Awaiting Gallows

October 5th 1722 - Entry 1

It happened today. I can't exactly say that it went exactly according to plan, but the outcome was interesting enough as it was. When the Cordial crossed our paths that day, you could clearly tell which of the crew didn't want to be there. Some wore an expression of nervousness and apprehension, a look that I'm sure was mirrored on my own face. Others donned a mask of greed and excitement. Some clearly weren't sure where they stood.

Across the water, we could see the Cordial's crew working hard at their still-honest jobs. A few of the wiser eyed our ship with suspicion. After all, we weren't supposed to cross their path on this venture. Regardless, no alarm was raised, no calls to battle stations shouted. The crews of both ships looked perfectly unobtrusive. Then, of course, the captain of the Cordial thought he may as well investigate.

"Let your captain come forth!" He declared, voice ringing with authority.

Wethers complied. He walked right up to the port bow, looking the other captain dead in the eye.

"Ahoy there!" he shouted across, a friendly grin splitting his face. His eyes did not portray contentedness, however. There was only the glittering gleam of avarice present in those pools of blackness.

"My apologies, sir, but I was unaware of any other privateer ships in the region. What is your mission?"

"Routine patrol. We were just rerouted to here because we were forced to retreat. Some pirates looking for some booty near the border. I suspect they'll be gone from there by now, though."

If he found humour in the irony of that lie, he did not betray it.

"Truly?" the other captain asked, looking bewildered, "If ye were attacked by pirates, your ship looks to have near no damage to i--"

He was cut off as the musket ball, fired by Harley behind some barrels, punctured his skull.

That was the cue we were waiting for. Swords were drawn, pistols unholstered, ropes swung between ships.

Then all hell broke loose.

There was a mighty thunder of gunfire and feet striking wood as we boarded the ship. The privateers were so shocked, they didn't even draw their weapons. I put down two of them myself before they got the sense to start fighting back.

Even so, though. The battle was short and bloody. The privateers had already lost a third of their numbers when they finally drew their weapons, and near all their morale was lost as their captain fell into the ocean below, turning the sea red. The privateers had surrendered within a minute of the bloodsoaked brawl. That was when everything went wrong.

A single pair of footsteps sounded in the hold below. Wethers cocked his pistol and fired down there, putting down whatever insubordinate crewmate that tried to get the bounty first, or whatever enemy had hidden down there. Only problem was, it was neither.

The frail body of a cabin bow fell into the light. He wore a nightcap, so I can only assume he was sleeping, and the battle had woken him. This wasn't what caught my eye, though. What caught my eye was the candle he had been holding. Which he dropped.

Into the giant pile of gunpowder barrels.

I was standing a good distance away from the hold at the time, so I didn't get hit with the explosion that took out both ships. Just the shock wave that slammed me into the ocean afterwards.

I could see my crewmates splashing into the water around me, their wounds bloodying the seas.

Then the sharks came.

It's a bitter irony that the ones wounded the worst were the ones devoured first. Personally, I had a few scrapes, but nothing enough to distract the sharks from the much tastier smelling prizes. I managed to pull myself to shore on a nearby island in time.

At the moment, I'm a tad unsure of whether or not that was a blessing or a curse. You see, I was the only one to make it out of there alive. As I write this, I am listening to the last of the dying screams of my former crew mates, and pondering if I should go back out there to die, for there can't be much to live on or for on this hellish island.