The mighty pirate ship Forsaken plowed her way through the salty Caribbean waters. Brisk winds tugged at her sails, while heavy swells splashed against the frigate's hull. No sun shone in the overcast sky. The weather had worsened in recent days. Thomas McNally, Captain of the Forsaken, knew that their stay in Nassau would prove a short one.
The northern harbor of New Providence Island was now directly ahead of the vessel. Fishing craft dotted the waters. Several ships, all of them merchantmen, sat anchored offshore. Certainly their crews would be alarmed if a pirate ship dropped anchor nearby. Therefore, Thomas had ordered the Forsaken's original figurehead remain mounted on the bow, and her British Ensign flown aloft. Altering the ship's appearance to one more fitting of a pirate craft needed to wait.
Thomas stood on the quarterdeck beside his helmsman. Earlier he'd dressed himself in a complete naval officer's uniform, which he wore now. The uniform came from both Thomas' old midshipman's uniform, and one that belonged to the Forsaken's previous captain. A gold-hilted saber and flintlock pistol completed the devious disguise. He also wore a heavy black cloak about his shoulders, for rain was likely. Under the guise of a military officer, Thomas should have access to all areas of the city, both civilian and military. Such freedom could aid the young pirate in his quest to locate Admiral Bancroft.
The Forsaken entered the anchorage. Thomas ordered all sails hauled in, and the starboard anchor made ready. With a foaming splash, the ponderous anchor sank beneath the waves. Its wide fluke bit deep into the mud. Up on deck, the anchor line was made fast. Thomas called for the boats to get readied, all ashore going ashore. The pirates had made port.
Once the lead boat arrived ashore, Thomas met with his quartermaster, John Cromwell. A tall, burly, sometimes boisterous man, John was dressed in civilian attire, perfect for the job at hand. A boarding ax hung at his side.
"Alright John," Thomas instructed, "you know what has to get done. Get us as many recruits as you can but try doing so discreetly. Only turn the crew into a press gang as a last resort. We don't want too much attention."
"Aye aye, Thomas," John replied with confidence. "But what will you be doing?"
"Asking around. I need to know if Admiral Bancroft was recently here."
"Good luck with that. See you soon, friend. When you finish your business, the first round's on me."
John and several of his shipmates began strolling off towards the nearest public house, Thomas set off on his own. He first went to the harbormaster's office, asking if any Royal Navy ships had made port recently, other than his own. Indeed other naval vessels had visited Nassau, but only small patrol craft, not frigates or ships of the line. Thomas thought it unlikely that Bancroft would have any involvement with patrol vessels. Then again, Bancroft could have ordered increased patrols around the island. Dismissing this as a potential lead, he gave the harbormaster a shilling, thanked him for his time, and made his way to the taverns.
He entered the Whiskey Wench public house near the center of town. The tavern stank of alcohol and sweat. People of all races - European, African, Arabian, even Asian - were clustered about drinking, gambling, and brawling. Making his way through the crowd and shouldering up to the bar, Thomas continued his search.
"Excuse me, do you know if an Admiral Bancroft passed through town?" Thomas asked of the innkeeper after buying a drink.
The innkeeper, a portly man with a bald head and beard, looked at Thomas. "An admiral? No. Sorry, lad." was his reply. "But if you're inquirin' about someone important, you'd best head to the governor's mansion. They might help ya. You're wearin' a uniform after all."
Thomas thanked the man, finished his drink, and took his leave. Having visited the manor once before, he already knew where he was headed. The manor stood at the west end of town, bordering a deep, broad swamp. Interestingly, that swamp was a popular hangout for smugglers, pirates, and other criminals. Strange that such a notorious location would border the most significant residence on the island.
The pirate captain approached the white, two storied, wooden structure from the east, up a dirt path leading to the front door. Two uniformed soldiers stood watch outside the entrance. As Thomas made his way up the path, another man emerged from the manor's front door. Thomas halted. The man immediately struck him as peculiar. He was wearing plain, unassuming attire, dressed like any common sailor who came ashore at Nassau. If one expected to have an audience with the governor (or his advisers), you would wear expensive clothes, suiting up like a member of the gentry. Having nobility openly meet with common men was extremely unusual. This demanded further investigation.
Thomas took cover in a ditch beside a pond to the northeast, just of out of view from the manor. When the suspicious man passed without noticing Thomas, the pirate began following the man's movements, shadowing him across town. The man followed a dirt path leading south, towards the beach. Thomas shadowed him from a distance, taking cover whenever he could. Finally the man came to a halt beside a beached rowboat. Sitting in the rowboat was another man, likely a shipmate or colleague. Thomas took cover behind driftwood log. From there, he overheard a conversation between the two men.
"Ah, Captain MacManus. Welcome back. What's the news?"
"Good news, Mr. Hepburn. We have been granted a letter of marque to hunt pirates in these waters. Even better, there is speculation that a pirate ship is anchored in the northern harbor."
"Sounds like we've got an easy prize on our hands, then."
"Indeed. We'll return to the ship now. Our first payday awaits."
The strange man shoved the boat off, climbed in, and the two began rowing towards a brig anchored in the harbor.
A letter of marque? Who had granted them one? The governor, most likely, but it mattered little. It was the mention of a pirate ship in the harbor that unnerved Thomas. Given the British government's hold on the island, no pirate ship would openly fly the black flag so close to shore. This all pointed at just one possible solution: the Forsaken's disguise had failed. Thomas, the crew, and their ship, were all in danger. Once the rowboat was out of sight, Thomas left his cover and sprinted back north. It was time to depart from Nassau.
Thomas found John and several of the crew drinking inside the Sailor's Rest public house. Taking a seat on the bench across from the quartermaster, the captain inquired about the crew's numbers.
"Oh, we've got a full crew now, Thomas," said John from behind a tankard.
"That's great, John." Thomas complimented. "Good work. But I've got bad news."
"What is it? Did the bar use up all the rum? That stuff's always gone, you know."
"Worse than that, John, and far more serious. Pirate hunters, in the southern harbor. They know we're here."
John dropped his tankard upon hearing this. "Are you sure?"
"Aye. One of them left the governor's estate carrying a letter of marque. We need to assemble the crew, depart for Kingston."
"Smart idea. This port's a bore anyway."
As the two pirates left the public house, a squad of five soldiers met them outside, muskets aimed at the brigands emerging from the building's safety.
"Weapons on the ground!" their sergeant demanded. "You're under arrest!"
Seeing no other option, Thomas and John lowered their weapons. When the sergeant stepped forward to make the arrest, Thomas grabbed the man's left shoulder, spun him around, and pulled the man into a headlock. A musket shot rang out. The sergeant cried out in pain. One of the soldiers had panicked and fired his weapon, accidentally hitting the sergeant. Pushing the bleeding sergeant's body at the soldiers, Thomas doubled over and picked up his both cutlass and pistol. John hefted his boarding ax, swinging the great weapon at the soldier nearest him. The blade caught the young man's head. He died without a sound. Another soldier thrusted the butt of his musket at Thomas' midsection, who dodged the attack and then stabbed his attacker in the chest. The final soldier charged straight at Thomas, his bayoneted musket ready to stab. Withdrawing the saber from his previous opponent, Thomas raised his pistol and fired at the charging soldier. He collapsed to the ground, bleeding and whimpering.
Ignorant of the cries coming from the townspeople, the two pirates made a break for the harbor, leaping over obstacles and knocking civilians out of their way. The ship's boats lay in waiting at the docks. Other members of the Forsaken's crew, having witnessed the commotion outside the public house, rushed to join their captain. More of the crew found themselves in similar encounters, having to brawl their way past soldiers trying to arrest them. Finally the crew reached the boats and shoved off with both John and Thomas safely aboard.
"Make sail!" Thomas barked to the crew as they climbed aboard the Forsaken. "Weigh anchor! No time to vote on it! The King's dogs are after us!"
The pirate crew rushed to carry out the Captain's orders. The capstan was manned, the anchor hauled aboard, and secured to the deck. Up in the rigging, the sails tumbled down from the yardarms and expanded as they caught the wind. Thomas himself took the helm, steering the mighty frigate eastward out of the harbor.
Cannons sounded off to starboard. At first, Thomas thought the town's fort had opened fire. It was only a salute. The fort's gunners must not have been alerted to their actual identity. Relieved, Thomas ordered the salute returned.
Just then, the wind grew faster. The sky grew even more gray, and the swells grew taller. Thunder boomed off in the distance, with flashes of lightning illuminating the clouds. Rain began to fall heavily, drenching the ship along with her crew. Visibility dropped substantially, down to one thousand meters at best, making navigation increasingly difficult. Thomas ordered half sails set. Flying full sails in a storm might damage the rigging. They couldn't afford that.
Another ship, a brig by her rigging, appeared off to port. She was painted brown with broad, solid red stripe running fore-and-aft along her hull. The brig's sails were at half, with just the mainsails flying. Her cannons were run out. From her mainmast flew a blood red flag.
The sign of no quarter, Thomas thought as he recognized the flag's meaning. Her crew plans to kill every man aboard the Forsaken. That's not about to happen.
"All hands to quarters!" Thomas yelled over the storm's noise. "Some puppies want to play."
Battling the awful weather, the Forsaken's fearless crew readied themselves and their ship for battle. Cannons were run out, powder kegs brought up from below, and ammunition made ready. Several cannonballs were placed inside fires; heating them created heavy shot. If the crew of the pirate hunting brig wished a fight to the death, then the crew of seafaring renegades aboard the Forsaken were thrilled to oblige.
The hostile brig turned to starboard, exposing her port side gun battery at the Forsaken. At the crest of a wave, she fired. The roar of cannonfire carried over the storm's racket. Cannonballs whistled over the Forsaken's decks, punching holes in her hull and sails. At the helm, Thomas turned the frigate to port. He ordered the port battery to return fire as the brig fell into a trough. The superb timing of the pirate's broadside scored a direct hit on the brig, smashing her bowsprit and battering her hull. She then passed astern of the frigate, obscured from view by the rain.
More cannon sounded off to starboard. Facing the direction of the fire, Thomas saw that another ship had joined the fight. She was a schooner, bearing the same red stripe across her hull as the brig. From her mainmast flew the red flag of no quarter. She was coming about to starboard, trying to unleash her port broadside at the frigate. Before she could, Thomas ordered the starboard cannons to fire a volley. The cannons made a deafening roar as they fired, but the broadside came too late. The Forsaken was in a trough when the guns let fly. Most of their shots plowed uselessly into the waves. Unhindered, the schooner completed her turn and fired on the pirate ship, striking her opponent's starboard side.
"Rouge wave to starboard!" a pirate shouted.
Thomas spotted the wave instantly. An enormous swell, towering over the Forsaken's hull, had emerged off the ship's starboard bow. With its foaming white crest, Thomas knew that the wave would imminently break. If it broke on the Forsaken, the ship was lost. The pirate captain turned the wheel hard to starboard, preparing to meet the wall of water head-on.
"Brace yourselves!" Thomas yelled as the wave approached the frigate's bow.
The Forsaken rose up at a steep angle (about 30 degrees), then cascaded down the rouge wave's far side. Not a single man was lost from her decks. The pirate hunter schooner, Thomas saw as he looked over his right shoulder, was not so fortunate. The rouge wave had crashed down onto her main deck, dragging the ship beneath the surface. Only debris and survivors remained on the surface. The schooner was out of the fight, and her crew dined with Davy Jones.
The brig reappeared off the port quarter. She had all her sails set, no doubt hoping to gain a speed advantage over her enemy. Her crew unleashed another broadside at the frigate, striking the pirate ship on the stern. One cannonball smashed a window on the captain's cabin, while another struck perilously close to the rudder, nearly jamming it. With the port guns reloaded, Thomas ordered another volley unleashed. The frigate's hull shuddered from the discharges, as did that of the brig from multiple impacts. Her mainmast teetered, rolled to the left, then crashed into the swells. Immediately the brig's speed dropped. Even with her mainmast gone, her rudder was still intact, allowing her to maneuver into another firing position. Thomas knew this, and likewise turned the Forsaken to starboard. Such a maneuver risked exposing the ship to enemy fire, but Thomas and his shipmates needed to escape. Now was not the time for clever tactics.
The brig fell behind the Forsaken and out of sight. She offered no further resistance, much to Thomas' relief.
A final hunter rose up like a ghost from the storm. A galleon, fully armed and flying the dreaded flag of no quarter, stood directly ahead of the Forsaken, her full starboard broadside aimed straight at the fleeing pirate ship. An awful din echoed off the waves as her gun crews opened fire. Holes appeared in the Forsaken's hull and in her sails. Thomas made a hard turn to port, avoiding a collision with the galleon. The galleon began making a slow turn to port. As the frigate passed astern of the ponderous vessel, Thomas ordered a volley fired at her stern. The frigate lurched to port, and the hostile galleon shuddered. Windows on her stern smashed inwards, and her mizzenmast listed dangerously. The galleon continued to attempt her port turn, but to no avail. Though Thomas could not clearly see the damage, he knew that the galleon's rudder was now little more than kindling. A bolt of lightning struck her main topsail, setting it afire. The pirate hunters fell behind as the Forsaken made her dash for safety.
Hours later, the storm finally died down. Winds died, rain ceased, and seas calmed. New Providence Island was nowhere in sight, nor were any pirate hunters. Thomas and his shipmates now had some time to rest. They wasted no time cracking open barrels filled with rum. It wasn't long before most of the crew was too drunk to work. But work could wait until tomorrow. Now was the time for celebration.
The Forsaken had escaped.