A Pirate's Life for Mei

Philipsburg

Mei

Unlike the tiny, sleepy, and barely populated Philipsburg of the real world Caribbean, the town in the prison system was a bustling trade center.

The town hugged the edge of a gorgeous, crescent-moon bay. The deep sapphire of the crystal-clear water became a turquoise blue that mirrored the sky as it grew shallower. A long, golden beach lined the deepest part of the bay.

On the west side of the bay stood Fort Amsterdam, a triangular mass of stone bristling with large cannon that guarded the colony against attack.

On the east of the bay stood industrial buildings and warehouses and the port, with a nest of docks capable of handling many vessels. It was currently a hive of frenzied activity, both mercantile and military, as ships were loaded and unloaded, crates and barrels and bundles flowing in both directions.

All around the crescent bay, colourful, colonial-style buildings made a pastel rainbow amidst the dark, green jungle. Windmills turned, and two smokestacks emitted gray clouds and ash. Workers filled streets and nearby fields. Behind the town, the island rose up into small, emerald mountains. Fluffy, white cumulous clouds drifted overhead.

That a war was going on was evident. Great Bay was filled with naval vessels and merchant ships of all sizes: brigs and barques, caravels and ketches, even a couple of frigates, according to the sailors who were happy to point out the differences to Mei and the others who had far less knowledge of the subject.

In the centre of them all floated a castle with masts, a giant among dwarves that made all the other ships pale in comparison.

The Dutch captain pointed to it. He, Mei, and her companions lined the rail as they slowly sailed towards the docks. His voice filled with pride. "That's a ship-of-the-line, the Vernietiger. Destroyer, in English. One of the most powerful vessels in all the oceans. Ninety meters long and almost a hundred cannons spread over three gun decks."

"It's a monster," Juan breathed. "Nothing could survive a broadside from that thing."

Cheeto was in awe as he stood atop the rail, one hand on a line to steady himself. He stared, openmouthed, at all the warships. "Wow! You guys have a huge navy!"

Captain Enderman puffed his chest. "Currently, the Netherlands has the most powerful navy in the world. That is, in terms of the most ships-of-the-line and cannon-heavy frigates. Only the Spanish can rival us and only because they have sheer numbers, huge fleets at their disposal, though most are slovenly run, I should think. The Brits survive because of speed; they've got the fastest ships, though not always the firepower we have. The French have soldiers and fill their vessels with marines, making close-quarters combat overwhelming when ships meet up. The Americans are trying to be clever by developing ironclads and wooden subs, but these are only good in shallow waters close to home."

"Why are you flying a white and orange flag?" Mei wondered. While the merchant ships bore the colours of many nations, naval ships universally flew an orange and white flag. "Isn't the Dutch flag red, white, and blue?" She was uneasy standing next to the slaver, but he'd been friendly and accomodating the entire trip, and she and the others were doing their best to remain on his good side despite the atrocious practice he was engaged in.

"It is," Enderman admitted. "Those are the colours of the Orange Guard, our army. I can only assume that, with the outbreak of the war, someone has decided that we must rebrand ourselves." He chuckled. "I have to admit, the British, the Americans, the French, and the Dutch, until now, have all sported red, white, blue. Unimaginative, hmm? The orange strikes me as a bit garish, but I like how bold it is. I approve." He nodded to himself before returning to the job of preparing to enter the port.