Daniel stood at the bow and gazed at the rolling blue in front of him. He could still hear the cannons and cries of agony ringing in his ears from the hours before, and the vacant gaze of the dead French sailor would forever be burned into his memory. The rest of the crew of Le Dauphin Mere had been given a choice: join the pirates, or be set adrift. Only one chose to remain aboard, a young sailor named Hervé de La Sayette. He was very tall and quite stout, but had an air of defiance about him that Daniel was surprised to see from a merchant sailor. MacRorie had immediately put him to work below decks with ByJam, identifying the most valuable pieces of the take.
The rest of the sailors were crowded into the captured ship’s longboats and set off with no oars and limited provisions. Daniel had watched in horror as Maddix and Ford set fire to the merchant ship, its splintered timber and pitch igniting immediately. The body of the captain had been lashed to the remains of the mainmast, a mocking tribute to his station. The French sailors sat in stunned silence as The Relentless sailed away, and their former ship was burned to the waterline.
How could I have come to this? Daniel thought to himself.
“It’s in ya blood, boy.” The unfamiliar voice came from behind him with a thick accent. He wheeled around to see a huge, dark-skinned man staring at him. His coarse, black hair was braided and bound behind his head with colorful beads, hanging down the back of his neck. He was well over six feet tall and had a massive frame. Old scars crossed his bare chest, lash marks across the sun-blackened skin. A heavy boarding axe hung from his belt, and his giant hands were wrapped in strips of cloth. “I can see it in ya eyes, mon. Da killin’. It come natural to ya.”
“No,” whispered Daniel. “I am not like them…”
“Pshhh… say what ya want, bwoy. Ya may not be a pirate in ya heart, but you are a killa… dat much I can see…”
Daniel looked up into the man’s face. “And what about you?”
A grin split the man’s face, his thick lips parting, revealing his teeth, yellow and crooked. “Me? Oh, boy… Where ya tink I came from, mon?!”
“I’m guessing you ran away from some plantation. And by your accent, I would say somewhere in the Caribbean, not the Americas.”
He was silent for a moment, then laughed loudly. “Good job, boy! Bridgetown, to be sure. My name is Payne. Clement Payne. Barbados is beautiful, but not for someone like me. They put me on board an East Indiaman when I was a boy, hauling powder for da white man’s guns. One whip too many, and next thing I know, I’m a killa… jus’ like you.”
“You… killed… a white man?” Daniel was incredulous. “Why didn’t they kill you right then and there?”
“They would have, to be sure… but we was about to go into battle. Needed me.”
“Battle? With whom?”
“Pirates, to be sure…”
“Let me guess… MacRorie.”
Payne laughed. “Aye. I figga’d I’d be betta off wit dem than be hanged by da East India Company, no?”
“So not only did you kill a white man, but you mutinied and turned pirate? All in one day?”
Payne grinned again. “What can I say? I go whatevah way da wind blows, bwoy. I have been on this ship for five year now. I say what I please, I eat what the crew eat, I fight with brave men. So my skin is darker, no one care here. And now I have gold, too. More den I evah would have in my life.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “How much gold?”
“Well, I’ll not be sayin’ to you, bwoy. But prolly more then you have evah had, to be sure.” And with that, Payne walked away and joined the rest of the crew adjusting the rigging. A strong wind had picked up and The Relentless seemed to fly over the water effortlessly. Daniel looked up and saw a seagull overhead, gliding along with the sloop.
“Excellent,” came a new voice. It was MacRorie. “Gulls dinnae venture far from land. We should be making Tortuga by nightfall. And then you’ll get your share.”
“My share?”
“Aye, lad. You’re a member of my crew, and so you get an equal share of the booty we take.”
“I don’t want your ill-gotten…”
“Oh cut the sanctimonious shite, Daniel.” MacRorie got close to his face. “You gunned down that frog sailor without a thought, so don’t try to tell me you’re ‘not one of us.’ You may think you are above all this.” He waved his hands around. “But you are a workin’ scab just like the rest of us. And you will be free to leave our fair ship when we reach Tortuga, should you so desire. But know this – and ken what I say, lad – you are a pirate. If you leave us, you will naw find it easy to go back to your humble life, nor will any believe you have repented from your life as a scallywag.”
“My… what?! I have been with you for less than a few days!”
MacRorie grinned. “Aye, but to hear the men clypin’ in the taverns – and they will, believe me – you have taken to the sweet trade as naturally as a fish to water, and your one dead frog will be thirty by the time the tales reach London and New York... and even Williamsburg.”
Daniel’s face fell. He knew the pirate captain was right. Sailors liked to drink and talk; he had learned that a long time ago. All it would take is one night in Tortuga, and the fate of Le Dauphin Mere would be local legend. And he would get far more credit than he deserved.
MacRorie clapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, I think you could probably do with the extra money, eh? Maybe buy yourself some new ink and paper for your next article.” He laughed loudly and walked back to his position by the wheel. It was not until later that Daniel wondered how the man had known about his writing.
Longer chapters.
I've never read pirate fiction until now . . . and I love it! I'm really excited to see what happens in Tortuga.