Jimmy listened with horror to the screams up on deck. The ship creaked and groaned about him, the massive hull filled with shifting crates and the sploshing of the ankle deep water as it surged lazily back and forth with each loll, but the ambient noise did nothing to disguise the sound of men being murdered.
The pirate ship had taken them by surprise. It had been under the disguise of a merchant trader, albeit a ragged and disreputable looking one, and had hailed their ship and approached them in a friendly enough manner. It was only when they were close that the lookout had detected something amiss on her deck, and called out a warning below, but by then it was too late. Captain Ruther’s had attempted to flee, and when it became apparent that the wind was against them, had ordered the cannon hatches opened and for the men to prepare themselves to be boarded. It had been a slaughter.
Jimmy had always dreamt of this moment. An opportunity to shine. He’d always envision the cannons blasting away at each other, but never imagined what immediate damage they might do to the ship about him. He’d pictured himself grasping a sword and developing a natural talent for fighting on the spot, defeating a handful of pirates before turning to save the Captain, or even better, swinging out over the glittering band of sea between the two ships and leading a counter-attack onto the very deck of the enemy ship.
Nothing of the sort had happened. When the first cannon had fired, the railing and a good chunk of the Antaria’s side had exploded into splinters and sound. Jimmy had fallen over in fright, and then realized as he sat on the deck, men running about him, that a long sliver of wood and slipped into his left bicep. He couldn’t feel a thing. Slowly, almost wonderingly, he’d drawn it forth, gleaming and bright red, the rough wood beneath looking almost furred under the blood. Then the pain had hit him in a raw rush, and he’d crawled behind the water barrel and vomited.
The cannons had continued to boom at each other, calling out like furious members of Parliament trying to drown out the opposition. The Antaria had shuddered and begun to list, and then men, haggard looking men with naked blades and rifles had begun to swing out and onto her deck. Jimmy had seen Sewert go down before a gleaming black man covered in scars. Roger and Tim-Tom had both been blasted apart by an errant canon ball. That had proven enough for Jimmy. Letting out a wailing cry, abandoning all thoughts of heroism, he’d muscled the main hatch open and thrown himself down the ladder into the dark hull below.
Lying in the brackish water, half paralyzed by fear and pain, Jimmy listened to the battle being raged above. Several large holes had been blasted in the side of the Antaria, and sunlight and the tips of waves poured into the otherwise murky hull. He could see the far end of the pirate ship from where he lay, dark and barnacle covered, and full, no doubt, of stolen plunder and the bodies of many a captured and tortured cabin boy like himself.
He forced himself to sit up. He should go back up. He should go help the others. Not that they’d appreciate it. Sewert had been his only friend, and now he was dead. Which meant this was a great moment to redeem himself. To show the others he was a true member of the crew, and not the coward and landlubber that they took him for.
The hatch above him opened. Jimmy stared up in shock, anticipating bearded faces to stare down at him with scowling delight. Instead, he saw Robby, half turned to face something else, intent no doubt on jumping below and escaping in similar suit. A shot rang out, and Robby let out a cry, falling forwards, hatch closing behind him, body plunging down into the hold and crashing into a crate. Jimmy stared wide-eyed. An arm extended from the broken mass of wooden slats, blood splattered across the hand. Dead, he thought, dead!
The cannon’s continued to boom, but more infrequently now. The ship was listing, but only just – they weren’t about to sink. Clearly the pirates wished to keep the vessel, to give themselves time to plunder it properly. They’d be down here shortly. They’d kill him on sight. Stab him through the throat. He had to buy himself time. Could he hide? Hide in a crate? No – all the crates would be thrown open. The whole ship would be searched. Could he find himself a nook to stow away in? Heave a crate out one of the side holes in the ship, and use it as a raft with which to escape?
Standing on shaking legs, Jimmy listened. Men were yelling, and he could hear the Captain’s voice giving out desperate orders. No doubt a last stand on the bridge. Boots pounded the board above. The cannon shots had ceased. The pirates were closing in for the finally kill. He had to convince them to leave him alone. Could he join their ranks? If the others were already dead, than that couldn’t be betrayal, could it?
Moving slowly, Jimmy sloshed over to where Robby lay dead. The impact with the crate had shattered both his back and bones and the flimsy crate itself. Large blank eyes stared up at nothing. Robby had been a bastard, teasing him and asking him to sleep in his bunk every night, but he didn’t deserve this. None of them did, no matter how they treated him.
An idea struck him. Pretend to be dead. When the pirates turned their backs on him, he’d grab a knife and kill their Captain. Sneak up and slice his throat. He’d no doubt be killed as a result, but it would be revenge. Revenge for the men, for the ship, for the
Standing over Robby’s corpse, Jimmy realized that the gunshots and screams had ceased. There was no time left. Soon the pirates would begin searching the ship. He had to act, had to act now. Inspiration hit him. Reaching down, he began to smear his hands in Robby’s ruptured body. Hot blood sluiced over his hands. Then, as if washing in a cold stream, he began to splash and rub the blood across his neck, doing his best to soak his collar, to make his appearance as gory as possible.
Footsteps above. The murmur of voices. There seemed to be no end to the amount of blood. It darkened the water about his feet, soaked the wooden frame of the crate. Hands hot and slippery, Jimmy began to scoop blood directly out of Robby’s chest with which to splash across his chest.
The hatch opened. Jimmy’s heart clamped as if gripped by an iron hand, and he spun to look up at the bright square of daylight. A head, silhouetted, looked down at him. Too late! He was caught, caught red handed, and now they would never believe that he was dead!
“What the devil are you doing, Jimmy?” asked a stunned voice. The voice of Lambert, the first mate.
“I – uh – I –“ stuttered Jimmy.
There was a moment’s pause as Lambert seemed to try to understand what he was saying, and when he asked again, his voice was incensed with disgust, “I said, what the devil are you doing?”
“I’m trying to, I mean, I thought the pirates had – but they haven’t, but I wanted to trick them into –“
“Get up here. Get up here right now, you filthy freak.” Lambert’s head retracted. Jimmy continued to stare, frozen. Then he looked down at his blood smeared hands. Looked down at Robby’s shattered body. Did Lambert think…?
Slowly, and then with increasing speed, Jimmy ascended the wooden ladder to the deck. Poking his head out into the sunshine, he saw bodies piled about, sliced and cut and blasted and pooling blood. The pirate’s ship floated silently astern, and about ten men were sitting on the deck, arms tied behind their backs, expressions alternating between glum, furious, and stupefied. The Captain was conversing with Hodgers, and Lambert was standing to one side, glaring at Jimmy, bloodied arm held to his chest.
Jimmy emerged from the hatch, and slowly the others turned to stare at him. A good half of the crew were dead, with another quarter badly injured. The Captain walked up to where Jimmy stood with Lambert, and stared at Jimmy in surprise.
“What on earth happened to you?” he asked.
Before Jimmy could reply, Lambert interjected. “I caught him smearing Robby’s blood over his face. Down there in the hull, by himself.”
The Captain turned from Lambert back to Jimmy. “Is this true?”
“Yes, Captain, but it’s not –“
“The little freak was taking revenge on Robby, is what. I’m sure of it. I’d heard rumors of Robby’s giving him the eye, and he thought the middle of a battle was a good time to get his stinking revenge on him.” Lambert looked disgusted, incensed.
The Captain’s gaze had become stony. “Is this true, Jimmy?”
“No, Captain! I mean, yes, Robby had been making advances and what all, but I didn’t kill him! He fell through the hatch, and I thought, what with the sound of the pirates likely to win, that I –“
“And what were you doing down in the hold while the rest of us were fighting for our lives?” asked the Captain.
Jimmy blinked, and then raised his wounded arm. Compared to the wound Lambert was sporting, it seemed insignificant. “I was recovering, Captain, I mean, I was hurt, so I decided – I decided to –“
“To run away. To flee battle,” said Lambert. “Like a coward.”
The Captain raised his chin. “You fled your comrades, you hid, and then you took the opportunity to kill Robby.” He leaned forwards and examined Jimmy like a bug. “Not only kill him, it seems, but bathe in his blood.”
“No! I didn’t – I mean, I did decide to use his blood to cover myself, but that’s because –“
“I’ve heard enough.” The Captain turned to Lambert. “Tie him up with the pirates. Keep him in the hold till we reach Port St. Lucie, and then we’ll hand him over to the authorities.”
Jimmy shook his head, unable to keep abreast with how quickly events were developing. “No! You don’t understand! Please, listen!”
Lambert turned and cracked Jimmy across the face. Jimmy stumbled, eyes filling with water, vision blurring for a second.
“Tie him up,” he heard Lambert say, “He’s worse than the bloody pirates.”
Copyright 2007 Philip Tucker
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