Captain England (Post 14)

After going back to Nassau and frantically grabbing anything of use to them – supplies and weapons and more men – the pirates had run out of time. The next morning, Rogers’ entire fleet returned, including two Royal Navy sloops-of-war brimming with soldiers and hungry for pirate blood. A chase ensued as I clutched wildly at the bulwarks, crouching and covering my ears from the blasts of the cannons, waiting for the ship to burst into splinters at any moment. England tried to get me below decks, but I was not moving from my corner where I could witness everything.

We managed to escape – narrowly, by the look on Charles Vane’s face. The governor’s sloops had been in hot pursuit for a moment there, and I thought the pirates – and I – were done for. Then the pirate sloop began to sail away from the wind, and it quickly left the Royal Navy behind. I saw Vane wipe the beads of sweat from his brow and blow out his breath. He would live to cruise again.

England would too. The sloop dropped us off at Abaco, where the Royal James awaited us, hidden in a cove, careened, stocked, and ready to fly. And so England and Vane parted ways, and I knew England was not sorry to see him go. The pirate republic had been all but destroyed, and while Vane swore he would continue to try and reestablish it, England was done with Nassau, set on plundering ships off the Slave Coast.

As soon as the Royal James set sail into the open sea, I popped my first pill. I was terrified of this journey, but I was also determined to prove I could be of help to even these hardened men. The brigantine, much to my relief, was much cleaner and smelled much less rank than it had before.  I learned what a “brigantine” actually was: a two-masted vessel with  square rigging on the foremast, but with fore-and-aft sails on the mainmast. In other words, square sails on the front big pole that were aligned perpendicular to the deck, and triangular sails on the back big pole that were set parallel to the deck. Let me tell you, life sucks without the Internet at hand – took me forever to figure that one out.

I watched with fascination as the crew went about their work, an endless list of tasks that sounded both tedious and dangerous: the younger, stronger seamen climbed up into the rigging to set and furl sails, sling yards, strike the topmasts, and generally risked falling from immense heights as the ship pitched from side to side. They were often barefoot, gripping the spars with their feet and toes. They wore tarred breeches and jackets, their hair tied back and also tarred, or “clubbed,” for safety.

On the deck, seamen hoisted sails, swabbed decks, cleaned the head, kept the caulking tight… There were duties for each role – the boatswain, the master gunner, the first mate, the carpenter (who was also, much to my dismay, the surgeon). Jameson, as quartermaster, did most of the ordering around and supervising, while England navigated and was the definitive authority in battle. I had yet to see him in the latter role, but I knew without a doubt that he had the courage and decisiveness to lead when the occasion presented itself.

The first several days of the journey were far easier than I had feared. I spent most of my time observing the men at work, trying to teach my body the movement of the ship. I can’t count the number of times I stumbled, tripped over my own feet, and fell, land-lubber that I was. The pirates always had a good laugh at my expense.

I slept on the deck under the stars like the others, England at my side, separating me from the men. I used a chamber pot to relieve myself, unlike the pirates, who used holes in the head to defecate directly into the sea, or who just stood on platforms along the ship’s side to urinate into the water.

I watched curiously as the cook, a one-legged chap with a paunch, worked over a small hearth and kettle,  getting his fresh meat and milk from the pigs and goats that wandered about freely on deck, as well as the chickens cooped belowdecks. I helped Tim mend some sails, listened as England tried to teach me the rudimentaries of seamanship, and mainly focused on getting through the day.

One night, as I lay on deck amidst the snoring pirates, watching the sails and masts sway beneath the stars, I marveled that I was able to sleep like this, on a rocking ship, without puking my guts out. I marveled that this was the very same sky under which Jake and Sophie would lay nearly three-hundred years from now. Or was it? Every time I thought about time travel and all those paradoxes, my head hurt. I sucked at physics. And philosophy. But I’d seen Back To The Future, where Michael J. Fox visits the past, meets his parents and changes them, then jumps into a parallel universe where he has a better future than the first. I’d also read The Time Traveler’s Wife, where the characters couldn’t change history, no matter how hard they tried. I made a silent prayer right then, that my actions now, in the past, would not affect Jake or Sophie negatively in the future. Let them stay safe, tucked away in 2009.

I felt that damn ache in my throat and rolled over to face England, where he lay on his side, his back to me. I could tell he wasn’t sleeping – his breathing lacked that rhythm. I poked him in the shoulder blade and whispered, “Edward?”

He rolled over to look at me, an eyebrow raised. “Aye?”

I had to keep my mind off of Sophie, off of Jake. “Tell me a story,” I said.

England smiled. “A bedtime story? Having trouble sleeping, lass?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. I’m trying to keep my mind off… my family.”

His smile faded, his eyes grew sad. “You miss them very much. I never had much ‘o family, and certainly no children ‘o my own, but I can imagine, ye know.”

“How did you… become a pirate?” I asked, pushing myself up onto an elbow.

“I was pressed by a pirate named Christopher Winter.” He seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to talk about himself. “And what sort of things does a woman like yerself do in 2009?”

I smiled at him. “I was a lawyer.”

His eyes widened. “A lawyer! Damn me!” he muttered. “I knew ye were educated, to be sure…”

“Women are just as educated as men in 2009,” I said, enjoying the look of shock on his face. “We are doctors, lawyers, leaders…”

England shook his head. “Tell me no more,” he insisted firmly, his voice low. “I’ve not come to grips with what ye are, Sabrina, and I’ve no time to contemplate it.”

“I’ve had to contemplate it,” I said. “You don’t think it’s mind-boggling for me? You don’t think I want to scream and cry and carry on every time I think about it?”

“Ye’ve no choice, lass,” he replied. “I have.” He saw the desperate look on my face and softened. “Here now. Buck up. Survival is yer main concern now. And I’ll be damned if I ever understand why ye came with me, when ye could have stayed and tried to go back to yer home, or at the very least, had a chance at a civilized sort of life.” He shook his head. “As though ye have a death wish.”

I sat up, crossing my arms, my voice several octaves higher than it should have been. “Why are you so against having me here?”

“Because yer a walkin’ piece ‘o temptation, and he wants to sport with ye!” a voice called out, and several pirates howled with laughter.

England shook his head, a crooked smile on his face, then met my eyes sheepishly, only the hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Oh, sod off, all of ye, filthy dogs,” he muttered, lying back down flat on his back and pulling his hat over his eyes. “G’night, Sabrina.”

I lay down once more, curling on my side under my wool blanket, and sighed. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Next Post

  Copyright protected by Digiprove © 2009