To be a pirate or a king's man?

Chapter 1 - Watchman's Duties

Chapter 1

The Caribbean ocean lapped against the hull of HMS Hurricane, calm and serene. Able seaman Samuel Wheelwright looked out over the bowsprit, catching the last rays of sunshine as the ship lay at anchor in a small, unnamed west-facing bay off the coast of a small, unnamed island in the middle of the ocean, with nothing to the west for miles but the blue sea that Samuel knew and loved. To the east, north and south was a small archipelago of islands that held mystery and danger for ships. narrow straits and shelving made a sort of bridge between some of the islands. He sat on the bow of the ship, casting his mind back to his first sailing days.

He had been raised next to the sea, in Barbados, and had always been fascinated by the tall ships that were often at anchor in the bay. As soon as he was fourteen, Sam had left the safety of his home and enlisted as a cabin boy on HMS Storm - a brig - in 1712. As he had been taught his letters and numbers from an early age, he was accepted and became the general assistant of the ship. Naturally witty and in good mood, he had been a firm favourite among the crew. In his sixteenth year, he was old enough to be an able seaman aboard the ship, but before he had had time to enjoy it, HMS Storm had been sunk by a Spanish frigate. He had been rescued a day later by HMS Hurricane, his current ship.

Now he was eighteen, and still an able seaman on HMS Hurricane. The Hurricane was a large three-mast topsail schooner set to patrol the coastal waters of a small cluster of islands in the ocean around Jamaica, defending against France, Spain and the pirates that often preyed on British merchant or slaving vessels.

Sam turned from the bow to a shout from Mr Tyler, the Bo ‘sun, “Wheelwright, get your head outta the clouds and help your fellow crewmembers get the ship ready for the night! And seeing as you like to think so much, you’re on first and second watch!” Sam had always been selected by Mr Tyler for the unpleasant jobs, extended watches and general punishments. Tyler was a cruel man, so it would do more harm than good to object to his orders, seeing as he was often quite liberal when it came to using the cat o’ nine tails.

Sam got down from the bow, his favourite perch, and set to furling the sails on the mainmast, his hands working with the ropes and canvas easily. He jested with his good friend James Crick, “Jimmy, how long do you think we could make ol’ Tyler squeal if we threw him from the topmost yard of this mast, with a rope tied ‘round each toe?”

“You know as well as I do that Tyler’s not capable of squealing. At most he’d grunt before cutting himself loose and leaving us hanging by our toes.” This was probably true, as Tyler had never been known to make any sign of emotion apart from anger and joy in causing pain through his punishments.

 All of the men knew that the main problem on the ship was not, however, Mr Tyler. It was their captain, Jon Haroldson. He was rarely seen outside of his cabin or the officer’s mess, spending all of his time tucked away with old books and sea charts instead of concerning himself with the affairs of the ship. He would only give orders occasionally and these were usually superseded by the other officers anyway. This left a weak First Officer in command, so Bo ‘sun Tyler had quickly assumed unofficial command. Most of the men hated him, all of them feared him and none of them loved him. He was fine with that, so long as they obeyed him, which they did.

Sam and James finished their work and went down to the mess for supper before Sam had to assume his watch. Climbing down the rigging with the skill that only men of the sea could muster, they dropped onto the deck and went to the ship’s galley. “What’s on the menu tonight then, Ed?” asked Sam.

“Fish n’ tack, same as ever unless you plan on getting promoted anytime soon!” responded Edward Flannel, the ship’s cook.

“With lazy Haroldson and old Tyler in command? Fat chance!” jested Sam, brushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes before taking the plate of salted fish and tack biscuit that was the staple supper on the ship. When James had taken his share as well, they walked back on deck to the bowsprit to eat their supper. The meal was, as ever, vile. The biscuits had the texture of wood and the fish was heavily salted and dry. The only good thing was the small nightly rum ration that whetted their throats and gave some semblance of taste to them. “Well, I’d better get to watching, looks like it’s the start of my shift” said Sam, as the watch bell started ringing on the poop deck.

“And I’m going to get some shuteye before my watch in eight hours. Good night” replied James, turning back to get to the crew’s quarters below deck. “’night” called Sam, turning back to his station at the bow to stand guard for two watches; eight hours in total. It would then be four hours off duty before he had to go back to work in the day.