Awaiting Gallows

October 3rd 1722 - Entry 1

It has come to my attention that I have neglected my journals for quite a while now. Six months is a long time. Even longer it seemed where I was. Which was, of course, out on the open seas, living the not-so-high life out here as a privateer under his majesty's crown (Queen Elizabeth has been superseded by King James). But now, an event has come to pass that jostled my memory of this journal in a rough way. But first, I must fill in the blanks.

After waking up on the Cesare that day, I was told by Captain Wethers that he had accepted my request for crewmanship, and when I wasn't there at castoff, he sent men to look for me. They had found me where I had fallen, head resting on a stone, with a dead, armless Bruce Fletcher next to me and a bloody sword nearby. When he asked me about that, I just shrugged and said, "We all have our off days," and that seemed to satisfy him.

In the months that followed, I rose up through the ranks of the crew, starting out as a cabin boy and working up to where I am now, a deckhand. My slightly more than abysmal swordsmanship improved slightly over time, but to this day I prefer a good fistfight over anything else. However, there is one thorn in my side. It seems to resemble a fellow deckhand with no real taste for me.

From day one, there was always one muscled brute that seemed to have it out for me. He would slam doors in my face. He would tie me to the mast high up while I slept. When I described him to Harley, the first mate with a face that would make a bull shark cower, he knew who I was talking about immediately.

"Ah, yes. That'll be Gordey. For a person as dull as he is, he keeps his sword the strict opposite."

So this "Gordey" fellow has been the bane of my trivial existence for my six months out at sea. I've never found out why he dislikes me so, and I somehow doubt I ever will. That being mainly because of what happened today.

Today, the Captain made an announcement. Once the drunks had been slapped into attendance, and the crew was looking up at him, Wethers said the following, "Gentlemen. It is a dark time for us privateers. The new King is on the verge of signing treaties with the Spanish and the Portuguese, and as you know, the war with them is currently our sole source of income. After that, we will all be forced to either return to whatever rat-holes we scampered out of, or go to a life of piracy. It's your choice, lads, but me personally, I intend to jump their gun."

The crew cast confused or nervous glances at one another. None of us knew where Wethers was going with this. He continued, "In three days, the english ship called the Cordial  will sail into our path. They hold some nice booty in their hold. Gold and jewels to be transferred back to England," he smiled, "I intend to see that it doesn't get there with its prize intact."

Me personally, I had known this was coming. I knew I had one of the higher IQs of the crew, just from having been around for a few months, so I knew about the current political standing of the war, and the fact that Wethers is a kind of preemptive strike type of man.

"I realise that some of you have concerns about this, and I respect that," Wethers continued, "I am willing to have a longboat set out for the nearest English port, for the people present with no interest in piracy. Now... who would like to command this vessel?"

"Me, sir! Me!" shouted none other than Gordey, always ever eager to get a promotion. He stepped up to the longboat wearing a huge obnoxious grin.

"And anyone else who wishes to accompany this vessel?"

About five other men stepped up and walked over to the longboat. I thought about joining them, but realised that I had no urge to return to Cumberland County so soon. I stayed back. It's quite lucky I did, seeing as what happened next.

Harley waved a single hand. That's all it took. The next second, all six people at the longboat had swords in their guts and were being tossed overboard.

"Well," said Wethers with a foreboding grin, "Let's go make some money!"