A young midshipman is given command of a prize, but runs afoul of a pirate ship while sailing toward Nassau port. The captured Navy crew is taken to Tortuga, where they are placed on "trial" for crimes against pirates. Original characters for now, but there will be some familiar faces appearing in later chapters.
None of the characters that appeared in the two Pirates of the Caribbean movies are mine, but the property of Disney, et al. No profit is being made off this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
Thanks to Hildwyn for the plot idea. Cheers, Alia.
It had been almost child's play to overtake the smuggler, when the ship had been spotted just after the forenoon watch had gone below. A tremor of excitement had seized Dauntless' crew when the order to beat to quarters had been given. Men dashed to their appointed stations as the marine drummer boy hammered away at his drum. The nimbler sloop attempted to run, but Dauntless had come across her with the wind in the second-rate's favour. After a brief exchange of cannon fire, which ended in the sloop's rudder being handily shot away, the smuggler surrendered and received a boarding party. Seven sailors, three marines, and a midshipman were a fitting prize-crew for a sloop of Swift's size and thus men were assembled to fill out the crew.
James Slater had nearly wet himself with joy when he was given command of the captured sloop and her prize-crew. It was his first command of any sort. He'd danced in the midshipmen's mess when he'd gone below to gather his boat-cloak and dirk. The other midshipmen had glowered at him, jealous that the youngest midshipman was chosen over the rest of them to sail a prize to the nearest friendly port. Even the normally unflappable Midshipman Quinn had coloured with indignation when the news was announced. Slater was too involved with preparing for his task to care about the other middies' slighted pride, and he went aboard the captured sloop barely an hour after receiving his orders and the requisite materials for successful navigation.
The sailors and marines who made up the prize-crew were already assembled near the larboard midships rail, waiting for the jollyboat to be rowed back across from the sloop. Slater joined them, nodding at their salutes, an amiable smile lighting up his face. He was excited, barely able to contain his eagerness to get aboard the sloop. Colburn the boatswain's mate lifted a bushy eyebrow as the midshipman rocked back and forth on his heels but said nothing. Without a doubt he'd end up in charge of managing the sloop while the young middie helped himself to the smuggler captain's spirits. It had happened before and was too likely to happen again.
"Give way together, lads," Colburn called out as he settled into the jollyboat, at his customary seat by the tiller. He was the last one aboard, having waited until the marines had clambered down the side-ladder with their muskets. The younger sailors might be anxious to get their grubby hands onto whatever treasures were aboard the sloop, but Colburn had long ago found more satisfaction in safely arriving at a safe port with a prize ship and receiving the bounty that was due him. Besides, he was getting just a tad too old to enjoy the same things as the younger sailors.
Mister Slater fairly sprang up the captured sloop's side-ladder when the jollyboat hooked on, peering about at the main deck with a young man's hungry interest. The sailors and marines were not long in joining him there, but their first concern was not taking in the sight of the messy main deck, but rather the quick rounding up of the sloop's crew. Apparently the smuggler captain had decided it best to attempt tossing overboard as much of his ill-gotten cargo as he could, before the prize-crew came aboard.
"Get 'way from there, you!" Williams snarled, shoving a smuggler back from a crate he was about to heave over the side. The smuggler glared unhappily at Williams but obeyed, taking note of the primed pistol that the able seaman had shoved into his face.
"What d'ya want us t'do with 'em, sir?" Colburn asked Midshipman Slater, eyeing the mess of ropes and cargo littering the deck. It would have to be cleaned up before the crew could make sail.
"Er... gather the lot of them up and get them under guard up forrard. Then get this..." Slater waved his hand at the mess on the deck. "Cleaned up. I'm going aft." So saying, the midshipman hurried toward the smuggler captain's cabin, there to search for the man's maps and charts. Shaking his head, Colburn sucked in a breath and exercised his leather-like lungs.
"Get 'em forrard, Corporal, an' into irons if there's any. The rest o' ya, get this rubbish off the deck. We ain't a-goin' no place with a deck lookin' like the bloody mornin' after!"
Feet scampered over the deck as the seamen hurried to their work. Colburn leaned against the larboard rail and watched the three marines shoving and cursing the smuggler crew toward the foc's'le, using their musket butts once or twice when a man curled his lip too much. A grin came onto the boatswain's mate's face. He generally ignored the marines, but their manner of doing business was one he agreed with.
"Nearly cleared away, Colburn," Williams called out, coiling a rope around a belaying pin and tying the end off smartly. The other seamen were lugging the last of the crates and barrels below. Williams' mate Donahue paused after re-emerging on deck to peer up into the rigging.
"Looks half a mess up there, don't it?"
Colburn shaded his eyes against the sun as he looked skyward and saw that the carpenter's mate was correct. The smuggler crew were sloppy at keeping their sails and yards in order, apparently. Bloody wonderful. Another delay to their getting under way. "Robbins, Taylor, an' Byrne, get aloft an' take in that topsail proper. Donahue, do what ya can fer the rudder. Ya other two, get on those halyards an' sort 'em out. We'll get this bloody ship sail-worthy 'fore dusk, or ain't none o' ya gettin' yer share o' the prize money!"
Slater heard the calls and the activity from the smuggler captain's cabin, but he hardly paid the noise any mind. His attention was absorbed with attempting to discern the scratchings that covered the only map he was able to find. The sloop's captain was a careless navigator, it seemed. Sighing, Slater unrolled the map he had brought with him and set about the task of working out a course to the nearest port.
"Steady now, lads, this sloop ain't as steady as ol' Dauntless! Heave those lines tight an' lash 'em down proper. You there, Donahue, quit yer lolly-gaggin' an' put yer hands to some work!"
Colburn's voice rang out loudly, as audible as if he were standing in the cabin with Slater. Feet thumped over the deck above his head as the sailors bent their backs to their tasks, struggling to wrestle the wayward ropes into submission. It was a job for twice the seamen who were aboard, but only ten men had been allowed for the prize-crew. It didn't help that the red-coats were preoccupied with guarding the sloop's original crew on the foc's'le, keeping the sullen-faced men from interfering with the Navy seamen. Slater had heard those commands and knew what was taking place without returning on deck to see. It was common enough procedure, or so he had been told by the older midshipmen.
Another sigh rippled past his lips. It appeared that their only choice of friendly port was Nassau. At least two days' sail from their current position. Marvellous. Slater re-plotted their course, just to be sure he had worked it out correctly. He had. One of his strong suits was at maps and charts, after all. It wasn't likely he would make an error, not when it was important that his plotting be correct. He picked up his hat. They wouldn't get to Nassau if he remained bent over that bloody map with a quill in his hand.
"Are we ready to sail, Mister Colburn?"
"Aye sir, nearly so. Jus' a last bit o' cleanin' up left. Rudder's been repaired best we can manage. Donahue says it'll hold up 'til we make port."
Slater nodded. "Take the helm, if you please. Our course is due nor'west."
The boatswain's mate paused, both eyebrows drawing together quizzically. "Nor'west, sir? To Nassau?"
"To Nassau, Mister Colburn," Slater replied, not quite able to conceal his surprise that the man had been able to guess their destination. He put it down to the boatswain's mate's experience, rather than his own inability to mask his thoughts, which somehow manifested themselves as expressions upon his youthful face. Colburn knuckled his brow and set about bawling out orders to the crew, sending them scurrying up the shrouds. Canvas rustled noisily as it was cast free from the yardarms, and the sloop tilted slightly as she came around onto her new heading. Slater's chest swelled a fraction as he observed the activity, pleased that, thus far, he had not managed to bungle anything.
Clasping his hands behind his back and striding toward the taffrail, the midshipman scanned the horizon for any sign of Dauntless, but the mighty second-rate had long since sailed off in search of other prey. He was on his own.