless and skilled.

“We need a good young Captain,” said Father Morgan, looking to the geriatric crew. “I’m too old now. I break wind more than I break necks these days.” Looking to Sterling, Father Morgan whispered, “You’ll do just fine, Captain.”

Shocked at the honor, Sterling declined, “I’ve never captained a ship before. I’ve never even sailed.”

The crew was too old to hear what Father Morgan was talking to Sterling about. “You’ll do fine. All you need to do is yell out the orders. But remember to yell loud. We can’t hear a thing. We’ll take care of the rest. Trust me.” Turning to the crew, Father Morgan addressed them, “This will be your new commander, Captain Sterling Wade!”

Slowly the cheers sounded until the entire crew knew what was going on. Father Morgan told Sterling what needed to be said, before setting sail. And then Sterling bellowed out his first commands as captain. “Weigh anchor! And hoist the mainsail. We’re going to…” he paused for a moment, asking Father Morgan, “Where are we going?”

Scratching his head and looking down, he thought for only a moment. “Raven Bridges, but says you – ‘set sail for Raven Bridges’.”

“Set sail for Raven Bridges!” shouted Sterling, ever so innocently.

Sterling, Father Morgan and Mayor Longfellow went to the Captain’s quarters to discuss the articles of the Brier Sea. They drew them up and had everyone sign. A few of the older senile men put up a small fight assuming they were being pressed into service. Once everything was resolved, the articles were proudly hung over the cabin door, just below the quarterdeck for all to read.

Chapter XVI

Scurvy soon arrived at Raven Bridges, where Black-Hearted patiently awaited. Scurvy wasted no time, ordering Gunner, “Bring the wench to the main.”

The Rogue, being a frigate, was much bigger and therefore rose higher in the sea than the Weeping Lady. Ordering a ladder to Scurvy’s schooner below, Black-Hearted called for Katherine to be brought to his ship. Boarding the Rogue, Gunner, Stephen and Eric led the way, followed up the latter by Katherine. Gunner and Eric assisted Katherine through the gunnel gate and onto the deck floor, restraining her from moving freely.

“I expect we’ll soon have company,” stated Scurvy, as he finally stepped on deck. “I’m sure they’re not far behind.

“Good,” replied Black-Hearted. “Run into any problems?”

Interrupting their dialogue, Lady Stirvin emotionally yelled, “You will have the most egregious problem of your life if you do anything to me!”

“We ran into a few bumps in the road,” replied Scurvy, ignoring Lady Stirvin’s outburst. “Nothing we couldn’t manage. Though, we did bring the Lady in one piece, did we not?”

“Do you know what my husband is going to do when he gets his hands on you?” Wheezing from exhaust, she stated, “You’re going to be hanged and shot and beheaded and, and you will be sorry. I swear it!”

Laughing aloud at Lady Stirvin’s empty threats, Black-Hearted replied, “Wow, all that just for me, huh?”

“You will let me go, Sir. Let me go!” Breaking-down, Katherine could take no more, as she began to sob and struggle in vain to free herself from Gunner and Eric.

“Tie her to the mast,” ordered Black-Hearted, “where she can be easily seen.”

“Bones and Teach betrayed us, siding with the enemy,” blurted Scurvy. “They almost got me killed. I’ve already replaced Bones with Red Jack. He’ll make a fine quartermaster, he will. I’m sure Bones has told the good captain where to find us, by now. Stirvin’s got four large frigates and hundreds of men.”

“I knew those two were no good. Red Jack will serve you well.”

“Aye, he’s a good man and a gifted sailor.”

“Nothing else matters to me right now, but for Isabel’s safety. Stirvin will make a trade before firing on us. We’ll have to be in position by then.” Black-Hearted then shouted out the orders starting with Captain Garrison, who was also aboard the Rogue, “Keep Roger’s Jolly out of sight ‘til you hear the roar o’ the guns. Scurvy, ready your crew. Stephen, Gunner, position yourselves on the Weeping Lady. Everyone else, ready the cannons and salt the decks, there’s going to be blood tonight!”

“Why are you doing this?” cried Katherine fearfully. “Let me go!”

“I will let you go as soon as Stirvin brings back my Isabel!”

“Please don’t hurt me,” pleaded Katherine.

“If Isabel is hurt in any way, you’ll have reason to worry about that. Until then, stop your annoying cries!”

As the Crimson Reef rushed toward Raven Bridges to meet her fate, Captain Stirvin stood expressionless and silent. The wind seemed to carry them above the water as they sailed smoothly across the ocean. The closer the English fleet came to Raven Bridges, the higher their adrenaline peaked. The crew grew feverish with excitement and no one spoke a word. The silence created a fearful mood.

As the sun arose to a blistering position in the sky, the men grew dry and hot. The reflection coming off the sea only added to the heat of the day. Sweating from both the elements and fear swelling within, the crew grew thirsty. Strict in discipline, the men had to ask permission to take a drink from their reserve. Upon gaining permission to take a drink from the reserve, a crewmember immediately spit it out again. “Salt!” he shouted. “The water’s been salted!”

Garland was confused and took a drink as well. Spitting out the mouthful of tainted water, Garland directed the crewmember to open a second barrel of water. Feeling the lid to be loose, he determined, “Someone has tampered with this barrel. The lid’s been undone and latched back on wrong.” Still confused and upset, Garland had all subsequent water barrels checked. They had all been tampered with and all had been salted.

Since Captain Stirvin did not resupply the ship, their ration of water was limited below deck. Scrambling to bring the last two barrels topside, each man’s portion was restricted to a much less than efficient amount than needed for battle under the hot sun. Moral on board quickly lowered.

Black-Hearted spotted the oncoming armada and immediately gave word to his men. Though, it was a bright and peaceful day, blood was going to be shed. There were a few clouds. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue and the seagulls were calling high above the Raven Bridges. The breeze was soft and calm, perfuming the air with a rich ocean fragrance. The Crimson Reef raced toward black-Hearted with great haste. Isabel was brought to the main deck where she could be seen. As the distance between the two fleets closed, there was no more room for fear. The time long awaited for the shedding of blood was finally at hand.

Within a short time they were finally face to face. The Rogue and the Crimson Reef sat port to port. The Weeping Lady was positioned on Black-Hearted’s Starboard side. The London and William’s Revenge were situated about twenty-five yards out, facing inward of Raven Bridges. Every heart pounded in anticipation of the battle. Captain Stirvin then looked upon Katherine, who was drenched in her own sweat and tears.

“Kate!” cried Captain Stirvin. “Kate, you’ll be home soon enough! I’ll shortly be following! I promise!”

“Isabel!” shouted Black-Hearted, “I’ll have you off that ship really soon!”

The exchange took place at the rear of each ship, one to the north and the other to the south. No one was to fire a shot until the woman were far enough away from the battle. Samuel Bellamy, a band new officer, volunteered to escort Katherine to Port Lorne, the closest dry land to Raven Bridges. Nathan Crapo, a worthy crewmember and pirate, was ordered to take Isabel to Port Lorne.

Waiting for what seemed like hours for the woman to be far enough away, Red Jack grew weary. “Let’s not procrastinate this further! Let every man stay his own fate! On with the battle, you fools!”

Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted gave each other the nod.

“To your stations! Push forward the guns!” yelled Captain Stirvin.

The London and William’s Revenge began to sail forward, following the Sentry. Scurvy sailed out from behind the Rogue to meet them.

“Pistols!” shouted Black-Hearted. “Fire at will!”

Upon reverberation of that sole declaration, every man was consumed with the rage of war. The voices in command bellowed forth like a thunderous storm again and again in fierce repetition, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

The rumble of each cannon shook the world around them. Pistols discharged at will, cracking and sparking spontaneously, like lightning amid a dark and stormy night. Clouds of smoke and ash filled the air. The day turned to night within minutes. The smoke was so thick that one could scarcely breathe. How could anyone live through such a barrage of steel rounds, profuse darkness and explosive power? It was amazing that every man wasn’t dead within the first five minutes.

The Crimson Reef was less than ten meters from the Rogue. Admiral Flynn and Captain’s Nokes, and Mac closed in from the north. Scurvy made his way around the Rogue to meet up with Admiral Flynn at the Eastern end of the battle. The Rogue, which was of equal size to a naval frigate, battled the Crimson Reef to the west and the London to the east. William’s Revenge was ordered to simply stand at the ready. A fresh supply of men and a vessel untouched would be extremely valuable.

Black-Hearted positioned Darby O’Dell at the bow as a sniper, using a long barrel musket. He knelt and leaned over the forecastle wall. His eye was trained on Garland, who was situated on the upper deck of the Crimson Reef. “Come on, a little to the left,” he muttered, “A little more.” As Garland took a few steps to his left, a cannon suddenly came into view. It was aimed directly at Darby. The gunner held the match just above the fuse and smiled, knowing that Darby was now aware.

Fear suddenly struck Darby. He knew there was no way out. He accepted his fate and again centered his thoughts on the second mate, who was still in his sights and kept him there despite the deadly threat before him. The gunner promptly touched the match to the fuse, but Darby smiled, as the second mate took an unfortunate step back, right into Darby’s ideal view. He quickly fired at precisely the same time the cannon exploded. The explosion echoed deep within Darby’s ear. He tagged Garland in the chest, dead center. He stumbled backward, but managed to stay on his feet. Ready to die, Darby closed his eyes with that same smile, knowing he’d done his duty. Immediately, the forecastle wall burst into splinters. Darby’s body ripped apart on impact. He felt nothing. What was left of his body just flapped wildly about over the starboard side and into the water.

Garland stood there, holding his chest in disbelief as he staggered backward. Yet faint, he managed to pull out a second pistol. Black-Hearted looked over, but it was too late. Garland took aim and pulled the trigger, staggering off balance in the act. The bullet buried itself forcefully into Black-Hearted’s right shoulder. Black-Hearted twisted slightly at the waste but quickly sprang back with his pistol extended forward. Without taking aim, he fired back. It was a fatal shot to the Garland’s neck. His Adam’s apple erupted into a bloody explosion, spraying out in a gruesome mess. Still standing, he panted for air, squeezing the mortal wound. But to his failing attempt, he was dead before he hit the deck.

“Back to the devil with you!” yelled black-hearted.

Kenneth could do nothing as he sat in his cell, contemplating his narrow odds of ever seeing his Marisa again. Every blow to the ship’s hull shook the framework so hard that he could not seem to stay on his feet. He stumbled around the cell each time the ship took a hit, spraying him with specks of splintered dust. Kenneth covered his eyes with one arm, while at the same time trying to brace himself.

In complete contrast, Alfonso Rubio, still in the next cell, somehow slept soundly, snoring like a pig.

“Hearted!” yelled Eric, observing Mr. Black taking aim. “Hearted!” he shouted again. Black-Hearted could not hear him through the booming sound of battle. “Hearted!” continued Eric, as he approached the quarterdeck. Mr. Black had an unobstructed view and Eric knew it. Cocking his musket, Mr. Black fired, striking Black-Hearted in his cheek. Black-Hearted’s head flung to the side. He grabbed his face and doubled over. Assuming that Black-Hearted would finally fall, Mr. Black stood tall. “I did it! He’s shot! I hit him!”

“No!” shouted Eric, as he continued to run toward Black-Hearted, pushing a few men out of his way as they fought. He climbed up to the quarterdeck with two pistols cocked and ready. The bullet had only scratched his skin, mouth to ear.

“You’re a dead man!” cried Black-Hearted at Mr. Black.

Captain Stirvin looked toward Black-Hearted, pulling two pistols from his belt. Just then Eric jumped through the air, aiming high toward Mr. Black, who was forced to throw his empty musket to the deck and reach for his pistol. Captain Stirvin pushed Mr. Black out of the way, as Eric slammed into Black-Hearted, while taking his shot. Black-Hearted unloaded his second weapon but missed his target when Eric accidently pushed into him. Eric’s steel ball hit Captain Stirvin’s right arm, but not before Captain Stirvin let off a single round at Eric, who slipped to his knees.

Concerned, he asked Black-Hearted, “Are you hit?”

“He missed!” Grunted Black-Hearted, shaking off the effects of Eric’s lifesaving blow.

“Good!” stated Eric, “Then it wasn’t for nothin’.” Black-Hearted looked over , confused, and witnessed Eric taking his last breath as his eyes rolled over white. His body gave in and slammed to the deck, dead.

“No!” yelled Black-Hearted, throwing his empty pistols to the deck and pulling two ready and loaded from his brace of six vested over his broad chest, aiming at both Benjamin and Captain Stirvin.

Black-Hearted shouted, “You’ll not live another day!”

Captain Stirvin jumped out of the way, as Black-Hearted discharged both pistols. However, Mr. Black was struck in the neck and fell helpless to the deck. His eyes filled with fear, as his life slowly slipped away.

“No, Ben!” cried Captain Stirvin, “No!” He stood up, glaring at Black-Hearted. Black-Hearted stared back. But neither man had a loaded weapon.

One of the powder monkeys, about eleven years of age, sat just beneath Captain Stirvin, below the gunwale where Black-Hearted could not see him. The boy nervously shook, as he loaded a single barrel pistol. He threw the pistol up toward Captain Stirvin, who then took aim and fired. But, Black-Hearted was suddenly shaken off his feet and thrown back by a booming explosion. Three men were violently hurled through the air and landed several feet from where they stood. The explosion sent Black-Hearted over the quarterdeck railing and onto the main deck, landing face down and unconscious.

All the while, Katherine and Isabel drifted toward Port Lorne. Still shaken from the intensity of the situation, they could hear the rumbling sound of cannons echoing across the sea. Katherine wept. Both women could see each other through the short distance between them.

The battle had barely commenced and Roger’s Jolly was still on the other side of the small island. Captain Garrison ordered his crew, “Hoist the mainsail! Ready for battle!” His crew cheered on as they weighed anchor, listening anxiously to the cry of war at the other side of Raven Bridges.

The Sentry was situated on Scurvy’s portside. William’s Revenge was called into the fight, coming around to his starboard side. Red Jack, Scurvy’s new quartermaster, confirmed what every man aboard the Weeping Lady was thinking. “A schooner against two frigates is not an ideal match! Aye, they don’t stand a chance and no quarter be givin’n!”

Scurvy kept the Weeping Lady moving to avoid any direct broadsides.

Roger’s Jolly finally made it around the corner. Breaking through the surrounding wall of smoke, Roger’s Jolly was an unexpected wrench in Captain Stirvin’s stand. The day had grown suddenly dark with all the smoke and the ash lightly blanketed most everything. As he approached the engaging vessels, Captain Garrison could see several fires on most of the ships, including a small fire at the bow of the Crimson Reef.

In all the shadow and confusion aboard the Crimson Reef, it was not noticed that the salt barrel lids had been loosened and the salt far from white. As someone threw the first bucket of black salt onto the flames at the bow, they realized it was gunpowder when the explosion sent several men into the sea and across the forecastle deck. A plume of black and grey smoke burst into the air. Finding the other two barrel’s labeled salt, carrying black power instead, Captain Stirvin ordered his men to bring up the few remaining barrels of salt from the bilge and to put out the flames.

“Ready the cannons,” yelled Captain Garrison, “Pistols, too, men.”

The Weeping Lady and Roger’s Jolly attacked the Sentry from opposite sides. They steered so close and they were so much smaller, that the Sentry could not take fair aim upon them, landing their cannon blasts over and beyond the target. Soon, Roger’s Jolly saw fit to toss their grappling lines to the Sentry’s portside gunwales. As the men ascended, Admiral Flynn’s crew fired upon them with a hail of bullets, killing several and wounding many more. But this did not stop them from boarding. Stephen and Gunner were almost at the top. Just behind Captain Garrison, Stephen was clipped in the ear by a grazing bullet, causing him to lose his grip for a second. But he continued his ascent behind Gunner, who helped him to the main deck.

Boarding the Sentry from the starboard side, Scurvy, along with all who could follow, abandoned the Weeping Lady, being of no real offensive use in the fight. Without leadership over the few remaining pirates on board, the Weeping Lady was barely holding on. In addition, William’s Revenge continued to pummel the Weeping Lady with sporadic blows, until she finally caught fire and could take no more. The Weeping Lady began sink, as the remaining men continued to fight with what little resource they had left.

“No mercy,” yelled Scurvy as he boarded the Sentry. “Kill’em all!”

Roger’s Jolly, though damaged, sailed around the Sentry to try and rescue those still aboard the Weeping Lady. Admiral Flynn and his crew were too distracted by the pirates aboard his ship to care about Roger’s Jolly or the Weeping Lady any longer.

Admiral Flynn was crippled but ready to fight, bracing his body against the aft mast. “Fire at will,” he ordered. An array of bullets ricocheted about. Scurvy’s men hid from the barrage where possible and awaited orders.

“Now!” yelled Red Jack, trying to show his qualities of leadership in battle. Only a handful of men followed. But they were stopped in their pursuit, when they faced three cannons aimed and ready.

“Blast them to smithereens!” order Admiral Flynn.

All cannons ignited at once, simultaneously exploding into one massive billow of smoke, slightly jolting the sailors standing just behind. The explosion threw Red and his men off their feet in separate directions. Many flew into the water. Those who lived squirmed as they lay moaning in agony.

Scurvy, being an expert shot, quickly took aim at the First Mate, who was shouting orders. With the twitch of a finger, Scurvy’s doghead snapped down, igniting the chamber that held the fifty-caliber steel ball and forcing it through the barrel with significant force. Noticing a spark on Scurvy’s pistol, the first mate felt the bullet shatter his two front teeth and graze his palate. Entering his nasal cavity, the bullet exited through the occipital lobe of his brain sending fragments behind him. Amazingly, he was still alive. Now blind from the damaged portion of brain, his nose began to bleed as he stumbled on his feet, waving his pistol about. Disoriented, he incoherently fired his weapon, tagging the head of his Second Mate, who was standing with his back to him, completely unaware. He immediately fell dead as the First Mate finally went to his knees. All the more remarkable, the First Mate was still alive though, now, violently convulsing.

Scurvy commanded the rest of his men, “Fire at will!”

Admiral Flynn shouted, “Take cover!” But none of his men were ready. And nearly a dozen of them fell dead.

Red Jack was dazed, but in fair condition. Scurvy and Captain Garrison ran passed him with their men. They shouted wordless cries of war, in mental preparation for hand-to-hand combat. The remaining English sailors and officers charged in retaliation. Everyone clashed at the center of the main deck. The sound of steel to steel resonated through the air. Gunner boasted the first kill with a lunge of his cutlass. Red Jack had no idea which way he was facing as he flung his sword wildly about until he finally came to and joined the fight.

Captain Nokes maneuvered William’s Revenge alongside the Sentry, ordering his men to fire their pistols and muskets at only clear targets, unwilling to risk his fellow sailors.

Black-Hearted continued tirelessly in his struggle. He was locked in battle with both the London and the Crimson Reef. Feverishly, but successfully, he was keeping the two crews from boarding.

“Turn this ship hard to Port!” ordered Black-Hearted.

“But we’ll be sure to sink,” cautioned the pilot, refusing to steer the ship into danger.

“You’ll turn this ship to port or I’ll split your skull in two!”

“Aye, Captain but what are we doing?”

“Just do as I say,” insisted Black-Hearted, with a confident assurance. “Let me worry about the ship.”

The Crimson Reef and the London watched on as the Rogue made its move. “He’s going to force one of us against the rocks!” concluded Captain Stirvin. “Bring this ship around portside, this instant!” the Crimson Reef was turned in a manner that could avoid a collision with the rocky shore. But in so doing he would be forced to help the Rogue push the London into the rocks, though he had no other choice. The London tried to swing around in an effort to face the Rogue and avoid disaster. But as they did, the Rogue also turned to port purposefully striking her bow to bow, forcing most men off their feet and to the deck.

“Straight ahead, force her to shore!” ordered Black-Hearted. Everyone braced for a second impact. The Rogue slammed into the London’s portside stern and the wind was in Black-Hearted’s favor. His sails filled with a strong burst of wind, driving the London with a powerful drive. With the help of her own momentum, the London’s stern was forced inward of the jagged reef, as Captain Stirvin began to come out of his rotation. He wished to face black-Hearted, bow-to-bow as the London helplessly drifted into the shallow part of the reef, snapping her keel against the sharp rocks and puncturing her hull across the starboard side.

“We’re losing her!” cried Captain Mac. “Abandon Ship!”

The London rotated further into the reef, with the help of the wind. She then rolled to one side. Every sailor aboard followed orders and deserted the ship.

Captain Mac glanced over the starboard wall where the water was most shallow. The darkness of the day hid the fact that the water was as shallow as it was, giving the illusion of a full body of water. Captain Mac stood atop the gunwale and dove, headfirst, hoping to slice safely through the water. Just as he approached the water’s edge, he noticed the exposed reef, as the water systematically receded. There was no time to cry for help. He closed his eyes and stretched his hands out to brake his fall. Within seconds his flailing hands smacked the reef, shattering his bones against the rough, razor-sharp coral and rock. His arms twisted in a contorted distortion, as his face struck the reef between them. His legs thrust, heals overhead, snapping his spine in one quick and painful motion. So clean and sharp was the break, the rest of the men could hear the echoing snap. The swells came up once more, crashing against his torn and broken body, the pull of which sucked his dead body off of the reef and out to sea.

Cheers from the Rogue burst out in excitement as they witnessed the London turn over. “Turn this ship about! Starboard, Maties! Starboard!” directed Black-Hearted, “To the fight!” The men quickly turned the ship around. The Crimson Reef faced the Rogue, as she completed her rotation.

Now facing one another, the Rogue and the Crimson Reef pulled up to each other’s starboard side, continuing the conflict.

Katherine and Isabel were still about a four-hour journey from Port Lorne by single sail skiff. Suddenly Isabel stood, looking a far off, catching sight of a large vessel sailing toward them.

Nathan stood as well, “Is something the matter, Miss Isabel?”

“No, nothin’s the matter,” stated Isabel. As she abruptly, and without warning, snatched his pistol, she pushed him off balance. Caught off-guard, Nathan was unable to regain his balance. Sensing this, Isabel simply gave him a strong shove into the water. “Now, start swimming before I make easy prey of you for the sharks.”

Nathan swam a little ways off and noticed a long rope trailing behind. Isabel was too busy waving the ship over to give any more thought to Nathan, who seized the opportunity to snag the end of the rope and tag along for the ride.

Still close enough to Isabel’s skiff, Samuel turned to Katherine, callously grinning. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. No one can save you now.”

She screamed for her life, but it was no use. Samuel steered his skiff toward Isabel’s, where he urged her to board.

Isabel noticed Nathan, but with limited time all she could do was get rid of the oars, slash the sail and fire a round into the bottom of the boat. Once Samuel sailed off with the women, Nathan hurried to the sinking skiff and crawled inside shivering from the ice-cold water. With no paddle and a springing leak, he was obliged to plug the hole with a finger and hope for someone to come along before it was too late.

“What have you done?” asked Katherine. “Why are you doing this?”

“Can you see that ship on the horizon?” replied Isabel. “My brother and I have some unfinished business. You wouldn’t understand.”

Samuel continued to steer the skiff toward the ship as it approached. Nathan did his best to follow, but his best wasn’t good enough.

Chapter XVII

Now that the Weeping Lady had sunk, Roger’s Jolly continued to sail around the Sentry, dodging William’s Revenge while firing an occasional round. The Sentry retaliated with random bursts, minimally effective in the fight.

Still aboard the Sentry, Gunner was shirtless and bleeding but enthusiastically driving his cutlass forward. As Stephen and Red Jack fought bravely by Gunner’s side on the same deck, Scurvy came face-to-face with Admiral Flynn. With all other high ranking officers now dead, Admiral Flynn was the only voice of command. “Fight men, fight!” he bellowed, as he limped toward Scurvy. “Never give in, for Queen and country!” When he was close enough, he lunged toward Scurvy with his sword above his head. Shouting like an animal, Scurvy swung a blocking thrust toward Admiral Flynn’s leading edge.

Beyond the boundaries of each ship, in the water below, a countless number of sharks were attracted by the bloody commotion. In a frenzied feast, they thrashed about, ripping apart the helpless and wounded men splashing about in the water. The sounds of their chilling cries were more than blood-curdling.

In the course of his engagement with Admiral Flynn, Scurvy made a dangerous mistake, taking a sudden blow to the body from his position on the quarterdeck. He flipped over the gunwale and directly into the shark-infested waters. A sailor frantically struggling in the water grabbed Scurvy in an effort to stay afloat. Weak from his wound, Scurvy was unable to contain the situation and began to slump below the water’s surface. Sure to attract more sharks, Scurvy’s belly began to seep blood.

Spotting Scurvy as he fell overboard, Red Jack, Scurvy’s new quartermaster, continued to race around the Sentry to his aid. William’s Revenge could not maneuver well enough or fast enough to completely keep up. Without hesitation, Red Jack jumped from Roger’s Jolly in an effort to save Scurvy. Coming up directly behind the sailor that was pulling Scurvy under, Red Jack placed his arms around the sailor’s neck, trying to rip the stubborn sailor off of Scurvy. Letting go with his right arm, Red Jack placed a dagger to the sailor’s back. With brutal force he drove the edge of his dagger deep into his back, breaking his spine with several powerful blows.

Now unable to feel anything below his neck, the sailor’s grip automatically loosened, allowing Scurvy to come up for air. Pushing the sailor aside as he floated face-up, Red Jack took hold of Scurvy and swam to Roger’s Jolly. Sailing ever closer, William’s revenge continued to add extra stress to the situation. Reaching for the rope hanging along Roger’s Jolly’s hull, Red Jack took hold. Several crewmembers on the main deck fought to pull them up, until suddenly there was no more tension on the rope. The men pulling unexpectedly fell back onto the deck.

Feeling an unexpected tug on his right femur and a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before, Red Jack had to let go of the rope and Scurvy. As he drifted slowly away from Scurvy with an expression of curious distress, he was abruptly jerked under by a twelve foot shark. With the dagger still in hand, Red Jack plunged the blade again and again into the side of its head, unwilling to give-in. When the shark finally did let go, Red Jack burst through the surface of the water and swam back to Scurvy and the ship. As Red Jack held tight to the rope he was able to hold on with both hands, walking up the side of the hull with Scurvy face-down, slung over his shoulder.

Scurvy could see the sailor floating face-up in the water and noticed a few strange twitching movements. Suddenly a fleshy ankle and foot floated to the surface by the sailor’s face. Juddering with more intensity, the sailor’s body convulsed. But by his confused expression, he seemed to be quite aware and in no pain. Soon an arm and hand floated to the surface at eye level wearing his ring. Extremely perplexed, he could do nothing but wait for the inevitable. He soon began bobbing up and down, revealing only a bust. Blood oozed from his mouth as he calmly closed his eyes, sinking below the surface amongst a frenzy of movement.

Finally hoisted to the main deck, Scurvy was carried to the captain’s bedchamber to recover from his deep wound. Red Jack, though bleeding from the bite, had no major damage and resumed his command of Roger’s Jolly on behalf of Captain Garrison.

Captain Garrison was still on the Sentry, but now crossing swords with two sailors, simultaneously. Thinking quickly, Captain Garrison took hold of a pulley that was hanging off the riggings and thrust it forward, forcing one of the sailors overboard and taking the other by complete surprise. He then took the opportunity to unleash a powerful back-arm blow with his sword, slitting the second sailor’s throat. He then ran to the quarterdeck to confront Admiral Flynn.

As their blades met, each man pressed his sword against the other in a test of strength.
“You think you stand a chance?” teased Admiral Flynn, as he pulled apart. “Scurvy was easy,” he continued, thrusting his sword with a downward motion toward Captain Garrison.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” countered Captain Garrison, blocking the wild swing, “You fight like a wench.”

As they continued to fight, Captain Garrison eventually stumbled to the ground. Admiral Flynn attempted to deliver a fatal blow, just as Captain Garrison grabbed hold of a steel cannon ball and threw it as hard as he could, connecting with the admiral’s wooden leg. The steel ball snapped it in two, like a twig, sending Admiral Flynn toward the deck, where Captain Garrison sat.

Gunner and Stephen watched as Admiral Flynn lunged toward Captain Garrison in his fall with his sword still extended. As Captain Garrison extended his cutlass in return, Admiral Flynn fell on the blade with his right shoulder. Unfortunately Captain Garrison was pierced directly through the heart.

Gunner ran to the quarterdeck and found Admiral Flynn face down, attempting to get up. But with only one leg and a wounded arm, it was near impossible. Gunner swiped the sword from Admiral Flynn. “Goodnight,” he said, as he clinched his fist and slammed it into Admiral Flynn’s face until he was no longer conscious. Gunner tied Admiral Flynn’s arms behind his back and a noose around his ankle. He then threw the other end of the rope over the closest yardarm and fixed it to a weighty barrel. He and Stephen heaved the barrel on to the gunwale. When Admiral Flynn opened his eyes, Gunner smiled and gave the barrel a quick shove. Speechless, his body was yanked upward. The yardarm was fractured slightly when he struck it, wedging his leg between it and the rope. Intense pressure from the rope weighed down by the barrel still hanging yards above the water, sliced through his naked skin. Gunner cut the rope, sending Admiral Flynn to the main deck, snapping his neck and killing him instantly.

Now losing the battle and without clear leadership, Admiral Flynn’s crew panicked as they dropped a few longboats into the water, straightway abandoning ship. Once they were clear of the ship, Captain Nokes, from aboard William’s Revenge, bombarded the Sentry with a few massive broadsides. Gunner took command of the Sentry and ordered his crew, “Ready the cannons and fire at will!”

Looking for more arms, Gunner busted through the captain’s chamber door. Surprisingly Dr. Rees had not abandoned ship and came out from a corner closet, without any hope of making it out alive. There was no time to react when Dr. Rees produced a small flintlock pistol and fired, tagging Gunner in the shoulder. It was just a scratch, but it bled profusely.

“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Rees, almost in tears. ‘I didn’t mean it.”

Gunner didn’t speak a word, but instead took Dr. Rees by the back of the neck and forced him face first through the closed door. “I’m a surgeon. Please don’t hurt me!” pleaded Dr. Rees, “I can help.”

“If this is how you help I don’t need it,” replied Gunner. “Now come with me.” Gunner threw Dr. Rees out into the middle of the main deck. “Tie him to the post,” he ordered. “Make it tight! I don’t want him to move a muscle.”

As the Rogue and the Crimson Reef squared off, the sound of grappling lines, complete with metal hooks, could be heard clanking against the gunwale and hull. As each man pulled mightily on his grappling line, grunting and groaning, the two ships came closer together. Soon they clashed port-to-port, creating large swells in the water below. Both frigates, being of equal size and height, required the men to jump across the small gap between ships to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Within minutes, both crews were intermingling violently.

Jumping from gunwale to gunwale, Black-Hearted raced toward Stirvin, who, in turn, charged back at Black-Hearted. The intensity of the adrenaline fueled moment caused each man to become blind to all else around them, plowing through the chaotic commotion in one seemingly fluid motion. Their reasons for battle this day were personal.

Coming to a stop within a few yards of one another, they stood face-to-face. Walking in circles as the battle about them raged on, they slowly approached one another with their blades extended. Their hearts swelled with rage, burning with an unmistakable hatred and everything around them became as silent as night.

Suddenly they erupted into a mad dash, shouting passionately in a vengeful burst of emotions. Only the two of them existed and only one was sure to come out alive, each feeling their cause was justified.

As Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted clashed in the center of the main deck, Gunner and his men had gained complete command over the Sentry and were unrelenting in their conflict with William’s Revenge. But Captain Nokes seemed to have the upper hand.

Scurvy staggered out of the bedchamber, persisting in taking command of Roger’s Jolly, which Red Jack promptly relinquished, struggling to gain advantage over William’s Revenge. The extra weight in taking on the Sentry’s abandoning crew gave William’s Revenge more drag and she could not sail with sufficient speed or agility for battle conditions.

As Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted continued to square off, their blades met overhead. With a grunting cry, both men pushed away vigorously against the other. Again and again they attacked with striking blows, blocking with skilled precision. With refined skill, Captain Stirvin stood proper in poise and position. While, on the other hand, Black-Hearted was inventive in his raw and unrefined talent. Neither man could penetrate the other’s boundary of defense nor indulge the other with the slightest chance to do so. The indignant hate was overwhelming and the will to win, all-consuming. Yelling louder, with more determination, the fight raged on.

Unexpectedly, a familiar voice penetrated the air, as Father Morgan flopped over the forward gunwale. Within feet of the Crimson Reef sat the Brier Sea, bow-to-bow, waving the white flag of neutrality about her mast. Yet a fair distance away from Black-Hearted and Captain Stirvin, Father Morgan greatly feared advancing through the throng of conflicting engagements. With such overwhelming anxiety brought on by the battle, Father Morgan could hardly speak, though he knew he must. “Stop this insanity,” he shouted, too quiet to be effective from such a distance.

Without a reaction from Captain Stirvin or Black-Hearted, Father Morgan looked back to his old disheveled crew wondering what else he might do. They simply smiled back for moral support as though nothing were wrong, nonchalantly encouraging him to confront the two angry and savagely engaged men. Father Morgan was petrified following decades without a single battle. But amid the violence demonstrated all around him, Father Morgan gathered whatever nerve he could muster and slowly advanced toward them. Being a sizeable fellow, it was near impossible for him to navigate through such a violent crowd.

“Your vengeance has made you blind!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, finally arriving before them. “You must listen to me!”

Still, there was no acknowledgement of his presence, as the slashing and dodging continued unrelentingly. Fed-up with the stubborn and prideful encounter, Father Morgan pulled out his sword and took a wild swipe between them to gain their attention. However, out of pure instinct, both Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted swung their swords outward to block the incoming strike.

“Father Morgan?” questioned Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted simultaneously, as they lifted their swords to continue in their struggle.

“Stop your fighting!” demanded Father Morgan. Determined to make them listen he took a second swipe between them, connecting with both of their swords as they met in the middle. “Listen to me! You must listen to me!”

A young naval officer and one of Black-Hearted’s men each misread Father Morgan’s attention-getting swipe as an attack upon their respective leaders. Both misled men then saw fit to aggressively confront Father Morgan from opposing sides. As they did so, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted blocked their corresponding assaults on the old priest, kicking them to the deck. Immediately reengaging one another, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted narrow-mindedly continued on with their skirmish. Rebounding from the defensive assault, both misled men once again attempted to kill Father Morgan, prompting the same consequence. And so it went on back and forth, while Father Morgan dodged, ducked and ran about like a chicken with its head cut off. Finally Black-Hearted and Captain Stirvin collaboratively took Father Morgan by his arms and swung him in between them and to the main mast on the other side. As Father Morgan was jerked away, the two misled men clumsily missed him, clanking their swords together and provoking a duel.

“Will you two please listen to me?” hollered Father Morgan. Closing his eyes in fear and faith, he stepped directly into their vengeful paths and stood stubbornly between them. Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted slightly gave in, tinkling their swords, tip to tip, over and around Father Morgan’s robust physique. “Will you stop and listen to me?”

Still trying to fight around Father Morgan like two bratty little children, Black-Hearted demanded to know, “How do you know this fiend?”

“Davy, how do I know you? I know Captain Stirvin by the exact same means. His birth name is Joseph and you know him well.”

Their hearts almost stopped as they temporarily lowered their weapons. “That is impossible,” said Captain Stirvin. “This man cannot be Davy!”

“This man can’t be Joseph!” said Black-Hearted in rebuttal. “That’s impossible!”

“I have heard many a story from you, Davy,” stated Father Morgan, as the two grown men recommenced in their childish taunting and teasing. “But the most relevant experience has left you both with a scare just as unique as the other.”

Discontinuing their obstinate behavior, as the battle going on all about them vanished to nothing. Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted begrudgingly revealed their once broken fingers. A glistening trifle of a tear formed in Captain Stirvin’s eye as he gave a small sigh.

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” said Father Morgan, as he pulled a familiar article from his pocket. “Do you recognize this?” he added, allowing the cross to dangle from the tattered twine it had long since been tied to.

Almost in unison, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted replied, “Charley’s cross.” Continuing on, Captain Stirvin stated, “He gave it to Davy before he died.”

“And I gave it to Father Morgan for Joseph to find,” confirmed Black-Hearted.

The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as they processed the information. Captain Stirvin’s heart just sank. “But how can this be?”

They couldn’t speak another word. However, Captain Stirvin pulled a tattered old rag from his inside vest pocket, which turned out to be the half piece that Davy had torn and given to him as an orphan in their heartfelt goodbye the day they were auctioned off. In turn, Black-Hearted reached into his own pocket and pulled out the other half. “I have never forgotten,” said Black-Hearted. Recognizing bitterly the outcome, he spoke the reality. “But how is this to end, but in death?”

They just stood there amid the conflict. Each silently wished to die, knowing the battle couldn’t simply end over such a reunion, meaningless to all others, including the Queen of England after so much had been placed at stake. Too many people had already died.

“You don’t have to do this,” reasoned Father Morgan.

Black-Hearted continued sadly, “I don’t understand. How has it come to this?”

Captain Stirvin replied in short, “I don’t know.”

Unable to withhold their sentiment, they each shed a tear, barely noticeable.

“I can’t do this,” said Black-Hearted, unwilling to raise his weapon. “It is too much to bear.”

“I am tied to a promise to bring you in. I dare not turn back now.”

“And neither dare I give in, Joseph. Too many count on my command.”

“Please Davy, don’t make me do this. I’ll it regret for the rest of my life. I promise to plead your case. I promise.”

“I cannot lead my men to certain death, Joseph.”

“This is not how this was supposed to be,” said Father Morgan. “God has much more in store. Do not throw this second chance away. I beg you!” But ignoring Father Morgan’s words, they felt there was no other choice.

“No matter what happens, that young boy I once knew will always be my brother!” said Captain Stirvin, as he unwillingly stretched his sword forth. “On your guard, Davy.”

“Aye, and no matter what comes,” replied Black-Hearted, taking a reluctant stance, “I promise to remember as well.”

With the tip of his own machete, Black-Hearted lightly touched the edge of Captain Stirvin’s sword. They circled each other continuously, yet reluctant to strike.

“This is foolishness!” shouted Father Morgan. “People are dying because you are unwilling to swallow your pride!”

Although they tried, their concentration was so corrupted by their emotional mind-set; they were not compelled to contend. Captain Stirvin took a deep breath, stepping forward with an unenthusiastic assault. Unconvincingly, he hollered and lashed out with a wild swing, giving Black-Hearted time to block the blow.

As a few bullets unexpectedly whistled by, Black-Hearted felt a funny sensation swelling in his lower back. His countenance turned almost theatrically sour. Dropping his weapon, he mumbled, “Looks as though you’ve done it. You’ve taken down Black-Hearted the Pirate.” With a melancholy smile, he chuckled, “At long last, you can have it your way.” Black-Hearted fell back against the post and slid slowly to the deck, leaving the mast stained with his blood.

Captain Stirvin didn’t know how to feel. “This is not my way,” he said. “This is anything but my way. I’d rather be sitting down there with you.”

“Well then,” Black-Hearted said, as he closed his eyes, “feel free to join me.” He felt relieved, as though a huge burden had been lifted.

“He’s down!” shouted an English sailor. “We have him! Hearted is down.” Soon the rest of Captain Stirvin’s crew took courage and, with greater force and zeal, began to repel the pirates back. But Captain Stirvin was the only officer without a smile on his face. As he stood over Black-Hearted with his blade at the ready, the Rogue quickly caught fire. Her sails thrashed about in the wind. With several more explosions, the Rogue was suddenly engulfed in flames. The crew was in chaos, running about in hysterics.

Directing a few men to escort Black-Hearted to the cells below, Captain Stirvin personally escorted Father Morgan to the Brier Sea, where Sterling and a few others joined in to help him across. Grudgingly, Father Morgan departed from the Crimson Reef, still determined and driven to come to a nobler resolve.

Scurvy and Gunner continued to fight until they noticed the Rogue on fire. “Abandon the fight,” roared Scurvy. “We’re no match as we now be!” Turning away from William’s Revenge, Roger’s Jolly was able to slowly pull from the fight and began to sail away.

Captain Stirvin ordered the Crimson Reef to turn about. “Now bring me to Scurvy Shaw,” shouted Captain Stirvin. All of Captain Stirvin’s indignant anger had moved from Black-Hearted to Scurvy, knowing that it was he who had kidnapped his wife. Captain Stirvin was more determined than ever to capture Roger’s Jolly.

The Brier Sea then sailed off at the behest of Father Morgan. Following the Crimson Reef, knowing both Black-Hearted and Captain Stirvin were aboard, Father Morgan prayed for the guidance he needed. Fear was no longer an option.

With the Crimson Reef in pursuit of Roger’s Jolly, Captain Nokes centered his strengths on the Sentry, a much greater threat, with spontaneous blasts. The Sentry was too damaged to flee and so she had to fight.

Still at gunpoint, Lady Stirvin waited with Samuel and Isabel, for the ship that was now upon them. Sir Fouste stood at the bow of his ship, upon which was written, the Blue Raven, in elegant wording.

Suddenly, Katherine reached for Samuel’s gun, stood and fired at Samuel, piercing his shoulder. Before Katherine could turn, Isabel fired into Katherine’s back, causing her to drop with a groaning pain. The bottom of the longboat grew red, as Katherine lay with her face to the floor.

Being against a woman’s involvement in brutal affairs, Nathan jumped from his sinking longboat and swam toward the trouble.

Still at Raven Bridges, Bradley Nokes, Captain over William’s Revenge, finally put a stop to the Sentry by blowing out her bottom with a low broadside. Gunner ordered his men to try and and stop the flooding within her bilge. As they scrambled about, the Sentry gradually began to sink. Seeing that Gunner and his men were about to abandon ship and hoping to leave them with a slow and agonizing death, Captain Nokes simply sailed away.

William’s Revenge sailed out behind the Crimson Reef and the Brier Sea, upon Scurvy’s faint wake. Roger’s Jolly was barely noticeable from their distance.

Captain Stirvin was in a state of mixed emotions and didn’t know how to feel.

“It would seem that we’re in line for Port Lorne,” calculated Captain Stirvin. “Keep a tight course. I need to go below deck and speak with Black-Hearted. If Scurvy’s course should dramatically change, inform me before following.”

Sitting quietly while contemplating, Black-Hearted sat with his head against the wall. A sloppily strewn bandage graced his wound. Not nearly in a condition consistent with the vital wound he had professed it to be; Black-Hearted was doing quite well.

Captain Stirvin stood outside the cell, while Black-Hearted stood and walked close enough to keep the conversation quiet and too low for Kenneth or Alfonso to hear.

“In all my years,” whispered Black-Hearted, “I never thought I would be in such a situation with my best friend.”

“I don’t know what to say, Davy. Why did you allow such a thing? I know your wound isn’t as bad as you let on. I was told it was barely a scratch.”

“I can’t do this anymore. It was the only way out and the only way to keep you safe. You’re the only family I know, Joseph. You’re like a brother to me. Even now, I can hold no ill-will against you. Whatever happens to me; if I die, you need to know I died a better man.”

They continued to talk and quietly reminisce. Black-Hearted pressed unusually close as they spoke.

Just then an officer ran down to the cells. “Captain, we need you topside, Sir!”

Captain Stirvin glanced back at Black-Hearted. “I’ll be back,” he said, as he turned and walked up to the main deck.

The officer updated him on the current situation as they made their way. “There are two longboats afloat in the water.” Pointing out the longboat in the distance, the officer insisted, “One of them looks like it could be ours, Sir.”

Once they were close enough they could see a man hunched over inside one of the boats holding a second individual. It was Nathan Crapo, one of Black-Hearted’s men.

Captain Stirvin’s heart sank when he could see that Nathan was holding a woman. His face turned pail and his whole body went numb.

“No!” He yelled, as he jumped hastily into the sea and climbed aboard the longboat. There lay Katherine, his wife. Pushing Nathan aside, Captain Stirvin quickly took her into his arms. His eyes stared into nothingness, tears streaming down his sun drenched face. All his thoughts were tangled in an unrelenting knot of emotion.

“Katherine!” he cried, as he rocked her back and forth. “Not my Katherine!”

Her limp body swayed with his every move, her hair blowing about in the silent breeze.

Placing Katherine’s head gently down, he took Nathan by the shirt and yanked him close, pleading, “What happened to my wife?”

Nathan replied, “The lad that escorted your wife; he joined himself with another ship, as did Isabel. It was Isabel that shot your wife when she tried to escape.”

“Where did they go?” asked Captain Stirvin. “Did they say where they were going?”

“I heard them say Port of Errors. There was nothing I could do.”

“Who was it that took her? Tell me and you might escape your own deadly fate.”

“I don’t know, but it was a large ship. The name on her bow read the Blue Raven.”

The Brier Sea pulled alongside of the longboat, opposite the Crimson Reef. Captain Stirvin boarded the Brier Sea, transferring his wife’s body safely aboard as well. After securing her body, Captain Stirvin instructed Nathan to follow him aboard the Crimson Reef. “Have this man placed in irons,” ordered Captain Stirvin, as he shoved Nathan into the hands of a few of his men. “Take him to a cell below deck.”

Trailing behind, William’s Revenge could barely be seen following, being so weighed down with the extra men.

“Change course!” shouted Captain Stirvin. “We sail for Port of Errors.”

“But what of Scurvy, Captain,” asked one of the officers.

“He’ll not get far on a day’s lead. We’ll have him in chains before the week is up.”

Over the course of the next hour Captain Stirvin didn’t speak or move, as he stood pondering. He would never hold her in his arms again. The thought of going through life, without his dear wife, made each minute all the more unbearable.

Leaving the next high-ranking officer in temporary command over the Crimson Reef, Captain Stirvin boarded the Brier Sea accompanied by two young sailors, Justin Walker and Ryan Warrick. He needed more time alone with Katherine in the captain’s chamber to gain proper closure. The two young sailors were to stand guard just outside the doors and were to remain there until Captain Stirvin reemerged.

As the top of the hour approached aboard the Crimson Reef, the cell guards were due for a change. When the relieving guard entered the bilge, something was different, it didn’t seem right. He took extra caution in his steps. Alfonso was sitting up in his cell, smiling and taunting him closer, in a luring fashion.

As he walked a bit closer he could see the guards on the ground near Black-Hearted’s cell. Their weapons were missing and the cell door was open wide. From the darkness of the shadows, two hands reached out and grabbed him. A dagger was placed firmly at his throat. Nathan continued to hold the guard, as Black-Hearted walked into the open.

“You won’t make it out alive,” uttered the guard, “with or without a hostage.”

“Don’t fret for my sake, I’ll take my chances. Unfortunately for you, I’ll be needing your assistance.”

“We’re still moving and there are close to a hundred men. How do you think you are going to escape?”

“Don’t ask,” he replied with that same devilish smile he’s known for. “Trust me. You don’t want to know.”

As the crew vigilantly kept their course, a barrel labeled “salt” unexpectedly rolled down the center of the main deck, leaving a trail of black powder. The barrel slammed against the mainmast. As the crew looked to the origin of the barrel, there stood Black-Hearted with a small dirk held against the guard’s neck. Nathan, Kenneth and Alfonso stood right behind him with two unconscious guards slung over their shoulders.

Black-Hearted held a small flintlock pistol in his other hand. “Hello me hearties,” he jested, smiling with a mischievous grin. Firing his pistol, the trail of black powder lit up with a bright flash of white smoke, igniting a flame that raced toward the barrel.

Total chaos quickly ensued, as the crew ran from the barrel. In all the confusion, Black-Hearted scurried for a way off the ship, followed by Alfonso, Kenneth and Nathan. Using the chaos as a cover, they flung grappling hooks over to the Brier Sea and jumped ship along with most of the crew. Still under fire from a few sailors, Alfonso was hit and dead before he could hit the water. The pull of the Brier Sea yanked the others with a sudden jerk toward her hull.

The flame finally reached the barrel, causing a disastrous explosion that rattled the ship. Captain Stirvin, still aboard the Brier Sea, busted out of his cabin having heard the enormous explosion. All he could do was stand back in unbelief and watch as his beloved ship was destroyed and deserted.

A large hole was cratered in the center of the main deck, as the mainmast fell on to the quarterdeck. Splinters of lumber and rope came down like hail, as a blanket of fire covered the ship’s topside.

Black-Hearted, Kenneth, and Nathan slammed into the Brier Sea still holding to their grappling lines, which were unfortunately longer than the height of the hull. They quickly slipped along the hull, until they were sucked underneath the surface of the water. But they continued somehow to hold with a steady grip. Their pants began to shred from the force of the sea and razor sharp barnacles, which cut through to their skin. The geriatric old men aboard the Brier Sea took a hold of the grappling lines and pulled with all their might.

“Pull!” yelled Sterling, joining in. “Pull harder.”

Soon Kenneth’s head emerged from the water followed by Black-Hearted and Nathan. Against the friction of the sea, they pulled free of the water and proceeded up the side of the ship, completely exhausted. Bleeding, beaten and battered, they finally managed to board the Brier Sea.

Black-Hearted approached Captain Stirvin, “Sorry Joseph. But we all needed our freedom.”

“What about my men? We can’t just let them drown out there in the open sea.”

Father Morgan spoke up. “There’s still one more ship following us.” He pulled out his telescope to show Captain Stirvin.

“It’s William’s Revenge,” said Captain Stirvin, after spying it out. “You’re right. Captain Nokes can fish them out. Besides it’ll slow him down. I’ve nothing left to lose. I’ll join with you if it means we catch the Blue Raven.”

Captain Stirvin enlightened Black-Hearted of the situation, informing him of Isabel’s presence aboard the Blue Raven. Sterling then relinquished his command to Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted.

“Tighten the riggin’s!” hollered Black-Hearted. “The time has come to test our fate. To Port of Errors we go – and the Blue Raven!”

Blinded by the recent death of his beloved wife, Captain Stirvin’s mental state was too compromised for him to be in command. A self-realization of his condition led him to a feeling of disconnect. He knew he was incapable of leading a crew at this time. To the contrary, Black-Hearted was more intense in his pursuit. His knowledge of Isabel’s forced presence aboard the Blue Raven pushed him to lead the crew with much greater determination and vigor. Captain Stirvin retired for the time being, waning within the captain’s chambers to morn over his beloved and dearly missed wife. Contemplating everything that had occurred over the last few days, he was devastated and needed time to heal; time he didn’t have.

The farsighted old lookout soon shouted with notable excitement, “Off the portside bow, a ship heading westward away from Port o’ Errors.”

Black-hearted took his telescope and ran to the portside gunwale atop the quarterdeck, shouting, “Aye, the Blue Raven she is, mates!”

With enough push in her sails and only a few degrees difference in course, the Brier Sea could possibly intercept her.

Justin Walker and Ryan Warrick, the two sailors standing guard outside the captain’s chamber, informed Captain Stirvin of the sighting.

Captain Stirvin was concerned for the well-being of his wife’s remains. Before they continued on, he had Justin and Ryan lowered with Katherine’s body into a longboat and sent them on their way to Port of Errors, only a couple of miles away.

Sir Fouste spotted Captain Stirvin in his attempt to head him off. Looking through his telescope, Sir Fouste confirmed, with a quizzical snicker, “A host of old men?” His face grew bitter as he questioned, “What am I that I should be thought of as such easy prey? Am I not a worthy opponent?” Taking a more careful look, he identified Captain Stirvin. But, as he took a closer look, he also recognized Black-Hearted! “What is this?” he wondered. Laughing to himself snidely, he quipped, “Together again, huh? They’ll try and head us off. She’ll drag heavy in the wind with her damaged bow and they’ll never catch up. Keep a straight course!”

But as the Brier Sea gained some ground, Sir Fouste began to worry. Soon all hearts were racing.

Captain Stirvin ordered, “Prepare the Cannons! Keep her steady!”

“He gains, but we’ve the advantage!” stated Sir Fouste, confident in his course.

Within sixty yards of the impending collision, a rush of adrenaline swelled through their veins as every limb tensed up for the impact.

“We’re going to collide!” yelled Mr. Hall.

“Brace for impact!” shouted Captain Stirvin.

Slightly ahead of the Blue Raven and nearing her stern, Captain Stirvin was sure to ram them as he had hoped. The Blue Raven darted out a bit further, as the wind bloated her sails with a constant force.

Unable to maintain her speed, the Brier Sea could not hold enough wind in her sails. Though, she still managed to clip the portside stern of the Blue Raven. Snagging a heavy line on the Blue Raven’s aft mast with her bowsprit, the Brier Sea was too weak at the bow, allowing the Blue Raven to snap her bowsprit at the base. Large slivers of wood flew through the wind and out to sea. As bow and stern met for that one brief moment, they were about to fire, when Black-Hearted spotted Isabel. “Hold your fire! Isabel is on the main deck!” Then turning to Isabel, he exclaimed, “Jump, Izzi, Jump!”

Nathan knew that Isabel was not what she seemed, calling out to Black-Hearted, “You mustn’t put you trust in that woman!”

But Black-Hearted would not hear him.

She looked to Sir Fouste with a tainted grin, standing just behind the gunwale. Turning back to Black-Hearted she extended two small pistols, pulling the trigger on the first. Dumbfounded, Black-Hearted could not think clearly enough to move. As the doghead slammed down to ignite the gunpowder within the chamber, Captain Stirvin lunged forward, pushing him out of harm’s way. Letting off her second and last round, before dropping below the gunwale, Isabel laughed with ill-pleasure and fired.

Father Morgan shrieked out in pain as Mayor Longfellow darted over to his side with Sterling. “Morgan,” he cried. Kenneth and a few others returned fire with urgent vehemence.

Father Morgan smiled. “Now I can die in peace – and God, forgive me.”

After careful examination of the wound, Mayor Longfellow stood in open disappointment. “You were barely grazed in the arm,” he stated, “You’re not dying, you old fool.”

“I’m not?” replied Father Morgan, a bit surprised. “Well, it sure felt real enough. It hurt like the plague.” Relieved, Father Morgan smiled, releasing a little flatulence from the excitement.

As the two ships were about to pass, Sterling gave the order, “Fire.”

All cannons on his starboard side exploded at once, hitting the Blue Raven on the portside with an astonishing blow. The back end of her keel sustained significant but manageable damage, with a minor fraction that shook the whole vessel.

“They must have damaged the keel,” replied Royal Hawkins. “Nothing else could have shaken us in such a way. We cannot afford to take another blow like that. We’ll be crippled.”

Sir Fouste returned fire with several sporadic blasts. A few minor but successful hits damaged the Brier Sea on the upper deck. The firing continued for a small while. But to no avail, the Blue Raven sailed on, leaving the Brier Sea too far behind to catch up.

Sir Fouste taunted the Brier Sea with a mocking salute and a farewell wave.

Captain Stirvin stood with a ready musket and fired. Sir Fouste fell backward with no outward sign of recovery.

Black-Hearted could only watch as the Blue Raven sailed off into the distance with Isabel. Captain Stirvin placed a wary hand on Black-Hearted’s shoulder from behind. All color seemed to fade from Captain Stirvin’s expressionless face as he gasped for air.

“Joseph?” questioned Black-Hearted. “Joseph!”

Growing weaker, Captain Stirvin slumped down into Black-Hearted, who cushioned the fall into his lap.

Black-Hearted discovered a wound to his belly, where the blood soaked through his shirt.

Captain Stirvin then whispered in his ear, helping him to understand what needed to be done for both of their sakes. In turn, Black-Hearted called on Father Morgan, who joined in the conversation.

“This man’s wound is fatal,” insisted Father Morgan. “There is nothing more we can do.”

Turning to Captain Stirvin, Black-Hearted became all the more undone. “You can’t die now.”

As he cradled him to the captain’s chamber, placing him on the bed, Black-Hearted continued, “I just found you, you’re not going to leave now.” Black-Hearted was determined to save his long lost friend. But as time was crucial, time was running out.

Chapter XVIII

Not far from Port of Errors, the Brier Sea soon arrived, dropping anchor beyond the surrounding reef. Holding Captain Stirvin, Black-Hearted rowed in to shore with Sterling, Father Morgan, Kenneth and Nathan.

“Hold on, Joseph,” pleaded Black-Hearted.

Justin and Ryan, who had brought Lady Stirvin in, waded just off shore to help them in.

“Captain!” yelled Justin, as he and Ryan ran toward Black-Hearted, baring their pistols. “What have you done?”

Not at all concerned, in the moment, about the number of men standing against them, Justin and Ryan stopped when they realized how many weapons were actually pointed at them.

“Set down your arms or be shot,” demanded Sterling. As they complied he continued, “Now, step away.”

Mayor Longfellow quickly gathered up their pistols, as Black-Hearted placed Captain Stirvin on the ground taking a humble knee beside him. Trying to help Justin and Ryan understand, Kenneth explained, “Captain Stirvin took a blow to the belly. This was not the doing of Black-Hearted or any of us here.”

Captain Stirvin lifted his head, attempting to speak to Justin and Ryan. He then ordered them, “Allow these men do as they need. I am still your commanding officer and you will do as you are told. Now, where’s my wife?”

“She’s in the longboat, Sir,” confirmed Justin. “What will you have us do?”

“I wish to see her. Bring her to me.”

Justin and Ryan hurried to the boat where Katherine lay. Just knowing they would no longer be a threat, put the men more at ease. Father Morgan took a knee by Captain Stirvin and offered him a drink from a small metal vial, for comfort from pain, before slipping out of consciousness.

Arriving with Lady Stirvin’s body, Justin and Ryan laid her gently by his side. Captain Stirvin smiled as he looked to his dear wife, caressing her face one last time. Then, becoming limp, his hand slipped to the ground. Black-Hearted could no longer contain his emotions as he cradled Captain Stirvin in his arms, weeping like that of the child he once was at the orphanage. He pulled the dirty old cloth from his pocket, stained with those very memories long since passed. He wiped the dirt from brother’s face, as he considered him to be.

“May God rest your soul,” he stated in deep sentiment. “I’ll see you soon.”

Justin and Ryan were astonished at the care and love Black-Hearted openly displayed for Captain Stirvin.

That night they thought to take rest in Mr. Darcy’s abandoned home.

Stepping onto the porch, Black-Hearted noticed that Mr. Darcy’s fancy door was still hanging by a single hinge. Several bodies still lied on the ground, the odor of which added to the eeriness of the mood. It was easy to ascertain that the home had been looted of its valuables, though one item of importance still weighed on Black-Hearted’s mind. He had left his hat with Mr. Darcy for safe keeping.

“Where’s the corpse of Darcy Wenham?” asked Black-Hearted. “If he was killed here, his body should be among the dead within these walls. Where has the body vanished to?”

A curious noise was heard from the upstairs bedroom as though someone were shuffling around. With hurried steps, Black-Hearted and a few men climbed the stairs.

“Who goes there?” snapped Black-Hearted.

The footsteps came to an immediate end.

“It’s the spirit of Mr. Darcy, is it not?” asked Nathan. “This is where he lived and died and I dare not wake the dead any further.”

Spooked by the thought, everyone stood silent, until a loud scuffle followed by the sound of breaking glass sounded. Black-Hearted quickened his pace up the stairs and to the bedroom. A faint thump and scramble was then heard without the house.

“Looters,” insisted Kenneth, as he and four others rushed down the stairs and through the back door. Black-Hearted and the rest of his men stayed in the house. Black-Hearted was in search of something of great value to him; something Mr. Darcy was told to keep hold of for him. But, in all his searching he could not find it.

Through the trees and surrounding thicket, Kenneth and the other four men pursued whoever it might be. Racing wildly along, they followed the trail to a muddy portion of sand. Kenneth slowed his pace when the sound came to an abrupt end.

“Where did he go?” asked Sterling.

Kenneth shushed him, cautioning, “Pistols, mates. Be on your guard.”

Pulling their pistols out, they quietly cocked back their dogheads and followed Kenneth’s lead. Soon, faint panting was heard beyond the next group of trees. But, it too came to a mysterious end. When they rounded the last tree, Kenneth could see an arm sticking out of the ground. Suddenly it tensed straight and stiff and each finger shook violently, sending thick ripples of earth toward what appeared to be the outer rim of a muddy pool.

“What’s going on,” cried Justin in an ignorant fright. “What sort of evil is this?”

The arm went limp again before tensing up with even more strain, convulsing about in a wild frenzy. Soon, several thick bubbles surfaced.

“Quicksand,” stated Kenneth, “Watch your step.” Then directing Ryan, he pointed to a long branch on the ground at his feet. “Grab that there stick and hand it over!”

Realizing the intensity of the situation, Kenneth stretched the branch out toward the hand with greater urgency, until it clenched on with a tight enough grasp. It took all four men to see any sign of progress, while the mud sucked back with equal force. However slowly, the stranger finally did emerge.

Once he was out and on solid ground, he attempted to clear a passage for air with his fingers, choking on the thick sticky mud. Feverishly gagging, he forced the deadly sludge from his throat as chunks of mud pulled away from his mouth. Finally, coughing and vomiting everything to the ground, he drooled profusely with muddy snot dripping from both mouth and nose.

Taking a long hard breath, his lungs filled with air, causing severe pain throughout. Dizzy from loss of oxygen and faint from exhaust, his body simply gave out and fell to the ground limp and unconscious, but breathing.

Black-Hearted and the rest of the men were startled when a loud thud, shook the floor. Kenneth, Sterling Wade, Justin and Ryan dropped the three-hundred pound unconscious body to the floor. Unrecognizably covered in mud, the stranger’s face could not be seen.

“Who be this man?” asked Black-Hearted. “Is he dead?”

“This man’s alive,” replied Kenneth, “although, risen from the dead.”

“Darcy?” questioned Black-Hearted, “I knew this fool was still alive!” Kicking him in the gut, he forced the excess mud from his throat. Coming-to, Mr. Darcy coughed profusely once more and began to breathe normally.

Mr. Darcy found his way to a basin of water in the next room. Taking the time to clean and dry his face, he walked back into the room presentable enough to talk. Nathan entered the room about the same time.

“It’s Darcy, come back from the grave!” cried Nathan, screaming at the top of his lungs. “We mean no disrespect. Please, I beg you, leave no curse upon us!”

“It’s Darcy, you buffoon,” replied Black-Hearted. “He’s wounded but he lives.”

“But they said he was dead. They said they saw him with their own eyes.”

“They left him for dead, but he was still breathing. They never confirmed it. The cowards just ran away.”

“So, what happened?” asked Nathan, turning to Mr. Darcy. “Why run from us?”

“I thought you were someone else. Sir Fouste come looking for me the day after I was run-through,” explained Mr. Darcy. “I’m sorry, Hearted, but those turncoats; they saw something that Fouste had been looking for. Understand, I was half-dead when he found me. His surgeon was to tend to my wounds on only one condition and either I give it to him or die, so I give it to him.” He then coughed out a little more grimy snot. He continued, “He seemed to know you well, Hearted – very well.”

“Where’s my hat Darcy?” inquired Black-Hearted, with an angry tone. “That better not be the bargain for your life or you’ll wish you had chosen differently.”

“He was just going to let me die a painful death. I had to give it to him. I had no other choice.”

“You gave him my hat? Do you not remember what was written upon that hat?” asked Black-Hearted, redundantly. “There’s only one thing that’s going to save your life, Darcy. Tomorrow, me and my crew will find out where the Blue Raven intends to be and we’re going to take back what is mine and kill London Fouste. I have one task for you and it is simple enough, but you’re not to leave your estate until the task is done.”

For the remainder of the night they sat and discussed their plan for the coming days. Black-Hearted explained all that had happened and the history behind him and Captain Stirvin until there was a better understanding.

Morning slowly presented itself on the water's edge along the shoreline with a peaceful dawning hue.

While preparing the bodies for burial, Black-Hearted asked Father Morgan, “How’d you know we would be at Raven Bridges yesterday?”

“I’m not truly sure how to understand it. A rather odd young child came to my room the other night and after convincing me to set out to find you, he told me where to go and I could not help but believe him. I don’t know why because he was much too young to know such information. But it felt so much like a dream that I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Did this child give you a name?”

“Aye,” said Father Morgan, “his name was Charley, it was. That I know for certain. He told me the next day and then he was gone.”

“Charley?” repeated Black-Hearted, as a chill ran up his spine. “Charley?”

“Do you know the lad?” inquired Father Morgan.

“I know a Charley, but that’s impossible,” replied Black-Hearted. “He’s no longer with the living.”

Father Morgan felt the same chill, but reverently replied, “Remember, Davy, miracles can happen when God is involved and even though you have done many an awful thing, God may still have a plan for you yet.”

They stared in silence. And in that silence they felt a comfort unlike any they had ever felt before. It was then that they both felt that someone had been watching over them. And they didn’t speak of it again.

When the bodies were prepared, Kenneth held Katherine, while Black-Hearted carried Captain Stirvin. Proceeding to the grounds of Mr. Darcy’s estate, being the best kept and most serine portion of land on Port of Errors, they hoped to bury them in an undisclosed location. The rest of the men followed respectfully, carrying with them a large wooden box. After choosing and preparing the most appropriate site, Sterling and Nathan placed the would-be casket into a shallow grave. Black-Hearted then placed Captain Stirvin’s body peacefully at rest beside his dear wife within the coffin, where Captain Stirvin’s hand slipped perfectly into hers.

After showering the two bodies with beautiful island flowers, Black-Hearted and Kenneth placed the cover on the casket and nailed it shut. The small unofficial ceremony then concluded by shoveling loose dirt in to the shallow grave until the hole was completely filled in.

Black-Hearted stood beside Father Morgan, gazing upon the grave in remorseful regret. Holding a secret kept within from his dark past, Father Morgan spoke nervously, “Hearted, might I speak with you for a moment?”

“Go on, but I’ll have you know that I won’t be thinking clearly enough to pursue conversation.”

“Davy, it tore me up inside to see my son cry out for me as I left him at that orphanage so long ago. But I had no other choice. They would have killed me and my son and I couldn’t take another life after my vow.”

“Wait, what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying is I’m sorry, Davy.”

Just then a pistol sounded from a nearby thicket of trees, hitting Father Morgan, mid chest. The surprising force was so great it whipped him around until he fell to the ground. Sterling, in a mad dash, ran to his side.

Black-Hearted stood with his pistol cocked, blindly pointing toward the thicket of trees.

“Come out and show yourself!” he shouted toward the direction in which the shot came from.

The rest of the men sprang to their feet, as Sterling continued to kneel at Father Morgan’s side.

“Throw down your weapons,” announced a voice from the thicket. “You’re in the open and outnumbered. ‘Tis a fool’s errand to think you’ve a chance.”

Ten nasty pirates appeared behind Black-Hearted, armed and ready. Unprepared for such a surprise, Black-Hearted turned to find he and his men surrounded. Black-Hearted promptly stripped off his brace of pistols and threw them to the ground. The rest of the men followed suit. “Your machete too,” mandated the unknown assailant, still hidden within the thicket. Comfortable enough to show his self, knowing all the weapons were strewn about the ground, Scurvy and two others stepped out from the thicket.

“Get over there with the others,” ordered Scurvy, as he walked dispassionately passed Father Morgan’s limp body. Curiously to those watching, Scurvy drew a small sack from his pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out a silver coin, which had a single digit inscribed on the front side and a double digit on the back. Holding it up and looking upon it with passionate craze, he announced, “This here be the final memento I leave for Morgan. After all these years, the deed is finally done.” Ordering Sterling from Father Morgan’s side, Scurvy reached down and forced it into Father Morgan’s mouth.

“I found a coin,” said Black-Hearted, putting all the pieces together, “near identical to that. I found it in Loren’s mouth. I still carry it to this day.” Intense anger festered up within Black-Hearted’s quaking frame. “Tell me it wasn’t you Scurvy, who killed my family all those years ago! Why my woman, Scurvy? Why Lorien? Why?”

“Hearted, don’t get too upset. It wasn’t you I was after. You just got caught in the crossfire. When I burnt the De Paul estate to the ground with your family still inside, it was especially effective to include that little wench of yours to the conflag… conflagra… conflag-ra-ga-tion?” frustrated, he yelled, “to the fire. I even planted that pistol engraved with the English crest. You were such a predictable boy, Hearted. Or shall I call you Davy.”

“I was a child. Why me? Why?” Black-Hearted quickly composed himself and calmly continued, “Scurvy, this is more than simple mutiny. But before I kill you I demand to know why you done it!”

“That’s just like you to say such a thing when you’ve already lost,” replied Scurvy with a laugh. “You’ve allied yourself with Stirvin. It’s you who truly be the mutineer!”

“If not for me, then why did you choose my family? What did they do to deserve such a death?”

“Because I knew that one day you would lead me to the great Sir Henry Morgan. After he hid our treasure and the map, upon which was marked its location, I wanted to kill him with my own two hands. But as luck would have it, he became ill and news of his death reached my ears. But, I never did see the body. I had a feeling in my gut he was still out there.

“But, you see, as luck would have it, Henry Morgan had a son. It wasn’t ‘til a few years passed that I found the boy was given up to an orphanage in a cathedral in England. My real name is Shawn Averson and I’ve been planning this superlatative moment for a very long time. Instead of the riches we plundered, Morgan left me with a small handful of silver coins. As a gesture of my gratitude, I have placed one of these coins in the mouths of those I’d been forced to kill in order to find Morgan and quiet his lies.

“I never did find that map, not until a few months ago when I saw the inside of your hat. There it be, just an arm length away and I, helpless to say or do anything about it, knew you had been in contact with that vile old coward! I knew I was close and the treasure still untouched.” Scurvy cocked his pistol. “I bought your little girlfriend from the auction that day. Emily was it? I sold her to some Frenchman in the America’s. Too bad you won’t be seein’ her again.” Raising his pistol to Black-Hearted’s forehead, Scurvy continued, “I knew you were with those orphans being auctioned off. I made certain each boy was followed until I knew which one you were. I had to be very patient, but I knew you would lead me to you father. Starting the fire that day at the cathedral was so inspirationable. But negotiating payment to Mistress Riley and a few others to convince the town council to hold an auction was genius and an even greater investment.” Pausing for a laugh, Scurvy paced back and forth in reminiscence of his enduring plan.

“That wasn’t even the best part,” he continued. “Planting Isabel into a relationship with you worked like a charm. There were things you told her that we would have never otherwise have learned. I never thought that joining forces with Sir Fouste would ever have paid off like it did. And today my prayers have been answered and vengeance is mine. And you, the very son of the great Sir Henry Morgan, are as pathetic a man as he.”

Ready to snap the doghead down, Scurvy was suddenly tackled by Father Morgan from behind. With all of his three hundred plus pounds, Father Morgan fell directly on top of Scurvy. “I’m not dead yet,” said Father Morgan choking on the blood dripping from his mouth, some of which splattered nauseously on Scurvy’s face.

Though the bullet just missed his heart, Father Morgan’s wound was mortal. And even though Scurvy’s men still surrounded them, he continued to hold Scurvy for as long as he could.

“Kill Hearted now,” commanded Scurvy, “so Morgan can be witness to his son’s own death!”

“It’s me that you want,” said Father Morgan, breathless from his wound.

From out of nowhere came Gunner, Stephen, and twenty-nine others, rushing swiftly in on them. Scurvy’s men quickly abandoned the fight, running off in different directions. Black-Hearted raced for his brace of pistols and slung them over his shoulder, taking one in each hand, loaded and ready as always.

Scurvy managed to push Father Morgan off of his scrawny frame. As Scurvy stood, Father Morgan rose to his knees. Black-Hearted and Sterling quickly helped him to his feet.

Still reluctant to give in, Scurvy extended his pistol in sheer adrenaline-fueled anger, with hatred so intense, it could easily be read upon his expression. Father Morgan threw himself onto Black-Hearted just as Scurvy fired his last shot and they fell to the dirt together, each trying to protect the other. This time Scurvy missed his mark.

As Black-Hearted and Father Morgan sat up, still alive, they were happy to realize Scurvy would die thinking he failed and that was satisfaction enough for them as Gunner and the rest of his men unloaded on him. Dancing about in a twisted frenzy, Scurvy’s body fell to the ground. Within seconds he was completely white and devoid of blood. Scurvy was dead.

“Well,” determined Black-Hearted, “Scurvy did say once that he wanted to be buried in Mr. Darcy’s estate.” He then began to kick loose dirt over Scurvy’s corpse. A few of the other’s joined in as well.

Soon thereafter, Father Morgan groaned in an exhaustive tone and slipped back to the ground with his face to the dirt. With little hope, Black-Hearted turned him over. “Father Morgan!”

“Yes, me lad?” came the reply. “I’m sorry, Davy, but I don’t think I’ll be on my feet again. I’ve lived a life I am not very proud of, but I hope I ended it well.”

“Why did you not tell me that you were my father? I never knew that my father lived.”

Father Morgan opened his eyes, as blood dribbled from his mouth and nose. “I’m sorry I never spoke of it. It had been so long, I was afraid to say anything. But, you’ll always be my son.”

“Fetch me a doctor,” demanded Black-Hearted.

“How would Dr. Andrew Rees be,” inquired Gunner, shoving the doctor to the ground by Black-Hearted.

“He’ll do just fine,” replied Back-Hearted. Turning to Doctor Rees, he muttered, “Won’t you, doctor.”

“I’m sorry, this wound is fatal,” determined Dr. Rees, as he examined the failing body. “Do to me as you will, either way this man is going to die. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing you can do. You’re a Doctor!”

“I am not a saint. I’m sorry but I am not a man of miracles. I suggest you spend less time arguing with me in this man’s last few minutes.”

Father Morgan, wheezing and coughing, didn’t waste any more time. “I took Sterling Wade, here, to father in me old age,” he explained, as Sterling continued to weep over Black-Hearted’s shoulder. “I suppose he took your place for a time. His father died years ago. Now, it is up to you to watch over the lad. He should be as a brother to you and the only family you have left.” Black-Hearted nodded in agreement. Changing subjects with urgency before passing on, Father Morgan confided, “Now, I must admit one last secret to you. The hat that you have worn these past several years, there is more to the map inside. The holes in the map,” he continued, as he placed into Black-Hearted’s hand the coin that Scurvy had forced into his mouth. “They are to be fitted with these coins. Scurvy thought they were just a slap in the face. But it was that very irony that put a smile to my lips,” he laughed, with a moaning ache. “They are the key to finding the treasure shown on the map. You will understand when you find the rest of the coins, as I know you will, and take a closer look at the map. There are six coins in all. You now hold two. If you know Scurvy’s intentions, you will know where to find the other four.

“Davy, after I done what I done, I realized that in raiding Panama, as ordered by the King of England, I slaughtered women and children. Something within me burnt such guilt into my heart. I knew the loot and all the booty that came with it would haunt me for the rest of me days. No one was entitled to that treasure. Not me; not Scurvy. That is why I buried it and that is why I divided the map into coin and paper and separated them. Scurvy never knew he had the location all this time. You must find this treasure and do as seems right to you.”

Taking the time to converse for only a few more minutes, Father Morgan peacefully passed on. A few more tears were shed, as Black-Hearted and Sterling buried Father Morgan in a shallow grave akin to Captain and Katherine Stirvin, who lay peacefully at rest hand-in-hand in an unmarked grave.

Following Father Morgan’s burial, Black-Hearted stared pensively on the two coins in his hand. When out of nowhere, he realized, “If all this time Scurvy had plotted to kill my father and me, where is the coin that was meant for me?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Kenneth.

“Well, I think I have an idea,” said Black-Hearted, as he walked over to Scurvy’s mutilated corpse and took a knee by his side. Rummaging through his pockets, he pulled out a small leather purse. It was light and flat and it seemed to hold no money. Turning the small sack over, he shook it a few times over his hand. Just as he was about to dismiss his idea, out slipped a shiny, untouched coin. Just as the others, a few numbers had been sketched into the back of it, while a single digit graced the front. “That makes three,” he stated with a pensive smile.

When they finally departed Mr. Darcy’s estate, a silent but small hand placed an unforgettable cross hung by a tattered rope upon the unmarked stone by Captain Stirvin’s grave.

As the sun rose to midday, Black-Hearted made his way to the Sentry, their new ship-of-the-line, compliments of Admiral Flynn. Though the name was stripped from her bow, they would raise no colors until a name could be inscribed on her hull. The name by which Black-Hearted chose to call her was Morgan’s Ferry.

Before setting sail, Kenneth convinced Ryan and Justin to sail back to England aboard the Brier Sea, which had been patched up and made ready for the short journey home. “Send word to the Queen that both Captain Stirvin and Admiral Flynn are dead, as you have been witness to with your own eyes. But, you did not see him buried here, they died out at sea. Tell her what you will about me, it matters not. I have nothing to go home to and so I sail with Black-Hearted and whatever fate lies ahead for me there.”

Black-Hearted stood on the dock speaking with Mr. Darcy, while Dr. Rees waited anxiously by. “Take the doctor,” demanded Black-Hearted. “Do not allow him to leave until the deed be done; and the deed cannot be done without him. We’ll return in a few months.”

Morgan’s Ferry was quickly resupplied for their long journey. Black-Hearted was so eager to settle things with Sir Fouste and Isabel, his disposition toward them was frightful. Nonetheless, newly weighing upon his mind was Emily, whom Scurvy had mentioned having sold. Black-Hearted had sworn an oath, years ago, telling her he would someday come to find her again. And he felt that day was vast approaching.

Knowing that Sir Fouste now carried his hat, Black-Hearted set sail, speedily westward, toward the American Colonies of the New World. Upon the inside of his hat was a map leading to Sir Henry Morgan’s buried treasure; an irresistible temptation for any man, including Sir Fouste. But it was only Black-Hearted that knew of the coins of which only three remained. With a pit of anger wrenching within his gut, Black-Hearted raged onward with a searing heat boiling through his veins. Mr. Darcy and Dr. Rees looked on as Morgan’s Ferry took sail. Off in the distance, the echoing phrase often heard at sea was voiced, “Tighten the riggin’s! Keep a straight course, me hearties!”

The End!

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