The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 1 - The Fire-ship

On a Caribbean twilight when the sea was burgundy and speckled with dying stars, a brigantine ship rolled the Windward Passage between Cuba and Hispaniola. She went by the name Scourge, and she was not alone on those waters.

Martin Hamish leaned against the starboard gunwale tracing long oil ovals over the railing with a horsehair brush when the call cawed from the crow's nest.

'Sails ho! Ship off the port quarter!'

The silence had been so dense, and he so wrapped up in his own thoughts, that when the bell cracked through, he froze in place and refused to stir until the main hatch burst open behind him. He turned and watched in amazement as all the men below scurried out like fleeing rats, some trampling each other underfoot as they tried in vain to pull themselves free of their nightshirts and slip boots onto their blackened feet.

The ship, which before had been as silent as the damned, hummed with life as the topmen leapt onto the shrouds and clambered up into the rigging. Deckhands scrambled to roll out the cannons while the gunning crews kicked open the crates of powder and shot, then shouldered their ramrods for action. Martin stood there slack jawed, watching the ship come alive in an instant.

What am I supposed to do? Martin asked himself. He looked down at the paintbrush in his hand, and then back at the starboard gunwale. He'd spent all night slathering it in wood oil, and had done a good job of it too, but now his efforts seemed futile, and even a little pathetic. Why had he been so proud of himself before now? A coat of oil did nothing against a cannonball, and no one ever noticed it anyway.

Martin's heart skipped as the door to the cabin under the quarterdeck slammed open. Captain Percival stepped out; his face, as pale as bone, glowed beneath a wreath of black curls that stretched from his chin down to his chest. His black hair was slicked back behind his head with coiled tips dancing around his neck. Over his shoulder was slung a leather bandolier with four pistols, swinging like hanged men from their holsters. From under the brim of his hat, the Captain's dark eyes swept the ship from port to starboard.

'All hands to stations!' the Captain bellowed like a tempest. Martin hadn't been sure the crew could go much faster than they already were, but at the Captain's bellow, he was amused to be proven wrong. The men on deck hopped around like boiling beans, eager to be the first to complete his task and avoid the Captain's famous wrath. 'Double time! Full-sail!' the Captain barked. Then his eye fell on Martin. The boy's flesh hardened. In spite of all he told himself, his instincts forced him still, even though it was possibly the worst thing he could have done. On this, he was disappointed to be proven right.

'You!' The Captain snarled. His eyes burned and Martin shuddered as the tall man stepped forward and seized him by the collar. He growled like an animal with his teeth bared, and Martin beheld the bearded face of Satan himself. 'Put down that bloody paintbrush and get to your sorry arse to your station!'

Martin trembled, sweat thickening on his brow. 'But I don't-.'

'Now! Before I throw you to the sharks!' The Captain tossed Martin aside so hard that he tripped on his own heel and toppled backwards, his paintbrush cartwheeling through the air and into the open hold. Martin watched it bounce around the deck then disappear with a plop into the bilge water below.

Would if I could do the same, Martin thought.

'I want that ship hauled-in before sun-up!' the Captain roared over the din the crew. 'If you dogs let her slip out of our grasp, I'll find the bastard responsible and nail him to the yardarm by his ankles!'

That was all the motivation anyone needed, and Martin sprang to his feet. The Scourge picked up speed and bucked over the billowing waves. The wind stung Martin's face as he looked about him for something to do. His eye fell upon a number of his crewmen tugging desperately at a halyard, unsure of what it was they were trying to achieve. Instinctively, he lunged forward and grabbed up the length of rope that trailed, but his presence was barely noted and at least he looked busy, which meant he could keep one eye on the Captain without reprisal.