You ever come up with a title and then the whole story immediately writes itself?

Also a quick note; there's a lot of 'f's' in the first paragraph that are actually 's's'. This is an archaic character called the 'long s.' It's what I have to read all the time as a history major, so now you have to too.

09/10/20: Sea Dogs

23rd February, the Year of our Lord 1590

It hath been thirty days fince we hath last fighted civilifation, and our provifions hath thus run periloufly lowe. We hath had no fighting of thee Queene Mathilda fince the ftorm that did befoul us Mondaye laft and fear they hath gone to meet their Lorde above.

The fickenefs that hath befallen our wretched companye grows fteadily worfe bye the daye. The boatfwaine was ftricken and had to be locked in the holde with the other poor fouls. Manye others fhow figns of this foule disease, and I feare we fhall all be laide lowe before we reached land.

No more do we care for golde or plunder; onlee to furvive this godforfaken ofean and fee our beloved England again. I feare the devil will take us fhortly, if we do not find fafe harbour soone. Even the companye of the heretic Spaniard would be better than this hell.

I feare my writings may never be feen, and yet I mufte write. I mufte occupy my thoughts, left I give in to the temptafions of madnefs.

If this unhappye galleon be found adrift, and my journal be fo found, pleafe heede my warning; do not stay on thise accurfed ship, but faile away, lest ye be gtruck down bye our terrible curfe.

The old, rotting galleon floated aimlessly in the distant fog. Lieutenant-Commanding Steven Q. Universe RN gazed through his spyglass, a chill running up his spine as he beheld the ragged, faded flag on the stern, the red cross and white background that detonated England. The sails had been torn away by the ravages of time, and naught remained but worm-eaten timbers.

"Must be an old sea dog, captain," mused Lieutenant Sadie Miller, "but what's it doing out here?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," replied Steven. "I was always told they raided the Caribbean, not the Pacific."

He lowered his spyglass.

"Do we go aboard?" he asked.

"There could be something useful aboard," replied Sadie. "Although it doesn't look especially… seaworthy."

Steven nodded.

"Lieutenant Maheswaran!" he called.

The commander of the ship's marines, Connie Maheswaran, stepped out of the fog to his side.

"Captain?"

"Take a small party aboard," he ordered. "If you see anything suspicious, get out immediately."

"Aye, captain!"

She walked away to gather the boarding party.

Steven turned to Sadie.

"Keep her close, Ms. Miller," he ordered. "I want to be ready to pick them up and leave at a moment's notice."

"Of course, captain."

The jollyboat gently came alongside the galleon, and Connie regarded the worm ropes up the hull. She reached up and tugged hard – it didn't give way.

"Follow me," she whispered.

"Ma'am, I can go first…" one of the marines began to say.

"Don't be silly, private," replied Connie. "I'll go first. It's hardly a long drop anyway."

Carefully, she climbed up – the ship stank of damp, rotten wood, and she could see the barnacles under the hull when it swayed. Before long, she had climbed onto the deck.

She let out a long hmm.

The deck was empty – there were no barrels, no crates, nor the grim signs of men long passed. It was as if a mighty hand had swept the surface of clutter, while somehow keeping the masts intact. The wheel, up on the quarterdeck, was cracked and broken, but otherwise it looked almost unharmed.

Except… the hatches, down into the hull, and the door to the captain's quarters – they were barricaded with strong wood and irons.

"How very peculiar."

Connie turned. The bo'sun, Peedee Fryman, was regarding the strange sight of the deck as behind him, the sailors and marines helped each other up.

"Shall we check the cabin first?" asked Connie.

Peedee nodded, clutching the large axe he had been given. The party crept up the deck, wary eyes glancing up towards the masts and the crows' nest. Connie half expected some pirate to burst out, laughing at them having foolishly fallen into his trap, but nothing happened.

With a loud thud, Peedee brought the axe down. The wood, old and rotten, fell away, and the door creaked open on its own accord.

There was the cabin of an Elizabethan sea dog, a faded portrait of Good Queen Bess on the wall. Charts lay everywhere, as did a globe, and by the window lay the skeleton of a captain, a pistol held in bony hands.

"Well, I suppose we've found the captain," said Peedee dryly. "Shall I gather the charts?"

"You shall, Mr. Fryman," replied Connie. "Let's get into the hold."

She turned and walked back outside. Two of the sailors had cleared the wood from one of the hatches, and were preparing to lift it up, a marine standing by with his musket.

"Permission to lift, ma'am?" one of the sailors asked.

"Granted."

"Right, let's get this…"

The sailors lifted, but suddenly the hatch sprung right up.

"Jesus, Joseph and Mary!"

Bang!

Connie didn't get a chance to see what had done it, but the sailor fell back, clutching his wrist, and the marine fired his musket. Something tumbled back into the darkness.

"That were a dog!" exclaimed the sailor. "I thought they plundered gold, not dogs!"

"That weren't no bloody dog!" cried the soldier. "It were on it's hind legs! And eyes as red as fire, so it were!"

Connie shook her head.

"Come on, marine, don't let yourself be spooked by-"

The head burst up again, furry and wild-eyed, its jaws slathering as it lunged towards the boarding party. Swiftly, the uninjured sailor grabbed the hatch and made to slam it closed, but exposed himself for just a second to the beast, and a giant, furry, clawed hand – not a paw, a hand – clutched his ankle. He yelped as he was tugged down the hatch.

"Grab him!" shouted Connie.

The injured sailor reached for him with his good hand, but it was too late. The unfortunate fellow disappeared into the darkness, and the sound of barking and growling filled the air. There was a sharp screech from the sailor, the sound of something wet ripping…

Slam!

The marine slammed the hatch down, and the sound was muffled.

"What happened?!" Peedee was here now, his eyes wide.

For a long time, Connie stared at the hatch in stunned silence.

"We're getting off this ship," she said at last. "It needs to go to the bottom. Now."

"This is the devil's work," muttered the sailor. "Make no mistake."

Connie couldn't at all disagree.

Darkness was falling as the cannons spoke, tearing holes in the waterline of this cursed galleon. Connie nodded in grim satisfaction as it began to list, slowly capsizing – it could be claimed by the sea. There was no value within it.

"I don't like condemning living creatures to the deep," said Steven. "Not without giving them a chance to fight back, at least."

"It's for the best, captain," said Connie.

Steven pursed his lips. "I hope so."

"Captain Universe."

Midshipman Jeff Briggs jogged up behind his captain, and briskly saluted. Steven returned the gesture.

"The surgeon sends his compliments and wishes to inform you that he'll be able to stitch up out man quite easily," said Jeff.

"Thank you, Mr. Briggs."

Steven looked up at the darkening sky. The fog was lifting, and he could just about see the moon starting to appear.

"Full moon tonight, Ms. Maheswaran," he said.

Connie swallowed. For the briefest moment, she'd felt the strangest pang of dread.

"Aye, captain," she replied. "So it is."