As we returned under way The Black March was reduced to half sail to keep from out pacing the Crimson Wraith. With only our suspicious Commodore knowing the way Captain Williamson, current Captain of the Black March, was forced to follow the larger vessel. The winds tore at what little canvas we had amast and the vessel still hauled, pulling towards the lumbering scrap heap of the Crimson Wraith. The gargantuan vessel churned the water as it pulled ahead. Its draft was so deep that it created a wake that rolled the Black March about on the sea.
Some of the crew members talked at length of the idea of having Captain Williamson as a Commodore, instead of the possibly insane Mackett. This discussion was cut short by a telling of the tale of Regulous’s hanging. Not wishing to be a model of the traitorous dogs from the tale the crew started anew on the merit of various bar-wenches from back home. A much nobler topic if ever there was one. I personally regaled the crew with a tale of Molly the Red from Tortuga herself. A finer lass there never was. The crew drank deeply from there cups with every story.
The tales went long in to the day as the Black March held its heading with the Crimson Wraith. The lead vessel cranked softly to port as we ventured further to open waters. The island was supposedly a mere day away and the crew was restless as many had not been with Mackett for the duration of his mad search and for them this was easy wealth and everlasting life. The Black March held its heading and I, in my ever adventurous nature, decided that towards the end of the day I would take a nap in the rigging nets. A refreshing nap in the soothing sea air was all a man needed to be fresh and vigorous for a nights work.