They were finished. While trying to escape the British naval ship trailing them, Captain Flint looked at the burgeoning storm on the horizon, the black clouds twisting and folding on themselves, and decided this was their only chance. He knew this would be a fatal decision for many in the crew, even himself if he were to admit it, but as pirates, already considered rejected members of society, the idea of being dragged back and hung on a noose in front of the hypocritical British snobs would haunt him long into the afterlife. With the decision made, he commanded the crew steer the ship into the ferocious tempest.
It was worse than he imagined. The winds ripped chunks off the ship and sliced through the sails like butter knives. Like the mythical Kraken emerging, the roiling sea leaped up the sides of the ship before crashing on the helpless vessel. It rocked and battered the ship, launching crew members to aquatic graves. Angry waves lashed Flint's body, bludgeoning him like a helpless slave disobedient to his master. Flint could barely cling to the ropes that slowly singed his hands. He pried open his eyes and saw only one solution: cut the mast that anchored the ship to its death. He paused at the sight of crew members holding on the mast, heeding his directions to maintain course.
Sacrifices have always been necessary, but painful, for the survival of a crew. All pirates knew that. Resolved in his decision, he grabbed the ax and began amputating the mast, preparing the crew members for death. The cacophony of waves and wind blocked the screams of the terrified men, who foresaw their deaths. Yes, every pirate understood the consequences of their lifestyle - either die at sea, in a battle, by a bullet, or at the gallows. An arrest by the British meant certain death, swinging from a rope, under the cheering and mockery of spectators. He could think of far more painful ways of death that were less humiliating.
His ax came down one last time, severing the wooden mast from the ship. The wind ripped the sail, sending the screaming men into the swirling abyss. Despite the resolute determination etched on his face, a twinge of remorse pierced his soul. Those men were good pirates, loyal to the cause. But it had to be done...to save the others. As the waves battered and bruised the ship, Flint gripped the helm of the ship, anchored himself to it, and held on as the waves dashed the sides of the ship. With one last blast, the waves pushed the ship off its course into a calmer path.
