Chapter 15
That night, the pirates voted on the fate of the French captain. Surprisingly, they decided to let him live. John thought the man was a goner for sure. Instead of execution, the pirates had chosen twenty lashes with the cat o' nine tails.
After breakfast the next morning, the captain of the St. Michael was brought up from the brig, stinking of bilge water. The stench was enough to make John gag, even from the height of the navigation deck. John held his hands over his nose and mouth, trying to block out the rotten smell of dead fish that clung to the man.
Hendrick and Mr. Noland ripped the wet, dirty shirt from the ill-fated captain, exposing his tanned back. They tied his arms around the mainmast so his back faced the crowd. When they finished, they stepped away and waited for the fearsome Boatswain to step forward.
The Boatswain was standing in the open doorway of the captain's cabin, wearing only a pair of canvas knee breeches, his muscular chest oily with sweat. He smiled an evil grin as he reached for the cat o' nine tails above the captain's door; the muscles of his chest stretched and bulged as he brought it down from its perch. He ran the nine leather thongs through the palm of his massive hand, inspecting the whip for wear as a smile of satisfaction crept across his lips. John could tell the man loved his job, which was as good motivation as any to behave according to the code; otherwise he'd have this mammoth man to contend with.
When the boatswain was satisfied the whip was still in good working order, he approached the bare back of the French captain with sure, heavy strides, raising the thongs of the whip over his shoulder as he marched forward. He wasted no time. He stopped suddenly, only a few feet from the French captain, and brought the whip's lashes down on the man's bare skin.
The leather lashes struck hard, breaking the skin instantly with a sickening crack. Yelping in pain, the French captain pressed his face into the wood of the mainmast and clenched his teeth.
The boatswain struck the man over and over again, barely allowing him to catch a breath between screams of agony. With every blow, the pirates cheered. John cheered too, at first, but after the first ten blows the man began to whimper and cry, and John was reminded of that terrible day when his mother had struck him after she had lost her temper. Unwelcome tears stung his eyes as he relived his moment of humiliation. Everyone had been watching that day too.
John turned away and focused on the calm Caribbean Ocean, not only to block out the whipping, but also to hide his tears from Black Sam. The pirate captain stood beside John, close enough to know that John was overcome with emotion, but he didn't seem to notice.
The French captain cried out a few more times, and then suddenly it was over. John forced his eyes back to the scene and witnessed the horrible, bloody mess that was now the French captain's back. He knew the man would be scarred for life, just as the cook from the Bonetta had been. The thought made John wonder how many more men out there had suffered this same fate.
The French captain's head rolled back as Hendrick and Mr. Noland untied him, bringing John to the realization that the captain had most likely passed out. The two men dragged the French captain to his ship and threw him face first on her deck. Then they returned, and pulled the gangplanks back onto the Sultana.
"No! I won't go," yelled a man from within the crowd of pirates. "Ye can't force me."
John looked into the crowd of pirates that had swarmed over the deck of the Sultana to witness the whipping, and realized there were some new faces among them. John assumed that they were new recruits brought over from the St. Michael.
"Who's that?" Black Sam asked.
"'Tis Thomas Davis," Hendrick replied with a sneer. "He's a lily-livered sprog."
"An' what skill does he have?" the pirate captain asked.
"He's a carpenter," Hendrick answered.
"Well then, Mr. Davis, I can an' I will force ye. We're in desperate need of sprogs of yer caliber," Black Sam said.
"I refuse," Davis said stubbornly.
"Would ye then prefer to visit Davy Jones' Locker?" Hendrick growled. The formidable first mate gripped the golden handle of his cutlass and smiled the most terrifying grin John had ever seen. Hendrick's unusually white teeth flashed in the sunlight, contrasting starkly with his mahogany skin.
Hendrick's threatening smile silenced the new recruit. All the red drained from Thomas's flushed cheeks in an instant. John looked to the captain with eyes wide with surprise. Surely he wouldn't allow a man to be killed just because he didn't want to be a pirate. That was slavery, forcing a man to work against his will. And wouldn't that go against what Black Sam stood for, he wondered.
"I'll use yer services fer a few weeks an' then I'll let ye go," Black Sam promised.
John let out a sigh of relief. But there was an angry commotion from the pirates on deck. It quickly became apparent that they disagreed with their captain in this matter. The corners of Black Sam's lips curved downward as he pressed his mouth together. John guessed that the captain would have to take back his promise when his crew voted against his decision.
"Let's not dwell on this issue. I say, we land, so we can drink an' eat our fill. Our latest prize was loaded to the gunwales with fresh, prime beef, an' we shall not let it go to waste," Black Sam declared.
A great cheer rose up from the men. It was clear they were eager to have some shore leave. John was excited about the prospect as well. It had been at least a month since he left his home island of Antigua, and he was beginning to miss the feel of land under his feet.
"To yer stations! Jibe-ho! Helmsman, set a course due south. We're bound for Blanquilla Island. Luff and touch her! I want to see coastline by the end of the day," Black Sam bellowed.
The helmsman began to steer the Sultana in a wide circle that would bring the vessel about from a northerly direction to a southbound position. As the Sultana changed her course, the pirates on deck hurried to obey their captain, adjusting the sails so they would catch the wind.
When the Sultana had finally come around and was heading in her proper direction, the captain yelled, "Let go and haul!" Then he left the operation of the Sultana to his crew and descended the navigation ladder to return to his quarters.
"Escort our latest recruit to the common room, and show him where to bunk," Black Sam said to his quartermaster.
"We'll be needin' yer services shortly, Mr. Davis. Standby 'til then," Black Sam ordered as he opened the door to his quarters and disappeared into the dark cabin.
John watched the quartermaster as he took Thomas Davis by the arm, escorting him below deck. The man looked as forlorn as any captured slave. John knew that look well. He had seen it many times at his father's plantation. But just as in the past, he could do nothing for the man, so he followed the captain.
"Ah, John thar ye be. My spirits need liftin'," Black Sam said as he placed the heels of his black-polished leather boots on the table.
John hurried to fill the captain's chalice with grog before he could do it himself.
"Sit an' have a cup with me lad," Black Sam urged as he filled his pipe with tobacco and lit its contents with a match.
John poured a cup for himself and sat on the chair facing the captain.
"'Tis a dark day," the captain said, rubbing his handsome, tanned face. His eyes were swollen with fatigue.
"Because you forced a man into piracy?" John wondered out loud.
"Aye," Black Sam agreed.
"But you promised to let him go," John added.
"Aye I did, but m' men will override that decision," Black Sam said.
"Why?"
"He's a carpenter, an' we are in desperate need of that type of tradesman."
"So what's the difference between forced piracy and slavery?" John asked.
"A sprog that's been forced to join the 'sweet trade' still gets paid. Slaves don't," Black Sam explained.
"Oh," John took a sip of grog, and made a face of disgust. He had forgotten to sweeten it.
The captain smiled and pu
shed the sugar bowl towards John with his knife.
"What's a sprog?"
"An untrained recruit," Black Sam answered.
"So what will happen to Mr. Davis?" John asked as he added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the liquid in his cup.
"Most likely, when it comes time to let him go, m' crew will vote to keep him. Then he'll have to stay 'til we find another carpenter to replace him."
"But what if he refuses to work?"
"Then he'll be visiting Davy Jones' Locker just as Hendrick promised," Black Sam explained.
"You'd have a man killed for not wanting to be a pirate?" John asked.
"'Tis up to the men, I'm one against many."
"Where's Davy Jones' Locker?"
"At the bottom of the ocean," Black Sam replied solemnly.
"Do all pirates go there when they die?" John asked.
"Nay, only lazy pirates are bound fer Davy Jones' Locker. The good ones who have served a hard-life go to Fiddler's Green," Black Sam said. He slowly sipped his grog and watched John over the rim of his cup, a thick cloud of smoke hovered over his head like a hellish halo.
"So what's the difference?" John asked.
"Davy Jones presides over yer bloated corpse at the bottom of the sea where crabs an' fish nibble the rottin' flesh off yer bones. Fiddler's Green is a place where there's always jolly music, a sailor can kick up his heels, drink as much rum as he likes, an' smoke as much tobacco as he wants," Black Sam explained.
"Oh," John said, sounding disappointed. Neither option sounded very appealing.
"Does that notion offend ye?" Black Sam inquired.
"No, why would it?"
Black Sam shrugged, "Some folks are more inclined to lean towards more conventional beliefs."
"I just don't think Fiddler's Green sounds like much fun."
"Hmm … well then, what'd be yer notion of a fun afterlife?"
John thought about it, and decided that he didn't like the thought of an afterlife at all. In fact, he preferred not to think about such things. But instead of voicing his opinion he shrugged and said, "Don't know. I suppose I haven't thought about it."
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.
"Thar's the lunch bell," Black Sam said, and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. "When ye fetch lunch, ask the ship's surgeon fer some of his willow bark powder."
"Aye, aye captain," John said as he rose from the table. He quickly went about his duties, fetching lunch in the galley. The ship's surgeon was in the common room eating his lunch, so John had no trouble tracking the man down.
"The captain has a headache," John announced as he stopped beside the surgeon's table.
Dr. James Ferguson looked up from his bowl of soup, appearing startled. "Tell him I'll be up to see him shortly. I hear he had a brush with death yesterday."
John nodded. He rather liked the doctor, the man reminded him of his uncle. They both had the same kind of reddish brown hair and pale, freckly skin. The difference was the doctor wore round, gold-rimmed glasses underneath his great bushy eyebrows.
"An' I hear yer the one that saved him," the man's hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. "Jus' think of where he'd be now if ye weren't on board."
John smiled. "I did what I had to."
"Of course ye did. We'd all do the same in a heartbeat. The capt'n is well liked among the crew. Run along lad. I'll be up shortly."
John left the doctor to finish his meal and brought the captain his. They ate together in silence, on account of the captain's growing headache. The doctor came not long after John had left to do the washing. When John came back, the captain was laying in bed while the doctor felt his pulse.
After counting out the captain's heart-beat, the doctor passed a candle over the captain's face. Its bright light transformed the captain's vivid blue eyes into sparkling sapphires.
The doctor stood up, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.
"Don't worry lad, he'll be fine. It seems he has a slight head injury from when he and the French man slammed their heads together."
"It was a head butt," the captain corrected.
"Hmmm … in any case ye need rest. I don't want to see ye up an' about fer the rest of the afternoon," the doctor warned.
"Aye doctor," Black Sam agreed. "I'll have me a wee rest. John, ye can have the rest of the afternoon off to do what ye like," the captain said as he placed his tricorn hat over his face.
"Aye, aye captain," John said as he closed the curtains.
The doctor left, quietly closing the door behind him. John stayed, and watched the captain for a moment, not wanting to go. But after a moment, he did as the captain ordered, and left just as quietly as the doctor had.
Out on the deck, the sweltering afternoon sun took all motivation away. John stood by the door blinking. He was at a loss. He hadn't had a whole afternoon to himself in over a week, and wasn't sure what to do with himself.
Finally, he wandered up to the navigation deck and hung his arms over the railing. After watching the waves and clouds for what seemed like an eternity, he turned to John Julian.
"Are we there yet?" he asked.
The helmsman turned to John, giving him a sharp look. It was obvious that they weren't at their destination yet, so the man shook his head slowly, as if to say don't bother me, little boy. John was unfazed by the man's agitated glare.
"How long will it take to get there?" he asked again.
The helmsman sighed, but chose to take up the conversation.
"If the wind holds, we should make land fall before the sun sets," he answered.
"Oh," John said, wondering what he was going to do until then.
"Why don't ye go below deck and watch the quartermaster divvy up the prize? He's supposed to be doing that this afternoon."
John eyed the helmsman suspiciously. He suspected that the man was just trying to get rid of him. But John took his advice, and ventured down to the common room, where a crowd of pirates had gathered.
The quartermaster had already started calling out names and handing out pilfered items from the St. Michael. There wasn't much left, only a few clothes, some bandannas, handkerchiefs, and a black tricorn hat. John's eyes fell on the hat. It looked smaller than most. Maybe it would fit me, John thought.
But John knew he had no chance of acquiring the hat. There were at least a hundred men ahead of him on the list. The only way he would be called was if their next prize had plenty to go around. John decided to stay, and see if anyone chose the hat. Perhaps no one would on account of its size.
A tall man was called next. John recognized him as the man who had stood guard over the Bonetta's hatchway. John remembered the man fondly, even though he hadn't been friendly at first. He did eventually turn a blind eye to John's trips to see the captain and even encouraged him a little in the end.
The man picked up the hat and turned it over to look inside. Then, he tried the hat on. Sure enough, it was too small for his head. He threw the hat down on the floor and picked up a red handkerchief instead.
John watched as the man walked back into the crowd to stand with his friend, the short, fat pirate wearing a black waistcoat, a silk shirt, and white knee breeches. John recognized him as the other pirate who had been guarding the hatchway. John had never bothered to learn either of their names. There were at least one hundred and fifty men on board the Sultana, too many to remember them all. The tall pirate looked John's way, making eye contact.
John looked away and focused on the quartermaster as he called another name from the list. It sounded like Gary or Larry. The short pirate began to move towards the loot, but the tall pirate stopped him and whispered something in his ear. Both men looked at John, then the short pirate began making his way to the quartermaster.
Larry, or Garry, or whatever his name was said something quietly to Richard, and then both men looked at John. John felt a prickle of anxiety crawl up his spine. Are they talking about me? he wondered.
; The quartermaster shook his head and indicated that the man should choose something from the looted items. The short pirate picked up the hat, brushed it off, and tried it on. It didn't fit him either, but he chose to keep it. He walked back to his friend and they began a lively discussion.
Why would someone take something if it didn't fit him? John wondered, feeling annoyed. Perhaps he should try trading something for the hat, he thought. But he knew he had nothing of equal value that he wanted to give up. The men started walking away from the crowd and were soon lost behind a wall of pirates.
John watched the quartermaster divvy up the prize until there was nothing left. The crowd had already begun to disperse long before that happened. John only stayed to ease his boredom. He turned to go and nearly bumped into the large belly of the man standing directly behind him.
"Excuse me," John said, not bothering to look up at the man's face as he stepped around.
"We saved this fer ye," the man said grabbing John by the arm.
John looked up and realized it was the man who had taken the hat. He was so shocked to see that the item he wanted was right before his nose, he didn't know what to say.
"Let's see if it fits," the man said, plopping the hat on John's head. The hat's brim sunk over John's head, flattening his hair over his eyes.
"Thanks," John said, pushing his hair to the side with his fingertips.
"It wouldn't have fit any of us anyways," the man said. "Besides, ye deserve it fer yer show of bravery yesterday."
The tall man stepped forward, clapping John on the shoulder. "Aye, good show, I've never seen anything like that from a lad of yer age. Where does all yer fire come from?"
John shrugged. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by their compliments.
"Aye, we're all very impressed with ye, John King," the short pirate said. He grabbed John by the hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I'm Larry, an' this is m' associate Barry," he said, pointing with his thumb at the tall man grinning like an idiot, his mouth full of rotting teeth.
John nodded, trying not to grimace as he looked into Barry's mouth. He was reminded of the description of scurvy that the cook back on the Bonetta had spoken of. John hoped that he'd never be afflicted by the disease.
"It's good to finally learn your names," he said politely. He still couldn't believe he had just been given the hat he wanted. It was as if all the items on his list were just coming to him, and the hat fit just as if it were made for him. It must be a sign that I'm meant to be a pirate, John thought.
"We were just about to sit down to a game of Talonmaria. Would ye like to join us?" Barry asked as he wrapped his arm around John's shoulders, not allowing him the chance to say no and escorting him to a back table.
Even though John was unfamiliar with the game, he decided to stay and learn. He had time to kill, and these two pirates seemed eager to befriend him. Larry grabbed three stools and set them down. John sat down, and waited for the men to make themselves comfortable.
Barry produced a ratty deck of cards out of his waistcoat pocket and began dealing each player a hand. As he set out the cards, he explained the rules. John didn't understand the directions at first, but knew from experience with other games that he would learn as the game progressed.
Time went by quickly as one game turned into another and another. John caught on quickly, and he even managed to win a few rounds. Before he knew it, the dinner bell was being rung. John quickly stood up, feeling guilty for not thinking of the captain sooner. He thanked the two men and hurried up to the captain's quarters to check on Black Sam.
The doctor was just leaving the cabin. "He's still resting. Don't wake him. I've given him medicine that will help him sleep," the doctor instructed.
John nodded, feeling dispirited. He wasn't used to eating without the captain. He retrieved his meal from the galley and ate alone on the deck, watching for signs of the island they were heading for. But by the time he finished his dinner, the ocean was still empty, with no sign of an island anywhere. John scanned the horizon and noticed the faintest hint of fog far off in the distance.
"Land ho!" the cry came down from the crow's nest.
John felt his heart leap against his chest. He stood up and tried to spot the land. Far off in the distance, there was a faint glimmer of golden sand illuminated by the setting sun.