The sea lay calm and the midday sun sizzled on the deck of a small brig. It had not been long since the crew had cast off, and so the ship's boy was still busy arranging the ropes and rolling them up again neatly, so that they would not hinder anyone during the journey. The wind blew his brown curls behind his ears. Taking a deep, pleasurable breath, he briefly let his eyes glide over the expanse of the open sea in anticipation. Looking at the turquoise water, he remembered how an old wise lady had once looked at him at a carnival in the city. Looking at his sea-green eyes, she had prophesied that his heart and soul were intertwined with the ocean in a very special, profound way. At the time, his mother had not wanted to hear about it and had unceremoniously pulled him away from the grandmother. He himself had continued to look after her in amazement until his mother admonished him. For some time he had dismissed the woman's words as nonsense and repressed them, even though he had always felt in his innermost being a longing for the freedom of the ocean. At that time, he would never have dared to assume that he would one day really live on a ship. During his childhood, which he had spent in the slums of the city, with usually no more than a dry loaf of bread a day, everything that went in such directions had been dismissed as the fantasy of a little boy with too much imagination. But now, he realised, the fortune teller of yesteryear had been right. There was nowhere he felt more at ease than here on the deck of a ship.
Thinking about his tasks again, the ship's boy quickly put the last ropes in order and then hurried to the mop and bucket he had prepared earlier and began to clean up the deck. He gave the salty spray no chance to harm the ship. No matter how well a ship was built, if it was not appreciated and cared for, it would quickly become less useful than the simplest nutshell. He had quickly realised this and thus learned to value his own task among the old sailors. No matter how small a cog in the clockwork he might be, without his work the foundation on which everything else was built would be shaky and unstable. In addition, the work on this ship was well paid and he was not a burden to his mother. No, he could even help her, since she never had much money and spent what little she brought home on his two younger siblings. By hiring himself out as a ship's boy, he was able to kill two birds with one stone. On the one hand his longing for the sea and on the other hand his family's lack of money.
He allowed himself a short break and sat down on one of the loaded barrels, which took up half the deck and were firmly lashed together with a net. With his right forearm he wiped the sweat from his forehead and then turned his face towards the sun. Breathing in the salty sea air, he let out a contented sigh. He always tried to give the captain and his men the best possible assistance and his tireless efforts were quickly recognised with great goodwill. Before him, two other ship's boys had tried their luck, both older and stronger than he was, but still they had not lasted long on deck. One of them had been too sick at sea and the other had simply been a slacker. The captain had eyed him with scepticism when he had approached him with the request to go to sea, but had finally agreed for lack of other applicants for the vacant position on his ship. Since then, he had done everything he could to seize this opportunity and prove to everyone on board that he was exactly the right person for this task and life at sea. All his hard work and diligence had made the initial doubts and the amused glances, but also the hurtful jibes that the sailors had lightly given, fade away in no time. After about three years, he was a full-fledged member of the crew. The jokes that fell here and there, which were at his expense because of his still rather slight figure, were now laughed at together or he countered them with shrewd answers that made the lighter heads among the crew realise that there was a young lad among them who had by no means fallen on his head. He loved the sea and he loved ships. Every time he saw one appear on the horizon, he would not let it out of his sight until he had internalised every little detail. In his imagination and every night in his dreams, he was the captain of the best and most beautiful sailing ship on all seven seas. Every time he got hold of a new specimen, his dream ship changed a little, depending on which new wonderful details he had found. Even now, in his little self-imposed break, he was lucky enough to spot a three-master in the distance. His eyes widened in amazement, he had never seen a ship that came so close to his dreams. The ship seemed to have sprung straight from his imagination. His sea-green eyes sparkled with admiration. He was greatly annoyed that he did not carry his sketchpad with him. A good friend among the sailors had brought it along with a box of charcoal pencils for him from a shore leave, after he had spent some time observing how intensively his little comrade examined the ships in order to keep them in his mind for as long as possible. Since then he had practised a lot and the initial scribbles became more and more small works of art that were in no way inferior to their models.
"Well, have you found another one to add to your fleet?" this sailor teased him at that very moment.
"Yes, over there. Look, what a breathtakingly beautiful ship!" he vented his enthusiasm.
"You really have eyes like an eagle. That's just a dot on the horizon," the sailor said, as he in turn tried to make out more in the distance with narrowed eyes.
"I have to agree with you, she really is a beauty," the sailor agreed with him when he had scrutinised the ship and lowered the binoculars again. "They seem to be crossing our path, you should hurry up and get your sketch pad, then you can add her to your collection," he encouraged him to leave his work a while longer. Everyone on board knew the obsession of their ship's boy, which was not inferior to his eagerness to learn as well as his energetic helpfulness. So no one begrudged him for putting aside the cleaning rag for a longer period of time. Not being told twice, he jumped off the lashed cargo and a short time later disappeared below deck. He hurriedly ran to the small alcove he was allowed to call his own and rummaged out the drawing material from under his neatly folded blanket. In no time he was back on deck and pulled out the charcoal. His friend watched him with interest as he gradually captured the approaching ship on the paper. The ship's boy was just about to draw the mainmast when he paused in his movement and looked fixedly at the ship.
"What's wrong?" the other asked him anxiously.
"Pirates," was the only thing the shorter one replied. Not taking his eyes off the flag that had just been hoisted.
Panic-stricken, the other put the telescope back on, only to have it confirm what the boy had already recognised from afar. There on the mainmast of the approaching ship fluttered the unmistakable black cloth with the skull and crossbones.
"Quick, go inform the captain of your observation. They are still far away, perhaps we can escape them. I'll go warn the others," the sailor instructed, and set off as well.
The ship's boy hurried to his captain and told him about the unpleasant incident.
The brig was low in the water due to its large cargo, which made it cumbersome and slow. Despite the exceptionally long time they had been given thanks to the keen eyes of their ship's boy, they could not outrun the sleek three-master. The distance between the ships grew smaller and smaller. By now they were so close that the boy had been able to read the name.
Amethyst.
A fitting name. This ship was truly like a rare gemstone and would certainly be as dangerous as the edges of the stone were sharp.
If only a short time ago he had been happy that it would soon be very close, now he only wished to stay as far away as possible. They had loaded expensive cargo and represented excellent prey for the privateers. The fact that they had never attracted the attention of pirates on their voyages until today had been pure luck. Luck that they were probably looking for in vain today. The sailors put their backs into it and tried everything in their power to escape from the other ship. The captain had even ordered some of the precious cargo to be thrown into the sea in order to regain some speed and in the hope that the greed of their pursuers might be satisfied. The pirates, however, carelessly left the crates floating in the sea to the left and right. They wanted it all they made that unmistakably clear as they fired the bream and caused widespread damage.
"Get below deck, come on!" his friend instructed him, shoving him roughly into the hatch. Before the hatch closed over him, they exchanged a worried glance. He wanted to help, but he was aware that he was only a nuisance at the moment. All he could do was pray that they would get off lightly. Cannon shots thundered through the air again and he flinched. Quickly he rushed to his corner and hid there, trembling. Again and again he flinched when a new volley came down on them. He could only guess what was happening on deck, but the shouts and screams that reached his ears from above did not bode well. The next hail of bullets arrived and this time the pirate ship must already be at the same level as them. One of the bullets tore a small hole in the ship's belly. When he realised this, he acted without thinking about it for long. He grabbed his blanket and stuffed it into the hole to stop the salt water from flowing inside. Just as he had done so, he heard a pained cry, followed by many jeering men's voices. Unlike the scream, which he would have been able to hear and identify out of thousands, the new voices were alien to him. They died away just as the clang of clashing blades began. The metallic clang echoed loudly over the whole deck, but gradually became less and less until it died away completely. The heavy footsteps of a person echoed through the wooden planks and came to a halt directly above him. The boy swallowed hard. He had to hide again as soon as possible, perhaps he would be able to escape the pirates if they thought the cargo was the only thing left on deck. So he hid in the farthest and darkest corner of the lower deck. In his hiding place, he prayed continuously that no one would find him. He heard the crates being loosened and pushed over the wood. Long minutes passed until the pirates had loaded their own ship. The footsteps and other noises suddenly fell silent.
He had made it, it flashed through the boy's mind after no sign of the pirates had grazed his senses for several minutes. Cautiously, he crawled out of his hiding place and approached the hatch leading up. Standing on one of the lowest steps, he lifted the grate a little way to take an assuring look over the ship. What he saw there, however, he would rather not have seen. The pirates had been merciless and had cruelly slaughtered every one of his crew. Blood trails stretched across the entire deck. His friend was crouched at the railing opposite him. Holding a stab wound in his abdomen in vain, he was slumped there. Panicking, the boy disregarded all caution and lifted the hatch so far that he could slip through to rush to the other. Helplessly, he grasped one of the bloodied hands and squeezed it tightly in his own much smaller one. The dying man gave him a kind and relieved smile.
"At least they didn't get you," the other breathed in great pain. He stroked his cheek lovingly, leaving a bloody imprint there as he lowered his hand again, powerless. Tears gathered in the younger man's eyes and he buried his face against his doomed friend's shoulder.
"It's all right," the other comforted him awkwardly, and then lapsed into one of their usual teases because he didn't know any other way to help himself, "come on, wipe away your tears, you're not a baby. Be a man and get yourself to safety."
The smaller one let out a last sniffle before he complied with the other's request with a pained smile and wiped away his tears.
"That's it, now get in the dinghy and get out of here," he continued speaking with the greatest of effort.
"I can't just leave you here!" the ship's boy vehemently refused.
"I'm as good as dead. Go!" the man who had become a sort of big brother to him in recent years remained firm.
The smaller one struggled with himself for a moment, but then did as his friend advised and ran over to where the small dinghy was moored. He had already untied the first knot and was just about to put the oars inside when he realised that he was not going to escape anywhere with this thing. A huge hole gaped in the floor. Horrified, he looked at the missing piece of wood that must have been killed by one of the cannonballs that had hit it. It wouldn't take a minute for the water to penetrate far enough to sink the little boat, it was completely useless. What could he do now?
Helplessly, he looked around at his dying friend. He sent him a questioning and urgent look. Without further ado, the ship's boy ran back to him.
"The dinghy is useless. I can't get away from here," he explained. The other understood and immediately started looking for another way out. The little one immediately recognised that he had finally found it, even if his gaze was veiled by pain, he could still make out the glint in his eyes that had always taken hold whenever the other devised one of his ingenious, albeit audacious, plans.
"Go up aft and take the wheel. The brig is much lighter in the water now without the cargo, the wind is good and the sails are fully set. You can sail her alone. The closest harbour should be there in that direction. She will surely make it back in this condition," he said with his last ounce of strength.
Seizing his last chance, the boy hurried up to the quarterdeck.
"Break a mast and a sheet, little one, may you always have a hand's breadth of water under your keel," the sailor breathed his last words the moment his tired eyes saw the little one wrap his fingers around the steering wheel before they closed forever.
The ship's boy had his hands full turning the steering wheel, which was at least as big as he was. He had to get out of here and as quickly as possible. The brig finally obliged him and turned into the wind. The sails filled again and the ship started moving purposefully. The manoeuvre had not gone unnoticed, however. Excited shouts reached the ears of the ship's boy across the water. He sent one prayer after another to heaven that the pirates had finally had enough and would let him go his way. But his plea was not answered. The order to fire was still echoing in his ears when shortly afterwards another salvo rained down on the brig, rendering it completely unmanoeuvrable, much to his chagrin. Refusing to accept his fate, he put all his strength into getting the rudder under control and fixing it in a neutral position. His effort paid off. He quickly grabbed one of the loose ropes he had so recently tried to clear away and tied the wheel down. Then he ran back on deck and tackled the sail. The only way to steer the ship was to catch the wind. He quickly untied more ropes and turned the sail to set a new course. To manage all this with one man, or rather with one boy, was bordering on the impossible, and yet miraculously it seemed to work. At least until the next cannonballs rained down on him. They tore the entire port side apart and the water made its way in no time. It was over for good. The ship was sinking.
The water rose steadily until the ship broke under the forces tugging at it. All kinds of things were now floating in the water and the ship's boy was among them. With the last of his strength, he clung to a larger piece of wreckage. The pirate ship drifted slowly through the pitiful remains of the brig, which had spread over a large part of the sea. A frightening clacking above him made the boy's eyes dart upwards in fright. What he saw there made his blood run cold as he looked straight down the barrel of a loaded pistol.
"Captain, a survivor," the pirate who was aiming at him called out to his leader. The latter stepped to his side with interest and also glanced down over the railing.
"Congratulations, boy! Your persistence shall be rewarded. You have done it," he called to the castaway and then turned away without another word.
"Get him out of the water, come on!" a third voice shouted the order over the deck and already the boy felt himself being pulled out of the water.
Heavy footsteps approached him as he knelt on the wooden planks, dripping wet, trying to recover from the struggle for survival. Two dark leather boots stopped in front of him and let his gaze wander up to their owner. He would never have thought to find someone who was well-disposed towards him in this place. That's why he was all the more irritated by the kind smile that was thrown at him.
"Come on, lad. Let's see how we can get you dry," the man said. The boy hesitated, but then took the hand offered to him. He felt calluses and calluses as their hands touched and he was pulled up forcefully. Signs of the hard work aboard the ship and yet his counterpart did not seem to him to be just any sailor. The other pirates kept low and at a distance, though their all-round interest in their latest prey was obvious.
"What's your, name laddie?" the man asked as he led him to his cabin, the first mate's cabin.
"Nathan, sir."