 
The Pirate's Apprentice

By L.M. Batstone

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either based on historical events, the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or locals is coincidental.

The Pirate's Apprentice

Copyright © 2014 L.M. Batstone

No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without permission.

All rights reserved.

Published by Scallywag Books

Surry, B.C. Canada

Second Edition: September 2014

Dedication

For my baby boy, may you always follow your dreams through to fruition.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people:

To my family and friends, thank you for your help and support. I couldn't have done this without you.

To Jenny and Jessica, thank you for all your help, suggestions and good advice.

To my postpartum maternity support group, thanks for listening.

# Chapter 1

As his mother pulled him toward the port of Antigua, John inhaled the briny morning air. His heart-beat quickened with anticipation as he took in the sights of the dock. In John's mind, nothing was more exciting than a sailor's life, except for the life of a pirate's, of course.

The early morning sun rose directly over the dock, blinding John. He threw a hand up to shield his eyes and stumbled as his mother yanked him forward, her fingers firmly interlocked with his. He hated holding his mother's hand, it made him feel like a simpleton, but as usual she had imposed her will and he had given in.

Again she yanked his arm, urging him to pick up his pace. He tripped over a loose board and almost fell to his knees as she dragged him forward. After a few awkward steps, he recovered his footing and managed to keep the pace she set as they rushed through the crowd of early morning travelers and traders. With every step the wood groaned and complained underfoot. Under normal circumstances, John would've been crying and moaning in protest, as well, but not this morning.

This was the morning of a new beginning for John, an adventure like none other. His mother was taking him on a trip to Jamaica where she planned to visit her sister. It was John's first time traveling off the island of Antigua, and more importantly, his first time sailing on a ship like the Bonetta.

John knew the ship right away by the gold letters painted on her hull. The Bonetta was a well maintained, medium-sized sloop, with a single mast that rose high into the sky. John fell in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her mahogany hull and her sparkling brass-rimmed port windows.

Her captain stood by, his head held high and proud as he supervised his crew. Her deck was bustling with activity. Many suntanned sailors were busy rolling heavy barrels up her gangplanks and loading them into her hold.

As John and his mother pushed through the crowd, the captain looked up and called out in a booming voice, "Setting sail for Jamaica."

The Bonetta's captain was dressed in a crisp white frilly shirt, black knee breeches and a black waist coat, fastened up the middle with brass buttons. His silk stockings were pulled up to the knee, as was the customary fashion. On his feet he wore simple brass-buckled, black-polished shoes, much like the kind John wore.

John was not very impressed by the man's crisp looking uniform, but was extremely dazzled by the captain's red, long-tailed jacket, adorned with a great many brass buttons and gold stripes. The other item that drew his attention was the captain's broad, bicorn hat, which partially obscured a white powdered wig that ended along the back of his neck in a short, thin braid and black ribbon. John wished he could try on the jacket and hat. And found his imagination entertaining the notion of breaking into the man's wardrobe while he slept and parading about in his attire.

"Ah, m' lady," the captain reached out with two white gloved hands. "I am Captain Abijah Savage. Ye must be Mrs. Alice King. Yer luggage arrived earlier. I'm so glad ye could make it. We'll set sail immediately after ye board."

"Thank you for waiting, Captain Savage. This is my son John." She let go of John's hand as she spoke.

The captain nodded at John, politely acknowledging the boy's presence, which was more attention than John had hoped to get. He smiled at the man and nodded back.

"Please, m'lady, let me help ye board," the captain said as took Alice's delicate hand in his. He helped guide her up the gangplanks and onto the deck of the Bonetta where they stopped for a moment to stand out of the way of the men who were busy loading the hold. John scampered along behind them, anxious not to be left out.

Aromatic steam wafted into the air off the freshly swabbed pine deck. John inhaled the exotic new scent with an audible sigh. This was where he longed to be. On a ship sailing to adventures unknown. For many nights leading up to this moment, John had lay awake, imagining what this journey would be like. Now, he could barely believe he was about to embark on such a voyage.

Then suddenly, he found himself wishing they would never make it to Jamaica. Instead, he pictured himself sailing off to the Americas, searching for adventure and treasure, living the kind of life he imagined pirates did. He closed his eyes and lifted his face towards sun, enjoying the heat against his skin and letting his imagination take flight.

A crew member brushed past him and mumbled a hurried apology as he knocked John back a step. Jarred to his senses, he jumped out of the way and focused his keen attention onto the busy men on deck. The crew paid the new arrivals little attention. They were busy preparing the ship to set sail and had much to do.

The crewmen weren't outfitted as finely as the captain, but they definitely had their own distinctive way of dressing: cut off canvas knee breeches of various colors, loosely fitting white button up shirts rolled up to the elbow, or sometimes, no shirt, no shoes or stockings. John looked at his own feet, fighting the sudden urge to kick off his shoes and rip off his silk constraints. He immediately stifled the thought, knowing his mother would be displeased if he acted on the impulse.

The captain escorted Alice and John down the ladder into the common room and walked past the kitchen galley as they made their way to the captain's quarters. A few of the passengers, all men, were seated at wooden tables playing cards. The room was filled with canvas hammocks hanging from the ceiling, for when passengers and crew needed rest. Half the hammocks were already in use. The other half were rolled up and securely fastened to a head hook.

As they strolled quietly past the crewmen, John wondered if it was difficult to sleep in a hammock.

On the far end of the common room, a red door waited for them to enter.

"A section of m' quarters has been cordoned off for yer use. I hope it is to yer liking, m'lady," the captain whispered. He opened the door and stood aside as he ushered them in.

It was a small room at the far end of the stern and had six window ports, two on each wall. A simple cot with white linens had been pushed against the right wall. A heavy red curtain had been hung along the opposite wall. It partially obscured two hammocks, which were hung between two port windows. John ran to the first window, behind the curtain and looked out. Sparkling waves stretched to the horizon and beyond.

"Ye're the only woman on board. I've spoken to the men an' they have all assured me they will be on their best behavior," Captain Savage said.

"Thank you. This will be sufficient," Alice said stiffly. She sat down on the bottom hammock to try it out. As the hammock swung, the hem of her long blue dress swept over the floor.

John watched his mother frown as she tried to get comfortable on the wobbly hammock. He suppressed a smile as he scanned the rest of their cramped quarters. His mother would never be comfortable in these conditions. She was too delicate a woman to sleep comfortably in a hammock, and much too pampered to enjoy it.

Before they had left the house earlier, John had overheard her complaining about becoming seasick on long journeys and wondered what she had meant by that. He had hoped to ask the captain how one got seasick, but was now afraid the question would only make him look foolish and ignorant in the man's eyes.

Just then, John noticed their luggage had been set under the second window. He lunged towards the top chest and opened it, looking for the slingshot he hid inside after his mother's servant had finished packing. He found it and shoved it down his shirt collar so she wouldn't know he had it.

"I'll let ye get settled," the captain said. "Ye're, of course, welcome in the common room an' on deck at yer leisure. Please let me know if ye 'ave any concerns," Captain Savage added as he left, closing the door gently behind him.

"John, bring me my book," Alice commanded. "What are you looking for?"

John shrugged. "Nothing," he said. He found her book, a worn, dog-eared copy of Bonifacius: Essays to Do Good, inside the inner lid pocket and handed it to her. He wasn't sure what the book was about, but could tell by the title that it was most certainly boring.

"If you're hungry, go ask the galley cook for something to eat. And bring me some tea. I want to read for a while."

John left the captain's cabin. In the common room, the same men were still quietly playing cards. John ignored them, hoping they wouldn't notice him, but none-the-less, he felt their eyes on his back as he walked past them on his way to the galley.

"Hello," John said quietly. He stopped in the doorway of the cramped kitchen and poked his head inside.

The galley was small, with only enough room for one person to move around. Inside, stood a man the size of a bull. He was chopping potatoes with a butcher's knife by the light of a dusty port window, which illuminated a countertop the size of a serving platter. The cook's hulking size made the tiny kitchen seem cramped beyond belief, leading John to wonder why such a man wasn't being used elsewhere.

"Lunch is served at noon," the cook said without looking up.

"My mom wants tea!" John blurted, not knowing what to say next.

Suddenly, the cook looked up and fixed an annoyed eye on John. "Tell her to come get it herself. That's sun brewed tea with lemon over thar. Once it's gone, that's the end of it." The cook pointed his knife at the narrow shelf where a row of glass jars containing an amber liquid sat against the wall. John suspiciously eyed the wedges of lemon floating inside the jars.

"Is there milk and sugar?" John asked as he looked from the jars back to the cook's face. He gasped when he noticed a ghastly scar that swept through the cook's left eye, rendering it useless. The cook wore stained white-and-green striped cut-off trousers, an un-buttoned, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal bulging, tattooed biceps, and a large black apron that covered him from chest to knee. A matching black bandanna held back the sweat dripping from his bald head.

"Aye there's sugar, but no milk," the cook growled. He stopped chopping and carried the potatoes to a large cauldron sitting overtop a small oil stove. He dumped them into the bubbling soup stock and stirred the pot's contents with a wooden spoon.

"She'll beat me if I come back with no milk for her tea," John said, knowing she wouldn't. She rarely hit him. He wasn't sure why he lied like that. It was just something he did on a whim to gain sympathy.

The cook stared John down with his one maroon-colored eye. "Damn her then. Ye're her son, not her serving boy. Let her come ta me an' I'll set her straight." The cook opened a tin and took out a white lump of baked dough. "Here's a sea biscuit to tide ye over. Run along little rabbit." The cook tossed the biscuit at John, hitting him in the chest with it. John caught it on the rebound before it hit the floor.

For a moment, John stood still. He clutched the biscuit to his chest and contemplated what to do next. Should he go back and inform his mother the cook had no proper tea. As he thought it over, he took a bite of the dry, flaky biscuit and coughed as it turned to grit in his mouth. He tried, unsuccessfully to swallow and coughed some more. What he needed was water to wash it down.

On his way into the galley, he had noticed a stack of tin mugs beside a barrel, near the entrance. He snatched up a cup as he walked back out and scooped out some liquid from inside the barrel. He took a long, greedy drink, but instantly gagged up the burning, astringent liquid into his sleeve and coughed until his eye watered and his cheeks felt likely to split.

A man sitting at a nearby table chuckled.

"That's grog son," called a white-haired man. "You best drink it slowly. Why don't ye come over here an' be social."

"What's grog?" John asked as he struggled to breath between coughing fits.

When he felt he had finally gotten his body under control, he stepped slowly towards the men. They were all looking at him now and he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment. But the one who had spoken was smiling in a friendly way, so John felt comfortable approaching him.

On closer inspection, the portly, old man reminded him of his late grandfather who always had a strip of sugarcane sticking out of his mouth. John's memories of the man were faded, but fond. When he was a little boy he would sit on his grandfather's knee and search his pockets for the sugarcane he always had hidden there. Together they would enjoy his sun-warmed place on the front porch, rocking the afternoon away in the man's favorite rocking chair.

"Grog is a mixture of rum, water, and sugar. You might want to ask the cook for a cup of broth instead. It'd go down better in combination with that sea biscuit o' yours," the man advised. "I'm Mr. Benjamin Wicker. And who might you be?"

"John King."

"Ah, that's a grand name. These two fine fellows are Paul Williams and William Osbourne."

John nodded towards the two other men sitting at the table. He noticed two slaves sitting on the floor behind Mr. Wicker and knew they wouldn't be introduced. The African man and a teenaged Indian boy sat shackled together like beasts. Neither of them bothered to lift their heads to make eye contact. John hated the sight of men and boys in undeserved shackles, but it was a familiar one, as his family had many slaves back at their sugar plantation where his father treated them just as poorly.

"Paul here is a fellow passenger and Bill is part of the Bonetta's crew. Isn't that right?" Mr. Wicker said as he turned to the man he had just named.

"Aye," Bill said with a curt nod. He placed his hand of cards face-down on the table and crossed his strong looking forearms across his chest. John noticed he wore a uniform much like the captain's and assumed he was an officer of some sort.

"What's your job?" John asked, excited to be talking to a member of the crew.

"I'm a gunner's mate. That means I shoot at pirates." He chuckled. The rest of the men joined him.

"Pirates!" John exclaimed, excited by the notion.

"Don't worry. They'll be few and far between. I'm sure we won't be bothered by any on our trip," Mr. Wicker assured him.

John wasn't worried at all, he welcomed the idea, but he kept that to himself.

"Move along boy," a man above him in a hammock snarled. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

John looked up into the eyes of the sailor lying in the hammock. The young man held his black tricorn hat above his face for a moment, just long enough to stare hard into John's eyes, then he placed the hat back over his face again.

Thoroughly intimidated by the sailor's hostile glare, John nodded a polite goodbye to the men at the table. As he hurried away, he heard the men laughing again, but this time he didn't care. His curiosity urged him beyond the ladder where the dark underbelly of the ship beckoned. The urge to explore took hold of him, causing him to completely forget about his mother who was waiting for him to return.

The room beyond the ladder was a storage space. Barrels and crates were stacked to the ceiling, secured in place by ropes and nets. A narrow pathway had been created down the middle to allow one person to get through. John walked to the head of the ship where he found an outhouse of sorts. The bench at the bow of the ship had a hole in it just large enough for a man to sit over. John threw the rest of his uneaten biscuit down the hole. It splashed into the waves below with a satisfying plunk. The biscuit floated for a moment then sank out of sight.

John turned and walked back to the ladder and then, climbed up to the deck, curious to see if they had left the dock yet. He found a spot out of the way, behind the helmsman, and watched the crew work. It seemed he had arrived just in time to watch them launch the Bonetta.

"Weigh anchor, release th' moorings, stow the cordage an' heave ho th' mainsail," barked the captain in sailor speak, a language John did not quite understand. The crew understood and quickly carried out their tasks. They hoisted the anchor, untied the ropes that held the boat to the dock and raised the sails. Soon the wind was filling the sails and the ship began to move.

John ran to the bow and climbed the rail, so he could hang over the edge as the sloop left the dock. He watched the waves break over the prow of the Bonetta as she gained speed. A soft, refreshing mist hit his face every time the prow crested a wave. He enjoyed the contrasting feel of the cool mist on his hot, sun-warmed skin.

Again he found himself wishing they were headed out to open sea and not to a neighboring island. His gaze followed the waves to the horizon and a shot of exhilaration rushed through him as he imagined himself captaining a ship of his own, plundering sloops and galleys at whim.

Noisy seagulls circling above brought John out of his daydream. He raised his eyes to watch them soar and dive, and wondered how far they would follow the Bonetta out to sea.

"It's a wondrous sight, is it not?" Captain Savage said as he approached from behind.

"How long does it take to get to Jamaica?" John asked.

"A week, give or take a day or two. It depends on the sea, and whether or not the wind is strong and prevailing. Aye, the sea can be a fickle mistress," the captain sighed.

"Will there be pirates?" John asked hopefully.

"Not likely."

"Oh," John said.

"Don't sound so disappointed lad." The captain slapped John on the shoulder. "We'd never make our destination if pirates were to mess with us."

The look of disbelief on John's face urged Captain Savage to explain further.

"Ye know they'd kill all aboard and rape your mother. Aye, lad they would, and they'd kill her too. Pirates are evil scoundrels, they are. And after all that, they'd steal everything, including the clothes on our backs, and burn the rest. The Bonetta would sink to the bottom of the sea leaving no trace of their murderous rampage."

John's heart sank. He hadn't considered the reality of what it meant to be attacked by pirates. "But perhaps they're not all that bad. The slaves back home say freedom can be found on a pirate ship. They say..."

Captain Savage interrupted. "Freedom? Lad, that's rebellious talk. Ye better tell yer father of such talk when ye return home."

John ignored the comment. He had no intention of telling his father anything he had heard in the kitchen. The women there were kind to him and didn't deserve to be whipped for craving freedom. "They say some pirates are good. They only steal from the rich to balance the scales, like Robin Hood."

"Ha!" the captain scoffed. "Thieves are thieves. Pirates are merely highwaymen of the high seas. Aye 'tis true some slaves may find themselves free for a time as a thief, but on land they'll always be a slave and there's no escaping that."

John didn't know what to say in response, so he chose to hold his tongue. Clearly the captain had more knowledge on the subject than he did. But he just couldn't let go of the fantasy. In his idealistic imagination, pirates were the underdogs of society, fighting against strangling social constraints. They went where they wanted and did as they liked. John couldn't think of a better way to live than that.

The captain became quiet for a time too. He stayed with John for awhile, watching the ocean, lost in his own thoughts. Then just as suddenly as he had appeared, he left to tend to his duties.

I bet the captain has never met a real pirate, John thought. They can't possibly be as bad as he says.

# Chapter 2

Throughout the morning, the day remained hot and cloudless with no reprieve in sight. John hung his arms over the railing and watched as the Bonetta bobbed up and down. Her hull cut through the waves, spraying cold sea spray over his hot, flushed cheeks. Only a few hours ago, he had taken great pleasure in this, but now he barely noticed.

Travelling by sloop had already lost its novelty. John had realized, to his dismay, the reality of a sea voyage was actually quiet boring. The Caribbean ocean was a vast, uninteresting place and there wasn't much to do on a ship this size that couldn't be done in an hour or two. By noon, he had pretty much done everything worth doing, or so he thought. John sighed.

His imagination was his only reliable source of entertainment. In his mind, he was wearing Captain Savage's red coat, black bicorn hat and cutlass, which hung from one hip. He jumped about the bow, yelling orders to his imagined crew, visualizing they were about to be boarded by pirates. He fought his imaginary foe with an extended finger that sometimes served as a sword or a pistol, depending on his fancy.

But, reality was never far from his mind. His stomach rumbled, again, more fierce than the last time. Hunger was not something he had ever been able to ignore for long. Soon he'd have to head below and scrounge something from the cook. John looked to the sky and took note of the sun's position. It was almost directly overhead, which meant, he hoped, the call for lunch would be soon.

John's attention fell on the men behind him. Far from harbor, the crew's activity had settled into a routine. John noticed they paid special attention to the mainsail, adjusting the rigging as the ship's heading and the wind direction changed. All ten gunners and their assistants kept a lookout for pirates, ready to fire their cannons at a moment's notice. And from behind the navigator the captain stood, silently supervising it all.

Out of the many jobs on the Bonetta, John decided being a gunner's mate was probably the most exciting. Watching for pirates was something he felt he could do, too. It seemed easy enough. He wandered over to the closest starboard cannon and stood at attention as the gunner-men were doing.

Each man was armed with two flintlock pistols. The set was held by two straps that crossed over the chest forming the letter x. This allowed the ivory handle to face out, just over the hip. Each stoic gunner-man stood to the left of his cannon with an assistant standing behind him. The cannon's highly polished brass shone like gold in the bright sunshine.

Unable to hold the stoic stance for very long, John became aware of the wind blowing his unruly, auburn hair into his face. All though it wasn't very long, it tickled his temples and made him feel itchy. After a few agonizing moments of standing perfectly still, he broke down and scratched. Then, decided being a gunner's mate was harder than it looked. How do they stay still for so long? John wondered. He leaned over the railing to examine the serious expressions on the men's faces. Not a single one of them paid John any attention as they watched the ocean's waves for danger.

John tried to imagine what a real pirate attack might look like. First, the cannons would be fired as the pirates came into view. Then, in order to board the Bonetta, the pirates would have to overwhelm her men by shooting their flintlocks. Under heavy fire, the gunners and their assistants would be forced to take cover and hide behind the railing, unable to fire their cannons. They would return fire with their pistols.

Then, the pirates would ram the Bonetta and jump on board in the confusion, swarming the deck in great numbers. First, there would be hand to hand combat. Then, there would be knife fights and close quarter shootings with blunderbuss, a short musket with a flared muzzle. It was the kind of weapon, he had heard, pirates favored because it sprayed the intended target with scattered shot at close range. John shivered, realizing it would most likely be a bloody battle.

It could possibly be the most terrifying event of his life. Perhaps we'd be better off not seeing any pirates after all, he reconsidered as he pictured the kind of injuries a blunderbuss would create.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.

John jumped with a start and looked over his shoulder for the origin of the noise, his mind still racing with thoughts of battle. The noise came from a man standing behind the helmsman who was ringing the ship's bell.

The gunner's assistant beside John turned to him and said, "That's the lunch bell. Go get yourself somethin' to eat."

The assistants filed into line at the hatchway and descended the ladder in an orderly fashion. John followed the men and looked for his mother in the common room, but she wasn't there. Assuming his mother was still in the captain's quarters, he lined up with the men and waited his turn.

The cook stood in the kitchen doorway ladling potato soup into waiting bowls. Some of the men had two bowls, perhaps to feed the gunner-men left waiting on deck.

John wondered where the men had gotten theirs, but couldn't see where to find one so he stayed in line, not wanting to lose his spot. When he reached the cook with empty hands, his cheeks flamed, but he stood his ground. The cook smiled, which ordinarily would've put John as ease, but the expression caused his scar to wrinkle, transforming his smile into something hideous. John tried not to stare. The cook reached behind the kitchen wall and produced a battered-up, tin bowl.

"We each take care of our own eating utensils," the cook explained. "It's yer responsibility to keep 'em clean," he continued as he handed John the item.

John took the bowl and held it with both hands, so the cook could fill it with the steaming soup. When he was done, he handed John a brass knife and spoon.

"Yer mother hasn't come out of the captain's quarters. Perhaps ye'd like to check on her," the cook mumbled.

John peered into the cabin. He found Alice sleeping on the bottom hammock with her copy of Bonifacius: Essays to Do Good lying open over her chest, her blue dress spilling over onto the floor. The hammock swung slightly with the to-and-fro motion of the ship, dragging the hem though the dust.

She must be exhausted, John thought, she hasn't even taken her boots off. He stood and watched her sleep for a moment. The fine winkles in her skin enhanced by her scrunched expression. John wondered how she managed to look worried even in her sleep. He placed the food and utensils on the floor and gently shook her shoulder.

"Lunch is being served," John said.

Her hazel eyes snapped open and showed surprise, as if she had not planned to drift off. She sat up as John handed her the bowl of soup.

"They don't have proper tea," John apologized.

"Hmmm. What do they have?" She rubbed her forehead and placed a shaky hand over her stomach.

"Grog and sun brewed tea with lemon."

"I'll have the tea with lemon," she said.

John left the captain's quarters and came back with his own bowl of soup, extra utensils, and a cup of tepid, lemon tea. He handed his mother the drink and watched as she took an experimental sip. She smiled.

"It's not bad actually," she said, "an acquired taste, but palatable. One must make sacrifices when travelling," she added in a stiff tone.

John sat down on the floor and ate his potato soup. It had chunks of smoked pork and was quiet good once his taste buds became accustomed to the high amount of salt. Mother and son ate quietly, their brass spoons gently clinking and scraping against their tin bowls. When they were finished, Alice handed her son her half-eaten bowl of soup and her utensils.

"We have to wash our own," he said, pushing the bowl back toward her.

"Well then, you best get to it," she replied with a cold look that meant he better listen.

John stifled an exasperated sigh. The cook had given him a spoon, a cup, and a knife for future use. Along with his mother's bowl, cup, and eating utensils he had quite a handful. He wondered what he was supposed to do with all of it and briefly imagined himself standing at the railing throwing it all overboard.

He gathered it all up and marched as fast as he could to the kitchen doorway, trying very hard not to drop anything. When he saw the cook, he stopped.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he whined.

The cook looked up from rummaging through a woven basket, fixed a displeased eye on John, then replied, "Go up on deck and wash-up with the rest of 'em."

"Oh," John mumbled. He looked up at the ladder, then back down at the dishes he was holding with both hands, and wondered how he was supposed to manage. He took a step towards the ladder figuring that he'd think of something when he got there.

"Wait, I have something for ye." The cook continued searching through the woven basket until he found what he was looking for.

"Here take this too," the cook said as he pulled a fine-mesh, net bag out of the basket and threw it at John. The bag landed at John's feet.

"Put yer stuff in that," the cook said. "An' take care of it all. Ye won't be given more," he growled.

"Thanks!" John said as he stuffed the dishes into the bag.

He climbed the ladder and joined the men who were washing their dishes in buckets filled with soapy sea water. The men were quiet and serious about their task, eager to get on with the rest of their duties. John patiently waited his turn. Then he quickly washed the bowls and spoons with his fingers, since there seemed to be nothing else available.

"Yer mother and I have been talking," the captain's voice said from behind him. "And we 'ave decided ye need a job while ye're aboard."

John jumped up and faced the captain. "Job?"

"Aye! Somethin' to keep ye busy during the voyage."

"I've been watching for pirates. Can that be my job?"

"I was thinkin' of something more substantial like peeling potatoes or carrying gunpowder."

"Gunpowder! What for?" John asked, suddenly interested.

"You could be a Powder Monkey. That's how I got my start in his majesty's royal navy. I was about yer age then. How old are ye? Nine or ten maybe?"

John liked the sound of Powder Monkey. "Almost ten," he said quickly. "What do I have to do?"

Captain Savage handed John a black leather pouch the size of his fist, it had a metal spout attached to the end of it for measuring out proper portions of gunpowder. "Tie this to yer belt. If we're attacked make sure the men never run out of powder."

"That's it?" John asked.

"When yer pouch runs low ye have to go below and grab more. It's an important job, as any. Come, I'll show ye where we keep it."

John followed the captain below deck to where barrels, chests, and casks were lashed down by nets and ropes. John inhaled deeply, analyzing the air of the hold. The musky scent of dried tobacco dominated the space.

"What's in all these barrels?" John asked, even though he was sure he already knew.

"Tobacco and sugar mostly, the Bonetta is a trading vessel," Captain Savage explained. He pointed to a smaller barrel near the head of the ship, then continued. "That's the gunpowder barrel. To open it, jus' pry off the lid an' use the spoon inside to fill yer pouch. Simple as that."

"Okay," John agreed. It did sound simple. But he imagined himself running to the barrel during the heat of an attack, fumbling to lift off the lid, his fingers suddenly becoming useless.

"But what if I can't open it?" he asked.

"Just use yer knife. Ye have one don't ye?" Captain Savage asked.

"I have the brass knife the cook gave me," John said, remembering he had left his things in the bag up on deck beside the buckets.

"Hmmm... that won't do. Here, ye can have mine," the captain handed John a pocket knife with an ivory handle and silver inlay.

"Thanks!" John exclaimed, breathless with excitement. He examined the knife. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever held. A design of a ship sailing a stormy sea was carved into the ivory, and silver inlay bound the ivory to the knife blade at the hilt.

"Now get up there and keep a lookout. Climb the mainmast up to the crow's nest, if ye want," Captain Savage suggested.

John's eyes grew wide with excitement. He ran ahead of the captain and flew up the ladder, not knowing where he was headed. When he reached the deck he yelled, "Wait! Where's the crow's nest?"

The captain laughed from below, then answered, "Look up!"

John turned his eyes skyward, searching for something that looked like a nest. His eyes found a rope ladder and followed it up the mainmast to the bottom of a large circular basket-like structure near the top.

John hesitated at the bottom of the ladder as he looked up again. From the deck, the top of the mast looked awfully far away.

"What are ye waiting for lad?" the captain boomed.

The commanding tone of the captain's voice made John jump on the ladder and climb. Before he knew it, he was halfway up. He stopped and looked down. After noticing how small the men looked, he began to lose his nerve.

"Keep going. Don't lose your momentum," Captain Savage urged.

John looked up. He could see through the bottom of the crow's nest to the blue sky above.

"That's it. Keep yer eye on the prize," the captain yelled.

John took in a deep breath of the salty air and continued his ascent. When he reached the hole at the bottom of the crow's nest, he kept climbing until all he had to do was step off the ladder onto the floor of the basket. As he did, he could hear the men below, roaring with laughter and wondered what was so funny.

"Just holler if ye see anything of note," the captain yelled before he descended back down the hatchway.

John looked out over the ocean waves, scanning in all directions. The waves were empty, but that didn't dampen his spirits. A tingle of fear zipped through his toes as he looked down at the men below. Now they really look tiny, he thought in awe. He had never been so high up before.

But it was the pitching and yawing of the nest that really grabbed John's attention. In the crow's nest, the rolling motion of the vessel was far more pronounced than it had been on deck. John felt as if he could be thrown from the safety of the basket at any moment, if he didn't hang on. John tightened his grip, feeling truly alive for the first time in his life.

Again, he found himself wishing his voyage to Jamaica would never end.

# Chapter 3

John spent the rest of the afternoon in the crow's nest. At first, he watched the waves for pirates. But the ocean's surface remained empty and desolate. The sailors below him were far more interesting. From the top of the mainsail, each man looked to be about the size of a small matchbox. He watched the sailors go about their duties, adjusting the rigging, swabbing the deck, and keeping a look out.

When he grew tired of watching the men, he turned his attention to the seagulls. They flew around him, dipping and diving as they followed the Bonetta. He wished he had something to feed the birds and wondered if they would eat sea biscuits. At dinner I'll ask for extra, he decided as he took notice of one of the birds diving low over the waves.

Suddenly, a grey wisp, floating in the distant sky grabbed John's attention. His heart fluttered with excitement as he realized it was smoke rising over the horizon. At first, the smoke hung in the air like a dirty ribbon, but after a few unbearable moments, it turned into a massive, black plume. John glanced at the men below and wondered if anyone else had noticed.

It seemed like business as usual on deck, so most likely no one had.

"Smoke ahead!" John yelled down to the men, cupping his hands around his mouth so his voice would reach them.

Everyone on deck looked up as John pointed across the waves at the smoke. The captain yelled orders to one of the gunner's assistants, commanding the man to confirm the sighting. The young assistant climbed the rope ladder, but instead of coming through the bottom of the crow's nest, he climbed over the side. John thought that was rather odd. Why climb over the side when there's a perfectly good hole in the floor to climb through? he wondered.

He was just about to ask the man when the assistant suddenly yelled, "Smoke, two o' clock!"

The captain yelled orders at the navigator, and the Bonetta changed course as the men loosened the mainsail's rigging.

"Good job lad. Stay up here and keep watch for any ships flying the Jolly Roger." The tall, lanky sailor slapped John on the back, and then leapt over the side of the crow's nest. As he climbed to safety John called out to him.

"What's a Jolly Roger?"

"That's the black flag pirates fly. You'll know when ye see the skull and crossbones," the dark-haired man said after reaching for the ladder.

John felt very important. His heart hammered against his ribs as he thought about an impending pirate attack. He rushed to the edge of the crow's nest and continued watching the smoke as the Bonetta turned hard to port and began speeding away. Something big, like a ship, had definitely been set ablaze out there.

It wasn't long before the black smoke began to fall far behind them, shrinking in length as the distance between them grew. The Bonetta raced over the waves, faster than John thought possible, it was as if she feared her pursuers, as well. After a few minutes the smoke began to disappear, then it vanished.

John watched the empty waves for a long time, his eyes glued to the spot where the smoke had been. Watching and waiting, he stood perfectly still. Nothing had ever held his attention for such a time. His eyes began to dry out as the salty wind blew across his face, licking at his soft auburn hair.

With time, John's heart slowed, returning to its normal pace.

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.

That must be the dinner bell, John thought. He watched the gunner's assistants walk to the hatchway and form a line. As soon as the men began to disappear down the ladder, the first man came back with two meals; one for his partner and one for himself.

John wondered if anyone would bring him a meal, and then he remembered his mother. He watched for her, but she didn't come. Finally, when the first man began making preparations to clean his dishes, John decided he couldn't wait a moment longer.

"Can I come down now?" he yelled down to no one in particular. The man washing his dishes looked up and silently waved to John, gesturing that he should.

John descended the rope ladder. The sway of the Bonetta as she broke through the waves moved the ladder slowly back and forth, forcing John to take special care. He held onto each rung with all the strength he could muster.

As soon as John's feet touched the deck, he was running for the hatchway, determined to be back in the crow's nest before anything exciting happened. He raced down the ladder and found his bowl in the captain's quarters, where his mother and the captain were talking softly. Their empty bowls sat on the small table by the bed.

John rushed out of the room and ran to the large cauldron that sat by the kitchen door. Scraping the last of the congealed potato soup from the bottom with the ladle, he filled his bowl. Then, he ran back to the hatchway ladder with his brass spoon in his mouth.

"John!" the cook yelled.

John didn't stop. He was already climbing up the ladder, one-handed as he clutched the bowl to his chest. He didn't want to be bothered with what the cook had to say. His job in the crow's nest was much too important. He climbed through the hatchway and rushed across the deck to the rope ladder, where he stopped. Climbing the wooden ladder one-handed had been difficult, he realized, but climbing the rope ladder the same way would be next to impossible.

"John, wait!" the cook yelled again, this time from the hatchway, his bald head poking out of the square hole in the deck. "Ye needn't worry. The gunner-men will keep a lookout. Ye've done a fine job. Now it's time to take a break lad," the cook urged. "Come back, and enjoy yer meal, proper like."

John let his pent-up energy out with a resigned sigh. He knew the cook was right.

"Come, lad. I've made a special dessert this one night only. Come get it while there's some left."

John took a step towards the hatchway. "What kind?"

"Sometin' good," the cook answered with a confident grin.

With one last reluctant look at the ladder, John followed the cook back down to the common room.

"Now off to the captain's quarters with ye. Captain Savage wants a talk." The cook opened the cabin door for John, urging him inside. "I'll bring yer dessert in a few shakes of a lobster's tail."

The captain and John's mother were sitting at the table, apparently waiting for John to come back. Without acknowledging them, he sat down on an empty chair and began shoveling the thick, tepid soup into his mouth.

"I've just finished telling yer mother about what a fine job ye're doing," Captain Savage said.

"Yes and I'm quite concerned," Alice added. "The captain says pirates have been making a nuisance out of themselves, as of late."

John looked from his mother to the captain, wondering where this conversation was leading. He quickly finished his soup.

"It's true," Captain Savage said slowly. "I hate admitting this to passengers, but we were robbed not more than three weeks ago."

"The captain tells me he gave you a bag of gunpowder," Alice said, her eyes growing large with worry. "I want you to give that back to him. I'd much rather have you peeling potatoes in the galley than running around the ship with gunpowder," she demanded.

"But, Ma!" John cried, "The captain said—"

Alice interrupted, "I don't care what he said or how well you've been doing up there. I insist that you relinquish that powder this instant," her voice became shrill with annoyance.

John stood up suddenly, knocking his chair backwards.

"No!" he yelled.

"Don't you take that attitude with me. You're only nine years old and you will do as I say," Alice commanded as she stood.

Afraid that she would try to take the powder from him, John ran for the door. She chased him, but wasn't fast enough to catch him before he escaped the room. John ran through the common room, ignoring the comments from the men playing cards at the tables.

As he passed the kitchen door, John grabbed a handful of biscuits that were sitting beside the soup pot, knocking the rest onto the floor. He quickly tucked his shirt into the waistband of his breeches, to create a pocket, and shoved the biscuits down his shirt collar. Then he was off at a run again. In one fluid movement, he leapt onto the hatchway ladder and began climbing.

Before his mother could reach the ladder, John was already through the hatchway. He knew she'd never catch him, so he took his time climbing the rope ladder back up to the crow's nest.

"Come down this instant!" Alice yelled from far below him.

John looked over his shoulder as he climbed. It was exhilarating to know his mother would never follow. A satisfied grin stretched across his face. It felt good to defy her. When he reached the crow's nest, he looked down to see if she was still standing on deck. Even from far above, he could tell she was furious. She paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching her hands.

"You can't stay up there forever, John," she yelled.

He didn't respond. He knew she was right, but for now he would stay in the crow's nest, at least until she had time to cool down. John had never defied her like this and wasn't sure what the consequence would be, but he didn't care. He watched her, feeling victorious as she paced back and forth, her arms folded over her chest. After a while, she gave up and went back down through the hatchway.

John turned his attention to the seagulls. The birds screeched as if they already knew what John intended to do. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out the biscuits one by one, lining them up around the inside wall of the crow's nest. There were five altogether, enough to feed the birds, plus a snack for later.

With the biscuit in one hand, John tore a piece off with the other. He held onto it for a moment, contemplating how he was going to feed the birds with it. As they flew around him, they circled closer, screeching at one another, fighting for a place in the sky directly in front of him. John could see their greedy, beady eyes were on his hands, and knew at that instant if he threw it, one of them would go after the morsel.

He threw the piece into the air and watched, thoroughly entertained, as one of the sea gulls swooped after it. The bird snatched the piece out of the air and gulped it down in an instant. Impressed, John tore off another piece and launched it into the air.

Another gull went for it, and missed. As the bird dove for the piece, another one flew in from below and caught it, gulping it down. As the bird swallowed the piece, two other sea gulls chased it. John continued throwing small pieces into the air until the biscuit was gone.

John grabbed another biscuit and took a bite. As he ate, he watched the birds circle even more frantically than they had before. He laughed and threw them another piece. I could watch this for hours, John thought as he watched the sea gulls dive. Their grace and dexterity amazed him. I wonder what it would be like to fly, he mused.

By the time John ran out of biscuits, the sun was beginning to set. And as the light began to fade he began to wonder what it would be like to sleep in the crow's nest. He felt stuck. Sleeping in the captain's quarters was out of the question. As soon as he set foot in that room, his mother would be on him. She'll get the powder then for sure, he thought, as he clenched the bag in his fist.

Feeling tired, John tried to get comfortable. He sat down and pushed his back up against the round wall. As he stretched his legs out behind the mainmast, he realized he could probably sleep in this position without falling down through the opening in the floor.

He lay down, on his side and nestled his face into the crook of his elbow. But sleep did not come easy. The crow's nest floor wasn't comfortable and he felt exposed without a blanket. After a while, John grew bored. He edged toward the opening and looked down. Much to his dismay, he noticed the captain was on his way up.

"Ahoy, thar!" Captain Savage said as he climbed. "Yer mother is very upset, an' as sick as a squid that's eaten a pickled herring. She's come down with a bit o' seasickness, rather suddenly, and she's blamin' yer rowdy behavior fer makin' it worse."

"I don't care!" John said defiantly.

"Well, truth be told she's rather angry with me for fillin' your head with ideas," the captain said sheepishly.

John sat dumbfounded. He didn't know what to say. It had not occurred to him that a man like the captain would care about what his mother thought.

"She's awfully worried that ye're going to fall asleep up here and fall to yer death. Why don't ye come down an' try to set things right with her."

"I don't want to give up the powder," John cried.

"Ye won't have to. She's too sick. I doubt she'll even have the strength to say another word about it. Come down, an' give her some peace."

John shrugged. At first, sleeping under the stars had been appealing, but now he wanted to try out his hammock.

"Okay, I'll come down," John agreed.

He followed the captain back to his quarters where his mother was laying in the bottom hammock, holding the back of her hand over her eyes.

"John, is that you?" she asked feebly.

"Yes," John clutched the black powder bag as if he expected her to leap from the hammock and take it from him.

"You will sleep in the captain's quarters tonight?" she asked in an uncertain tone.

"Yes, mother," he said, examining her for signs that she was faking. The skin on her face was pale and shiny and she wouldn't open her eyes. It seemed she was genuinely sick.

"Good," she said, and turned on the hammock so her back faced him. John stood for a moment and watched her still form, not knowing what to do next. He hadn't known what to expect when he had come in.

Just then, the cook came in with dessert. "I saved ye a bowl. Here, sit." The cook placed the food on the table.

"What is it?"

"It's called, Midshipman's Nuts. It's got candied lime, chopped sea biscuits, and a hint o' rum syrup," the cook said proudly. "It'll keep away the scurvy. Eat up."

"What's scurvy?" John pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. He looked into the bowl and poked the concoction with his spoon.

"On long journeys a sailor's teeth rot an' fall out. It's a nasty affliction," the cook explained.

John scrunched up his face at the image the cook had placed in his mind. He looked from the bowl to the cook, and then back to the bowl again, not sure if he wanted to try the dessert. The cook watched John expectantly, waiting for him to dig in.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, it occurred to John that the cook probably wouldn't leave until he had a bite, so he scooped up a spoonful and stuck it hesitantly in his mouth. To his surprise, the dessert tasted good. It was sweet with a hint of lime, and the biscuits had soaked up some of the syrup, which had softened them.

John began shoveling the mixture into his mouth.

"Good lad," the cook smiled as he spoke. "There's a pot o' sea water in the kitchen when ye're ready to wash up." He left John to finish.

John devoured the dessert, scraping his bowl clean with his spoon. As he did so, he glanced over at his mother. Her form was still and quiet. A yawn escaped his mouth. He looked at his hammock, wondering how he was supposed to get in it. It hung directly over his mother's and there seemed to be no way up to it without disturbing her.

John took his bowl and spoon into the kitchen and washed them. After he was done, he looked around the common room. Many of the hammocks were occupied. In many cases, one hammock hung over another in such a way that it seemed impossible for a person to get into the hammock that was higher up.

As John examined the closest top hammock, he thought about asking someone for help, but lost his nerve. It was lights out soon, and the common room had fallen silent. He knew if he started a conversation now, he was likely to get yelled at if he disturbed the men who were already sleeping.

Just then, John noticed a loop of rope that hung from the ceiling beside one of the upper hammocks. He had never noticed it before because it seemed when the rope wasn't in use it was hung over the head hook, camouflaging it from notice.

John went back into the captain's quarters and brought a chair over from the table to the hammocks, so he could take a closer look at his own. He found the same loop of rope hanging over the head hook, just as he had observed in the common room. He unhooked the rope and tried out the loop by sticking his foot inside. It held his weight. Then, with confidence, he stepped up, putting his entire weight on the rope.

Now that John was higher up, he could swing his other knee onto the hammock. He spread the hammock out with his hands, placed his knee carefully on the material, and moved his weight slowly over. Then he quickly pushed his foot off the rope loop and flopped into the hammock. It swung violently back and forth for a moment, causing John to think he would be pitched against the wall. But, to his relief, the hammock soon stabilized.

Once he was lying comfortably on his back, John tore off his silk stockings and his polished, black shoes. He let them drop, wincing as the shoes clattered over the wooden floor boards. He watched for movement in the bottom hammock, but his mother showed no signs of waking.

There was a grey, rough-spun blanket folded under his feet. He reached down and pulled it over his body. Blankets had always given John comfort. He liked the way he felt hidden underneath them and often used one even if he didn't need it to stay warm.

From the top hammock, he could easily see out the port window. The moonlight dancing over the black waves invited his imagination to create familiar shapes. In one wave, he saw an image of a horse riding the waves before it disappeared. Then, he thought he saw a woman with long flowing hair dive after it.

After a while his mind wandered through the events of the day, John remembered the smoke hanging over the horizon and wondered what tomorrow would bring. But he was too tired to worry about pirates or his mother. The gentle rocking of the ship soothed him and he soon found himself drifting off into a deep slumber.

# Chapter 4

BOOM... BOOM...

John woke with a start, and listened, his mind still groggy from sleep. It was dark, but a thin sliver of moonlight illuminated the cabin. He turned his head and looked out the window. A bright, nearly full moon cast silver beams over the black waves. Was that cannon fire? he wondered.

Out in the common room he could hear a commotion. Men were yelling and stomping about in a hurry. John sat up and scanned the dark cabin. The captain's bed was empty. His mother was still sleeping. She could sleep through anything, John thought as he watched her.

BOOM...

John's heart hammered against his ribs. It sounded as if the explosions were getting louder, and therefore closer, which was extremely unsettling. It must be pirates, John thought. He leapt from his hammock and ran to the door without bothering to put on his shoes or stockings.

In the common room, John passed men who were fumbling with their belts and strapping on their pistols and cutlasses. He flew up the ladder and launched himself up onto the deck, his heart pounding in his chest. Captain Savage and a group of his crew were standing at the bow, scanning the inky ocean in all directions.

"What's going on?" John yelled to no one in particular.

The cook emerged from the darkness behind him.

"Hush, lad. We're keepin' quiet an' sailing without the lanterns. Thar's been cannon fire off the starboard bow," the cook whispered.

"Is it pirates?" John asked. He scanned the ocean for any sign of a ship off starboard and didn't see anything. The moon had slipped behind thick clouds, which cast a sinister shadow over the foreboding waves. Anything could be hiding out there.

"Could be," the cook agreed. "Pirates might be attackin' a ship up ahead, or maybe a ship has fired on 'em. As far as I can tell, the cannons were fired by only one ship an' all's been quiet since. 'Tis quite odd."

"So they're not coming after us then?" John yawned.

"Hope not. Ye should go back to sleep," the cook urged.

"I don't think I can," John said, his eyes were wide and unfocused.

"Well try an' get some rest. Hopefully, we'll pass by 'em unnoticed." The cook gently guided John back to the hatchway. "Go on. Thar's no sense in staying up. Everytin' will be fine."

John yawned again and nodded. He was tired, but wouldn't admit it. He went back to the cabin and climbed into his hammock. Sleep didn't come easy, at first. With his eyes wide open, he watched the dark port window for signs of movement outside. The moon came out from behind the clouds and shone its silver beams across the waves, chasing away the shadows.

As John watched and listened, hearing only the sound of his mother's deep breathing and the slap of the waves against the hull, he began to feel more relaxed. After a while, he allowed his eyes to close so he could focus on the now familiar motion of the ship. Like a mother rocking a newborn, the Bonetta gently lulled John back to sleep.

It was late morning when John woke again. His mother was gone from her hammock and the captain's simple white linen cot looked like it hadn't been slept in all night. John leapt to the floor and ran into the common room, wondering why he hadn't been woken for breakfast.

The common room was unusually quiet. All of the hammocks were empty and the cook was missing from the galley. A feeling of unease washed over John. Something's wrong, he realized. A nervous lump, impossible to swallow, formed deep in his throat.

Not knowing what to expect, John climbed the ladder to the deck and poked his head up through the hatchway. A sharp gasp escaped his lips when he saw the entire crew bound and tied at the bow of the ship. He could barely believe his eyes. Pirates had taken the ship silently during the night and he had missed everything.

Just then, rough hands grabbed John by the armpits and plucked him from the hatchway. John kicked and screamed.

"Let me go!" he cried.

"Look at what we got here. Hendrick, ye missed one below," a scrawny pirate with rotting, broken teeth said as he dangled John from one arm. He placed John's feet on the deck, turning him to face a motley group of men standing at the stern and pinned his arms behind his back. John struggled to free himself, but the man's boney fingers had an iron grip.

"I didn't miss 'im. I saw 'im an' left him. Capt'n's orders were, an' I quote, 'thar's no point in wakin' the pup'," Hendrick said as he mimicked his captain, the whites of his eyes shone in the sunlight, giving him a crazed, malevolent look.

Wide-eyed, John surveyed the small group of pirates. If he didn't know better, he would've thought these men were part of the Bonetta's crew. They were all dressed in the same manner: cut off breeches, shirts unbuttoned to the navel, sleeves rolled-up to the elbow or, in some cases, cut short. Some of the men wore bandannas and black tricorn hats. All of the men were armed with pistols and cutlasses.

"Where's Captain Savage?" John demanded.

"He's on the Sultana havin' a parley with Capt'n Black Sam Bellamy," Hendrick said. Clearly, he was the leader of the group. "Yer mum is over there too. Seems ole Black Sam doesn't trust his first mate around the wench," Hendrick sneered. He spat a gob of spit and tobacco onto the deck to show his distaste for the captain's decision.

John felt his stomach coil and twist like a nervous serpent. Instinctively, he knew that this man Hendrick was not the type to be trifled with. His black dreadlocks pointed in all directions, making him look like a wild man and self-inflicted scars on his face implied a certain kind of madness.

All arguments dissolved on John's tongue as he felt his soul wither under the man's glare.

"Tie 'im up with the others. There's some rope left on the port bow," Hendrick commanded.

The tall, skinny pirate with the rotting teeth led John over to the tied-up crew of the Bonnetta. The cook sat at the edge of the group, his head down, wide shoulders hunched in defeat with his hands tied behind his back.

"Sit here and be quiet pup." The pirate cuffed John on the back of his head and forced him down with a rough push.

John tumbled to the deck, cowering to avoid more abuse and sat down beside the cook. He felt the pirate wrap a length of prickly rope around his wrists and winced in pain as the rope cinched tighter, pinching his skin. When the man was confident John wouldn't escape his bonds, he stood and walked away.

Keeping his eyes on the deck, John concentrated on the feel of the rope, testing the tightness of the knot by twisting his shoulders. There wasn't much wiggle room between his wrists and John soon realized escape was unlikely. Then he remembered the pirate hadn't checked his pockets for the flip-knife. John began to wiggle, moving his hands closer to the pocket containing the weapon.

"Don't do it lad," the cook whispered. "Just sit still and be quiet."

John stopped squirming and looked to see if the pirates had noticed his attempts to gain freedom. If they had, they didn't seem to care.

"What happened?" John whispered. "How'd they take the ship so quickly?"

"They used the cannon fire as a distraction. An' while we were all lookin' towards the ship firing its cannons, they crept up on us from the opposite direction in a second ship. Then, the scurvy dogs boarded us secretly. An' before we knew what was goin' on, that man Hendrick took the capt'n by surprise an' held a knife to his throat. He held him hostage till we all gave up. These devils are a crafty bunch," the cook whispered.

"Oh!" John said. A feeling of disappointment and disbelief tugged at his perceptions, threatening to topple over his ideals like an unbalanced block tower. The attack had been so anticlimactic, it almost didn't feel real.

"Don't worry, yer mum is safe. The pirate capt'n, Black Sam I think his name was, seems genuinely concerned for her safety. That must be why he took her on board his ship with Capt'n Savage—" the cook paused, suddenly intensely interested in something past John's shoulder.

John followed the cook's gaze and saw a group on the deck of the pirate ship, the Sultana. Captain Savage and John's mother were among them. The defeated captain carried a bleak, weary expression of one who has lost all hope. His mother's face was ashen with seasickness and probably terror, her eyes were wide and her hair was a tangled mess.

The group walked to the gangplanks that linked the Bonetta to the Sultana. The two ships had been tied close together to make passage between them easier as long as the ocean's waves co-operated. As the group slowly boarded the Bonetta, John realized with surprise that neither Captain Savage, nor his mother had been tied up.

"Here they come now," the cook whispered.

John's attention focused on the pirate captain, Black Sam. A handsome, freshly-shaved face hid in the shadow of a well-worn black tricorn hat. Underneath, where a white powdered wig ought to be, his thick, long, black hair was tied in a low ponytail and hung halfway down his back. The pirate was dressed much like Captain Savage, with a long-tailed red jacket over a black waistcoat and a frilly, white button-up shirt, which was tucked neatly into cream-colored knee breeches, white stockings and black polished boots with brass buckles.

John looked to the masts of both of the pirate ships to see if they flew the Jolly Roger. Each ship had the customary black flag with the skull and crossbones on it. John couldn't see the name of the other ship, it was tied to the other side of the Bonetta.

Captain Black Sam escorted Captain Savage and John's mother down the hatchway of the Bonetta. As the group disappeared under the deck, John began to fidget again. He didn't want to be tied up anymore. It was boring. He wanted to be below deck. He wanted to know what was going on.

"What's going to happen now?" John wondered out loud.

"They're gonna relieve us of our cargo. Hopefully, that'll be all they do," the cook said.

"Do you know much about this pirate captain?" John asked.

"Never 'eard of him," the cook sighed. "He's not famous like Blackbeard. I've 'eard Blackbeard often maroons a crew an' burns their ship. Let's hope this Black Sam fellow isn't that sort o' pirate. Thus far, thar's been no real violence and that's a good sign, I'll wager."

"What's he going to do with the captain and my mum?"

"Maybe he'll hold them prisoner in the capt'n's quarters. More likely that'll be where ye'll find yerself before this day is through," the cook said.

The pirate who called himself Hendrick came towards the cook and John. "Ye're both needed down below. The Capt'n wants a word." Hendrick untied them and escorted them back to the hatchway, where he stood and watched them descend.

As soon as John's feet reached the floorboards, his mother ran to him, crying. "Oh John, there you are. I was so worried."

"I'm okay, Mum," John murmured as he hugged his mother, surprised by the sudden outburst of affection, their earlier dispute forgotten.

"An' ye're the cook, I assume," Captain Black Sam said.

"I am," the cook answered.

"Then go about yer business as if we weren't here," Captain Black Sam ordered. "Feed the crew an' don't worry about mine. They've already eaten." The pirate captain tipped his tricorn hat towards John and his mother, then retreated up the ladder.

"Well he's a cordial one, isn't he," the cook muttered as he entered the kitchen galley to get started on lunch.

As the cook started preparing the meal, the common room began filling with pirates. Captain Savage silently retreated to his quarters, unguarded. John and his mother stood by the door, watching as the pirates went into the hold and began tearing down the ropes and nets holding the cargo in place.

"What do we got here?" Hendrick said as he opened up the lid of one of the barrels with his knife. He bent over the opening and sniffed loudly. "Aye, that's quality tobacco," he sighed and began filling his smoke pouch with the dried, fragrant leaves. The other pirates crowded around him and filled their pouches as well.

Hendrick stepped out of the hold and yelled up to the men on deck, "Ready."

The men above him pulled up the ladder and threw down some ropes so the men below could transport the barrel of tobacco through the hatchway. One by one, the largest barrels were set on the floor sideways and slowly rolled through the hold into the common room, where they were securely tied and hoisted up.

After about an hour, the cook rang the lunch bell, and the pirates stopped working. They brought the ladder back to its place and disappeared back up through the hatchway. In a few moments, the crew of the Bonetta began descending the ladder and lining up at the kitchen door, where the cook was about to serve a lunch of salted beef in broth with sea biscuits.

John and his mother went into the captain's quarters to retrieve their dishes and utensils. The captain sat at his small table, staring vacantly out the port window.

"Would you like us to bring you something?" Alice asked.

"Hmmm? Aye," he said without looking at her.

John grabbed the captain's bowl and spoon and left with his mother, intending to line up with the crew. When they returned to the common room, it was so crowded and chaotic that they couldn't tell where the end of the line started, so they just crowded in and hoped they'd be let in. The men were accommodating enough, and soon John and his mother were allowed close enough to be served their portions.

They returned to the captain and sat down with him to eat. The captain took his food, thanking Alice. Then he violently crumbled his biscuits into his broth and began stirring the contents angrily with his spoon. John and his mother exchanged anxious expressions.

"What's to become of us," Alice cried, unable to hold in her worries a moment longer.

The captain sighed. "Captain Black Sam has given me his word that no harm will come to any of us as long as we cooperate fully."

John dipped a biscuit into his broth and held it there to soak up the liquid. He lifted his biscuit from the broth and examined it for a moment before biting off and swallowing the mushy part. The smoke-flavored beef broth was heavily salted, but when it was combined with a biscuit, it was edible.

"Are we to sit in this cabin the entire time they're here?" John asked.

"I'm not going out there with those ruffians and neither are you," Alice proclaimed. "You stay away from those men. I forbid you to even look at them."

"But what if I have to use the bathroom?" John whined.

"You can go use it and come right back," she said.

"It's best if you stay out of the way for now while they're haulin' up the cargo," Captain Savage said in a defeated tone.

"But we have to clean our dishes," John cried.

The captain gave John a stern look. "Aye, that we do. Take them out to the common room and join the crew as they wash theirs. When yer done, do as yer mother says an' come right back."

After they finished their lunch, John took the dishes out to the common room. It was chaos again. The small space was packed with unhappy sailors. John listened to the men mumble under their breath as he waited his turn at the wash bucket. Mr. Wicker was the most vocal.

"Are we just going to stand around and let them steal my sugar and tobacco? This is an outrage. You fellows didn't even put up a fight. What am I paying you for?" Mr. Wicker sputtered, his face hot with rage.

"We didn't sign onto this ship to die," one of the crewmen said harshly. John recognized the man. It was the first mate of the Bonetta, a young, ambitious man who had always been polite and courteous in John's presence. He couldn't remember the man's name.

"He had a knife to the capt'n's throat. Are ye sayin' yer precious cargo is more important than his life?" the first mate argued, his brown eyes flashed with rage.

"He's the captain. He goes down with the ship, an' all that. Does he not?" Mr. Wicker countered.

"They have us out-gunned and out-numbered. Two ships against one. Ye should be counting yer lucky starfish that we're alive. Had we fought back, we'd all likely be shark food by now," the first mate snarled.

John washed his dishes and placed them in his net bag, but he didn't want to go back to the captain's quarters, as was expected of him. Instead, he found a hook on the wall to hang his bag on and stood out of the way so he could watch the pirates haul the cargo through the hatchway. He stayed by the wall for a while, unnoticed, before his mother poked her head out of the captain's door.

"Come back this instant," she screeched.

John's face reddened when everyone in the room turned to look at him. He pushed his way through the crew and walked towards her. The men were laughing, and he knew it was at his expense. In that moment he hated her for humiliating him. Every fiber of his being urged him to yell back at her and tell her no. But the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in the captain's quarters for the rest of the day, so he pressed his lips together and said nothing.

If the pirates hadn't removed the ladder to haul the cargo up to the deck, he would've ignored her and run off up to the crow's nest. But for now he was stuck below deck, so he did what she wanted.

She held the door open until John was safely inside, then she closed it behind him. If she could lock it, she probably would, John thought as he sat at the table to sulk. He decided he would wait until the pirates were finished hauling up the cargo and when they replaced the ladder, he would make another excuse to leave. Once he was back on deck, his mother wouldn't be able to control him, and then he could do what he wanted no matter what she said.

#  Chapter 5

John peered through a crack in the doorjamb, watching the pirates hoist barrels up through the open cargo doors, waiting for his chance to escape the captain's quarters. Around dinnertime, John saw his window of opportunity when the pirates quit for the day. As he watched the men retreat up the hatchway ladder he knew it was time to put his plan in motion.

An adrenaline rush washed over his entire body as he turned to face his mother who was sitting at the table reading her book.

"I'm going out to use the head," John announced as he made a sudden move to grab the door handle.

"Not without me," Alice said. She shot out of her chair and lunged toward her son.

"Oh, give the poor lad some space," Captain Savage said in an irritated tone. He barely looked up from his solitary game of cards.

"I'm his mother!" Alice cried. "I'm going to make sure he comes back."

John opened the door and slowly took a step towards freedom, then stopped as his mother quickened her pace. So far, his plan wasn't working out the same way he had imagined it. Caught in a moment of indecision, he stood in the doorway, contemplating abandoning the charade and making a run for the ladder.

But, before he could sprint off, his mother caught him by the wrist and led him out into the crowded common room. The air was damp with the perspiration of all the anxious men who had crammed themselves into the tight space. A pungent body odor dominated the room, assaulting his nostrils and forcing John to breathe through his mouth.

The entire crew of the Bonetta was at unease. They had been forced to sit idle while the pirates plundered their vessel. A constant murmur of unhappy grumbles and soft voices wafted about the room from groups of men that were scattered about, playing cards and sipping grog from their battered, tin mugs. The men paid little attention to John and his mother as they pushed their way past them.

John stopped at the doorway of the partially unloaded hold. From under the ladder he could hear pirates up on deck talking and laughing. They must be guarding the hatchway, John thought.

"I'll go first," Alice said suddenly. "You stay here where I can see you."

John's heart fluttered with excitement. This was his chance. While she was busy, he could escape up the ladder. And with luck, John thought, the guards will let me by.

John waited, his body taut with tension as his mother walked past him. He focused his attention on the voices above him and tried to guess who was up there.

"The capt'n wants someone to go down and extend an invitation to those who may want to join us. I saw two slaves earlier. Make sure they know that tha're welcome ta come over to the Sultana. An tell the big one the capt'n wants a word."

John almost fainted as what he heard sank in. I could become a pirate too, he suddenly realized. He looked up the ladder, then back towards his mother. It was difficult to see her in the darkness, but he knew she could see him easily from the head.

"Stay where you are, John," she called.

Ignoring his mother, John waited for one of the pirates to come down the ladder before he started his way up.

"John!" his mother yelled.

He could hear her scrambling to get off the head. It would only be a moment before she was on him again.

He climbed faster, and when he reached the hatchway opening he surprised a stout-looking pirate who was about to come down. The round-bellied man let John climb onto the deck before starting his descent, blocking Alice, who was about to come up.

The sudden appearance of the pirate startled Alice. She gasped in horror and quickly retreated to the safety of the captain's quarters. John breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her go.

"Tired of bein' down below, eh?" a man growled.

John spun to see Hendrick. The man smiled, but it didn't touch his dark brown eyes, which seemed to have a malevolent spark. In fact, his expression was far from jovial. It was as if the man's lips were stuck in a permanent sneer, even when he was smiling.

John took a deep breath as he gathered enough courage to speak. His eyes focused on the many scars that ran in thin lines across Hendrick's umber cheeks like whiskers and wondered if they were self-inflicted.

"I heard you talking about letting people from the Bonetta come with you. I want to join too," John finally blurted.

Hendrick laughed a mighty guffaw, then said, "I doubt the capt'n would take ye on. Accordin' to the Pirate Code neither pups nor wenches are allowed to join the fair trade."

"I'm not a pup! I'll be a man soon. I'm almost ten," he lied. His ninth birthday had been just the month before, in October.

"Ten! Well then, that makes all the difference. Ye best ask the capt'n," Hendrick growled. "He's over on the Sultana. Why don't ye go thar, an' pester 'im."

John hesitated as he looked towards the pirate ship. He had a sneaking suspicion Hendrick was trying to get rid of him, but he wanted very much to talk to the captain.

Suddenly, Hendrick cuffed John across the back of his head with an open palm, sending him flying forward. Shocked by the blow, John stumbled, but quickly regained his balance as he let the momentum shoot him towards his destination. Keeping his eyes forward, John ducked and ran towards the gangplanks that connected the two ships and hoped the man would leave him alone.

As he scampered over the planks, he made a mental note to never turn his back on the pirate first mate again. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder to see if the menace was following and let out a breath of relief when he saw Hendrick had disappeared.

Although the threat was gone, John could feel his body shaking from shock, but he pushed himself to continue. He took his first step onto the Sultana's deck and felt the last of his courage ebb away like an evaporating pool of water on a hot day. He froze. A few pirates, standing at the bow, turned to leer at him with hungry eyes. He took a step back, but then, noticed a four-foot-tall man swabbing the pine deck with a dirty mop.

The small man stopped working for a moment and made eye contact with John, his expression was curious, not hostile. The little man's stature gave John hope. If a tiny man like this could be allowed to join, then surely Captain Black Sam would be likely to take me on too, John thought, feeling hope rise in his chest.

"What do ye want?" the small pirate asked in a surprised tone.

"I've come to talk to Captain Black Sam Bellamy," John said.

"He's in thar," the small pirate said, pointing to the above-deck cabin with the mop handle. The man quickly began swabbing the deck again as though he just remembered he had to be elsewhere.

Feeling encouraged, John walked slowly to the stern of the ship where the captain's door waited for him. The Sultana was twice the size of the Bonetta. It was a two-masted sloop with the navigation wheel on top of the captain's quarters. Two ladders led up to the empty helm on either side of the cabin, leaving only enough room for a narrow, red door in between.

John stopped at the door and hesitated for a moment, listening for movement within. He took a deep breath and knocked three times. No one answered right away. But as John listened, he could hear murmured voices and then footsteps coming towards the door. His heart began to hammer inside his chest.

"Blast it all! Who's thar?" called an annoyed voice, just before the door swung open. The man standing in the doorway was not the captain. He was a short, heavy man with a receding brown hairline, and small, squinty green eyes partially hidden behind square, gold-rimmed, reading glasses.

"Who's this?" the man asked, as he stooped to examine John's face. The pirate's breath stank of rum and salt pork.

"Well, let me see, Mr. Noland. Don't jus' stand thar gawking," the captain's voice said from within.

The man stepped aside. Captain Black Sam was sitting on a chair leaning against the wall, his bare feet resting on top of a table littered with papers, maps and charts. His faded black tricorn hat hung from a wall hook above his head. The man had a look John imagined a prince would have, a strong jaw, straight nose and the kind of expression which radiated confidence and charm. His long, black, curly hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, away from his face.

John swallowed hard and took a step inside the doorway. The cabin was a luxurious space compared to Captain Savage's quarters. There was a finely decorated Turkish rug at the center of the room. Over it stood a bed, large enough for two. It was covered in thick layers of varying hues of purple velvet with four royal-looking pillows piled high against a mahogany headboard decorated with a carved floral design. A large, ornately carved mahogany wardrobe with a similar design stood against the far wall and a matching chest sat at the foot of the bed.

Looming over it all, a large ominous painting of a ship navigating a dark and stormy sea hung over the headboard. Purple silk curtains hung over the port windows, obscuring the late afternoon sun, giving the room a dim, moody feel. The air inside was stifling; a choking haze of tobacco smoke hung from the ceiling, stinging John's eyes.

"That's the young pup from the Bonetta," the captain said sounding surprised. "What do ye want puppy?"

"I heard you're looking for recruits," John said.

"Aye and... ye have someone in mind?"

"Yes, me!"

"Ha!" the captain laughed, he slapped his thigh and leaned forward. "Puppies don't belong at sea!"

The captain took a moment to take a drag of his pipe, all the while his eyes swept John from head to toe as if he didn't know what to make of the child, tobacco smoke drifted lazily out of one nostril. After a sip of grog from his coconut chalice, he dismissed John with a curt shooing gestured made with the back of his hand.

"I'm not a puppy!" John cried in despair, knowing that he had lost the man's interest.

"No? Prove it," the captain slurred, his bloodshot blue eyes widening.

Suddenly, it became clear that the captain was drunk. John felt frustration build inside him as tears sprang unwanted to his eyes.

"I will!" John cried, and stomped out of the room in a fit of rage.

The two men laughed as if they had just been privy to the funniest thing they had ever seen. Mr. Noland was doubled over with mirth, tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks as he shut the door. John stood staring at the red door, not knowing what to do next, his eyes continued to sting. Humiliated, he ran back to the Bonetta, rubbing his eyes and avoiding the gaze of the pirates milling about the deck.

By the time he reached the Bonetta's hatchway, his tears were creeping over his flushed cheeks. He angrily wiped them away with dirty fingertips and hoped no one saw. There were two pirates guarding the hatchway ladder, so John kept his gaze down, not wanting to see the smug expression on their faces.

Once he was safely past the intrusive gaze of the guards, he descended the ladder slowly. Suddenly, he wasn't in a hurry for the rest of the crew to see him in the state he was in. Despite his best effort, his tears were falling faster than before. At the bottom of the ladder, he took a moment to calm himself by taking a few deep breaths. Then, he dried his face with his shirtsleeve before entering the common room.

Again, the stench of unwashed men assaulted his nostrils as he stepped into the crowded room. Thankfully, not a single man took noticed of him. A loud argument was going on near the captain's door. He pushed his way through, curios to see what all the commotion was about. As he reached the galley wall, he had a better view of what was going on.

The man doing most of the yelling was Mr. Wicker. His face was bright red with rage, which was in stark contrast with his bristly, white beard. Captain Savage stood, nearby in his doorway, listening to the commotion, his face degenerating into a frustrated scowl.

Hendrick and two of his flunkies were in the center of the group. The pirates held their flintlock pistols, one in each hand, on the crowd, while Hendrick searched Mr. Wicker's pockets.

"Where's the key, old man?" Hendrick sneered as he patted down Mr. Wicker's vest pockets. "Just give 'em to me," he said impatiently.

"They're my property. You can't have 'em. I paid good money for 'em," Mr. Wicker bellowed. Clearly, he had no intention of giving up. He tried to swat Hendricks's hands away from his waistcoat.

Hendrick grabbed Mr. Wicker by the back of his neck and forced his face to the floor.

"No man should own another," Hendrick hissed. "An' they want ta come with us."

The two slaves were moving through the back of the crowd towards the pirates, their manacles clanging with every step.

Hendrick pulled out a flintlock and pressed the barrel to his victim's temple.

"Now I'm not askin' ye. I'm tellin'," he said as he cocked the firing pin.

"Here, take 'em." Mr. Wicker reached inside his waistcoat and produced a set of iron keys.

Hendrick snatched the keys.

"Ah," Hendrick said. He slammed the man's face into the floor and stood up. Dangling the keys from one finger, he sauntered over to the slaves and threw the keys to the African man, his eyes sparkling with emotion.

The African man had the reflexes of a leopard. He snatched the keys from midair and immediately began unlocking his wrist irons. They opened with a satisfying click and fell, clattering to the floor. With deft fingers, he began work on the underfed, teenage boy's shackles.

John felt sorry for the boy. He was naked except for a tiny, dirty loincloth wrapped around his waist. And the boy was so skinny the shape of his skull and ribs were visible underneath his dark skin as if some great force was sucking at him from the inside. The boy had the vacant look of the defeated in his brown eyes. But a slight smile emerged on his thin brown lips as his shackles fell away.

The African man dropped the keys on the floor next to the heap of iron that had once bound them both. Neither the man nor the teenage boy took a second look at Mr. Wicker, huddled on the floor, as they walked through the crowd to the ladder.

"Tha're off to join Robin Hood's men," Hendrick said with the theatrical air of a circus ringmaster. "Any of ye land lubbers could, too. A buccaneer could earn his weight in gold once he's joined up with Captain Bellamy and his crew. Among his fellow privateers, he's known as the Prince of Pirates. An' his men call themselves Robin Hood's men fer good cause, aye they do. We steal from the rich an' give to the poor, the poor bein' ourselves of course. Har! An' most importantly! All men are equal, according to pirate law, on the Sultana."

Hendrick sashayed to the ladder and took a few steps up before he turned to add, "Think on it men. Yer fortune awaits ye." And with that, he quickly climbed the ladder with the two other pirates following closely behind him.

Hendricks's recruitment speech roused an even keener interest in John. The words 'Robin Hood's men' echoed in his mind. I was right all along. Some pirates are more civil than others. Captain Savage was wrong, he realized with a surge of intense happiness.

John envied the two former slaves. His mind churned with ways to prove himself to Black Sam. He thought about destroying the mainsail of the Bonetta with his knife and setting his gunpowder ablaze in the common room. That would certainly get him a lot of attention, but would it get him on the pirate ship? He wasn't certain. Neither idea really appealed to him. He didn't want to hurt anyone, and most importantly, he didn't want to upset Captain Savage.

And yet, he had to prove his worth somehow. John thought hard as he walked towards the captain's door, where Captain Savage was waiting for him. As soon as he stepped past the captain, his mother began bombarding him with questions.

"How dare you defy me? Where did you run off to? How could you do that to me? I was worried sick. What has gotten into you? You used to be such a good boy."

"I went to talk to Captain Black Sam," John stated coolly.

"What!" Alice cried. "Why?"

"I want to be a pirate."

His mother inhaled sharply, bringing her hands to her mouth as she took a step back from her son. She stared at him for a moment with disbelief in her eyes. Then, the rage that had colored her cheeks only moments ago began to drain away. John could tell from the look of terror on her face that she was at a total loss for words.

Finally, after blinking back tears, she wailed, "You can't. You can't just go off and become a pirate. That's ludicrous."

"Yes, I can," John said, stomping one foot. "I can and I will."

"Stop this lad. Ye're upsetting yer mum," Captain Savage commanded.

John turned his attention from his mother to the captain and watched the man reclaim his seat at the table. Captain Savage seemed to shrink into the chair as he sat, his shoulders slumped into the hunched posture of the weak and defeated. Not long ago, John had admired the man, but now he felt sorry for the broken-down shell of the man he once was.

"Don't worry Mrs. King. They'll never take him on as a pirate. He's too young," the captain consoled.

"I just don't know what's gotten into him," Alice sat beside the captain, cradling her face in her palms. After a moment, she reached for a lacey white fan lying on the table and began using it to cool the recently renewed flush on her cheeks.

"He's just restless. Once ye reach Jamaica, he'll forget all about this nonsense," the captain said. He picked up a dog-eared deck of cards and began to shuffle them.

Alice nodded. "I hope your right," she agreed.

Surprised his mother had turned her attention from him so soon. John retreated to his hammock to think more on what he needed to do to gain Black Sam's favor. There had to be something he could do that would convince the captain to take him along.

John thought long and hard about his situation, but his eyelids were heavy and sleep came before any real solutions could be found.

# Chapter 6

In the morning John climbed out of his hammock, careful not to wake his mother, and tiptoed barefoot out the cabin door. Men were sprawled all over the floor of the common room, passed out drunk no doubt, and all of the hammocks were full of sleeping men, as well. John did his best not to bother the men as he picked his way past their slumbering bodies.

From the sounds coming from the kitchen galley, John knew the cook was preparing to make breakfast. John stopped by the kitchen door and snuck a handful of biscuits while the man had his back turned. Unnoticed, he continued on to the hatchway, hoping the guards would let him pass.

Today, he intended to climb up to the crow's nest where he hoped he could be alone with his thoughts. I need to show the pirates I belong with them, John ruminated as he climbed the ladder to the hatchway.

"Who goes thar," a tall pirate said, his mouth was lined with rotting teeth and long greasy hair hung down his face from a receding hairline. The man drew a pistol from his belt and bent over the boy, shoving the weapon towards John's face.

John froze as he stared down the barrel of the gun, not knowing what to say or do.

"Ah heck, it's just that kid again," the friendlier short pirate said. "Where are ye off ta now?"

"The crow's nest to feed the seagulls," John squeaked.

"Be off with ye then," the tall pirate said. He grabbed John by the arm and pulled him through the hatchway. "But don't go botherin' the capt'n. If I find ye over thar again, I'll beat ye bloody."

"Don't be so hard on the lad," the short pirate said. "Can ye blame 'im fer wantin' to be one of us?"

"I won't bother him," John agreed as he backed away from the men, headed for the rope ladder that would lead up the mainmast. He smiled at the short, round-bellied pirate. Gaining sympathy from the guard was just what John needed to boost his confidence. Maybe, I can get him to talk to the captain for me, John thought as he turned to climb the rope ladder up the mast.

Once in the crow's nest, John pressed his stomach against the basket wall and took a bite out of the crumbling biscuit in his hand. As he munched, he watched the birds fly in lazy circles above him. A plan slowly began to take shape in his mind. I could lure a seagull in with a biscuit and shoot it down with my sling shot. Killing a bird would show Captain Black Sam that I'm a talented shot. Maybe, he'd take me on if he thought I could be of some use to him.

He lined his biscuits in a row on the edge of the crow's nest and waited to see what the birds would do. The gulls took notice immediately and began circling closer. John selected a clear marble from the small collection he always kept in his shirt pocket. Then he singled out a bird, placed a marble in the slingshot, and aimed carefully at the seagull as it flew by. He shot and missed.

As another seagull swooped in, John grabbed another marble, but the bird was too quick for him. By the time he had reloaded, the gull was flying away with its prize. But more birds swooped in and John had many more opportunities. He shot off a few more rounds, but hitting a flying bird was harder than he expected. With every missed shot, the birds became more wary of him and seemed to anticipate his every move.

But the greedy birds couldn't pass up the food he was offering, so John practiced again and again until he was down to his last marble. While he carefully lined up his final shot a seagull came straight at him. This is it, John thought, I'm going to get this one for sure. He fired just as the bird landed on the biscuit, but the shot flew wide.

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he slumped in defeat over the rail. As he leaned forward he desperately looked for any marbles that might have fallen below and might still be on the Bonetta. He scanned the deck carefully. Most of the marbles had been shot out into the waves, never to be seen again, but he was sure one or two had landed below.

The sun glinted off something shiny embedded inside a coil of rope left behind by the pirates. Encouraged, John climbed down to the deck and began searching through the rope. When he found it, he snatched up the glass orb and held his prize to the sun. The light shone through the blue-tinted glass, highlighting the tiny air bubbles trapped inside.

The seagulls continued to fly around the crow's nest, oblivious to the danger they were in. They squawked as they swarmed over the last of the sea biscuits that John had left on the railing far above. In their haste, the greedy birds knocked a biscuit off the railing. It fell to the deck and broke open, spraying crumbs in all directions.

John, recognizing his opportunity, readied the marble in his sling shot, aimed at the biscuit and waited. When a seagull landed on it, John fired and hit the bird in the chest, stunning it. The gull flopped over and began to flutter its wings helplessly.

John whooped, jumping into the air to celebrate his success before he ran over to the bird to catch it. The bird squawked and pecked at John's fingers as he picked it up, but John pinned its wings to its body and refused to let go. He stood and watched the bird squirm, not knowing what to do next.

"John! What are you doing?" Alice screeched. She ran to him and cuffed the back of his head with the palm of her hand until he let go of the bird. It fell to the deck and hopped away, unharmed. Soon after, the bird regained its wits and flew away.

"Nothing," John said in a sharp tone. He tried without success to hide his slingshot under his shirt. He was surprised to see his mother, and extremely annoyed that she had interrupted him.

"Don't take that tone with me. I saw you. What has gotten into you?" Alice cried, on the verge of hysterics. She ripped the slingshot from John's hand and threw it overboard. John watched helplessly as it fell on the deck of the Sultana with a clatter of wood against wood.

"I was going to kill it, so I could prove myself to the pirates," John yelled, glaring up at her. She would never understand him. It was her fault that Black Sam viewed him as a weak puppy. John took a step towards his mother, wind-milling his fists with the intention of hitting her. As soon as the word 'pirates' flew from his mouth, Alice's face turned purple with rage.

"I've had enough of this nonsense," Alice cried as she grappled with John's flailing arms. One of her hands found the black pouch and ripped it from his belt, spilling the precious powder over the deck.

When John saw what she had done, he screamed with rage and clawed at her face, trying to exact his revenge with his fingernails. This only enraged his mother further. She held his wrists together with one hand and, with the other hand, rolled his body so his chest faced her legs, then she sat down, pulling him to the ground with her.

"You're going to learn to mind me even if I have to beat the lesson into you," she screeched.

Alice pinned John to his stomach with one arm and began pulling down his breeches with her free hand. John was horrified when he realized she intended to spank him. He tried to fight her off, slapping at her face with one hand and trying to pull his breeches up with the other.

"No! No! No!" he screamed. "You can't!"

"Yes, I can," she said, and she struck his bare buttocks as hard as she could with the palm of her hand. John heard the slap of flesh on flesh, and a shock of pain shot through him. He cried out more with rage and embarrassment than pain. The laughter of the men hurt more than anything. He couldn't believe that she was doing this in front of them, especially the pirates.

He struggled and screamed as she continued to slap. It was as if all of her pent up frustration from being ignored the last few days was being released in her rage as she struck him. At some point, John wasn't sure when, he began to wail and sob uncontrollably. Soon after, the men quit laughing and John's pitiful cries broke through his mother's rage; her hand began to slow, and then finally stopped.

When she let him go, John flew from her, pulling up his breeches as he ran. With the agility of a monkey, he climbed the rope ladder to the safety of the crow's nest.

"Come down here this instant," Alice screamed.

"I hate you!" John yelled. He crumpled into a ball on the floor, pressed his face into his knees, and cried until he was so exhausted the only thing left to do was sleep.

***

It was late evening when he woke. John rubbed his swollen eyes and stretched out his aching legs. A cold bowl of salted pork soup and two sea biscuits had been left beside him. John stared at the meal wondering if his mother had left the food, and then realized it was most likely the cook.

He stuffed the two biscuits in his pocket and put a spoonful of the soup in his mouth. It tasted even saltier cold and the gelatinous consistency of the meal turned John's stomach. He pushed the uneaten portion as far away as he could with his foot.

John thought about throwing the bowl overboard, but couldn't muster the will or the strength to do it. His whole body ached from the punishment he had received. He began to shiver, but couldn't tell if it was from the cold night air, or from the memory of what his mother had done.

John's hatred burned like a coal fire inside him, and wouldn't easily be put out. He had never been so angry at her in his entire life. As he stared intently at the basket wall, he found himself wishing the pirates had killed her when they took the ship. I'd be better off without her, he thought bitterly.

But a nagging inner voice harshly reminded John of his reality. He knew he would have to face his mother again, just as he knew he'd have to face the crew of the Bonetta, and the pirates. But not now, he thought, I'll stay in the crow's nest for the night. The star-studded sky was clear of clouds, and he was sheltered from the worst of the wind by the nest's wicker walls. He tried to go back to sleep, but the night air was damp and cool, and he couldn't get comfortable.

Frustrated, John banged the back of his head against the wall of the crow's nest. But instead of hitting something hard, his head hit something soft. John turned to see what it was and soon realized someone had hung a gray wool blanket over the edge while he slept.

Smiling, John wrapped the thick blanket around his shoulders and legs and felt instant relief from the chilly night air. Now that he was all wrapped up, John felt safe, secure and loved. Just knowing the cook cared made all the difference. John knew then if he wanted to come down he could stay in the kitchen galley, and find protection from his mother. Maybe I'll like peeling potatoes after all, he thought. He leaned against the wall of the crow's nest, and let the constant roll of the Bonetta rock him back to sleep.

Early in the morning, John woke with a start. His body was cold and stiff. He quickly ate a sea biscuit, keeping his scratchy wool blanket wrapped around his shoulders. When he was done eating, he rubbed the life back into his numb legs with the palms of his hands.

Eager to get moving, John tied the blanket around his neck and grabbed his cold bowl of soup. He held the lip of the bowl in his teeth, so he could use both hands as he descended the rope ladder. Once on the deck, he threw the contents of his bowl overboard, tiptoed past the sleeping pirate guards and descended to the common room.

Men slept in their hammocks and on the floor, wrapped in scratchy wool blankets. The room was quiet. Not a single man stirred as John stepped off the ladder. While the pirates had control of the Bonetta, her crew's duties went unattended. There was no need to rise with the sun as the men were accustomed to doing.

John walked slowly through the hammocks and stepped over a few men huddled on the floor. He tiptoed to the galley, where he hoped to find the cook. When he reached the doorway, his heart warmed at the sight of the one-eyed man.

"Ah... John, there ye are. So glad ye could join me. I trust ye found the soup?" the cook said.

John nodded. He held the empty bowl up to prove that he had.

"If yer thirsty, an' still hungry," the cook whispered, "help yerself to some hot broth and sea biscuits. Wash up in that bucket over there if ye need to."

John used the bucket to wash his bowl, and then ladled a large helping of broth into it. Then, while he grabbed a handful of sea biscuits from basket by the door, the cook pulled a small wooden stool out from under the counter and offered it to John to sit on. Grateful, John took the stool and sat uncomfortably, facing the doorway. He was afraid his mother would appear, and he wanted to be ready to run at a moment's notice.

John tried to shift his weight off his sore buttocks by leaning forward on his toes, but it didn't help much. He drank his broth and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing pain. The cook noticed his discomfort and grimaced.

"I once was whipped with a cat o' nine tails," the cook said. "It was the worst kind of pain I've ever endured in public."

"What's a cat o' nine tails?" John asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

The cook's expression darkened. "It's a nasty whip that they use to dish out corporal punishment in King's royal navy." The cook took off his apron, turned his back, and lifted his shirt so John could see a cluster of long, thin scars between his shoulder blades.

"Oh!" John exclaimed and choked. He almost had to spit out what was left in his mouth, but instead he took another sip of broth and swallowed the dry dough. The cook's scars looked like they had once been very painful wounds.

"Why were you whipped?" John asked in a hushed, awe-stricken voice.

"I was caught gambling while on duty. It was the nightshift and many of the sailors did it to pass the time," the cook shrugged. "Some of us were caught and that was the punishment. I was discharged soon after. M' heart just wasn't in it no more."

John didn't know what to say. Being whipped sounded a lot worse than what he had endured the day before.

"Do pirates get whipped like that, too?" John asked.

"Don't know," the cook tied his apron around his waist again. "Truth be told, I don't know much about pirates except for what Captain Savage has told me. I'm mighty surprised with the way that they've treated us thus far."

"When they leave, I'm going with them," John said. "And I don't care what my mother or anyone has to say about it."

"She cares about you in her own way. She just has a funny way of showing it," the cook said as he began peeling potatoes.

John ignored the cook's comment about his mother. He had no intention of forgiving her. "Can I stay with you for a while? I can help in the galley."

"Course ye can. There's an extra paring knife in that box on the floor," the cook said as he pointed to a shallow wooden tray under the counter.

John set aside his empty bowl and looked through the tray for the knife. When he found it, he pulled the stool over to the counter and climbed up so he could help. After the potatoes were peeled, he helped chop them and then dumped them, as he was shown, into a tin pot filled with water. As they worked, the cook told John stories of his time in the royal navy.

John was glad he had decided to seek refuge in the galley. It felt good to lose himself in mindless activity and help the man who had been so kind to him.

# Chapter 7

John hid in the galley while the cook served breakfast, too embarrassed to show his face around the crew of the Bonetta. If only I could convince Black Sam to take me on as a pirate, he thought as he hugged his knees to his chest. I'd leave her and never come back.

A scene from the day before invaded his mind again. He didn't want to think about the spanking anymore, but thoughts of it kept coming back like a recurring nightmare. His cheeks flushed hot with renewed embarrassment as fresh tears welled-up, blurring his vision. A single tear escaped and ran down his flushed cheek. Angry, he wiped it away with a balled fist and took a deep breath.

"I'm not going to cry," he whispered with determination.

The cook gave him a quick look, then went back to ladling soup and handing out biscuits to the crew. John watched the cook's broad, muscular shoulders move under his shirt. He remembered the terrible scars on the cook's back, and shivered when he tried to imagine what it would be like to be whipped bloody by a cat o' nine tails.

He listened to the men beyond the galley talk quietly as they waited for their portions. From his hiding spot under the shelves against the wall, John could see the face of each man at the front of the line. As the cook served them, he engaged the crew with humor-filled banter that lifted the spirits of some, and visibly annoyed others.

Captain Savage came to the front of the line with two bowls and John was relieved to know he wouldn't see his mother, since the captain was most likely bringing her a portion as well. While the cook ladled the broth into the captain's bowls, Captain Savage said, "Thanks, Jack."

John's back straightened and his eyes widened, he hadn't known the cook's name until now. His cheeks flushed a deeper crimson when he realized he hadn't taken the time to properly get to know the man. He made a mental note to ask the cook his full name when he wasn't busy.

John waited until the last man had his portion before he got up to receive his. The cook smiled as he ladled the soup into John's bowl.

"The captain called you Jack," John said suddenly, not knowing how else to broach the topic.

"Aye, Jack Metcalf is m' name." Jack continued to smile as he spoke. The scar that ran through his eye wrinkled in a ghastly way every time he moved his lips. It was hard not to stare at the dead eye.

"Why don't you ever wear an eye patch?" John blurted.

"I only wear it on special occasions," Jack said as he pulled a stool out from under the counter and sat on it.

John sat on the floor against the wall so he could face Jack as he ate. Today, Jack had put dried peas in with the potatoes and salt pork. John crumbled his biscuit into the soup, just as Jack usually did, and began shoveling the mixture into his mouth. The peas added a bittersweet quality, which seemed to diminish the soup's usual salty flavor.

"So, when do you think the pirates will be finished?" John asked.

"They certainly don't seem t' be in a hurry. I overheard some o' the crew sayin' that by the rate they be loadin,' it could take over a week t' get everythin' off the Bonetta."

"I wonder why it's taking so long."

Jack shrugged. He finished his soup and placed his bowl on the counter. "I wish they'd hurry up about it. As soon as they're finished we can be on our way."

"Captain Savage said that the pirates would kill us all and burn the Bonetta. Do you think Black Sam would do that?"

" Naw... he doesn't seem the type. If they were goin' t' do somethin' of that sort they would've been more violent by now. Naw... that Black Sam... I've got 'im pegged as the romantic type."

"Romantic?"

"Aye... the sort that has ideals 'n the like. He seems to be in it fer more than just the doubloons. Maybe he ain't plannin' on bein' a pirate fer long or perhaps he hasn't been one fer long. Aye, I bet 'tis that, an' he's nah interested in unneeded bloodshed."

"I wish he'd take me away with him," John said wistfully.

"I know ye do," Jack sighed. "But its nah like ye can apply fer an apprenticeship, 'tis a pirate ship after all."

"Apprentice," John jumped up from the floor. "That's it!"

"What?"

"I can ask him if I can be a pirate's apprentice."

"Nay. That's nah wha' I meant." Jack blinked nervously and looked as if he were trying to come up with something to say that would discourage John.

But it was too late, he had planted a seed of hope in John's mind and the boy was already rushing from the galley to the common room.

"John wait—" Jack yelled after him.

John didn't look back. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. It was so simple it was genius. He'd ask the pirate captain for an apprenticeship. He knew the answer would most likely be no, for now. But if he asked Black Sam every day, then maybe he'd eventually say yes. John climbed the ladder with a smile on his face.

On the deck, the two pirates guarding the hatchway didn't seem to care if John came through. As he walked past them, John pretended he was headed for the crow's nest and waited to be confronted. The tall one gave John a suspicious glare, but said nothing.

As soon as he was far enough away from the guards, John sprinted towards the gangplanks and ran over them to the Sultana.

"Oi!" the tall pirate called out as he began to pursue. John was too quick for him and was at the captain's door before the guard could catch up. John hammered on the wood with his fist, rattling the door on its hinges.

"Wha' be it now?" the quartermaster yelled from behind the door as he opened it.

"I came to talk to the captain," John blurted just as the guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked it back.

"Did ye now? Is this t' become a common occurrence?" the quartermaster asked, thoroughly annoyed.

"I can take 'im back to the Bonetta if he's botherin' ye," the guard said to the quartermaster as he pulled John away by the arm.

"Let go!" John yelled.

"Is that the young pup from the Bonetta?" Captain Black Sam asked. "Well don't just stand there, Mr. Noland. Let him in."

The quartermaster sighed and nodded to the guard. The tall pirate let go of John's arm, his mouth hanging open.

"I'll be below deck if anyone needs me," the quartermaster said sourly as he left.

"Come in puppy," the captain said. "I need a good distraction. Wha' can I do fer ye this fine day?"

"I came to ask you if you'd take me on as an apprentice," John said as he walked into the room and closed the door.

"Right to the point, I like that about ye," the captain said looking amused. He sat forward in his chair and looked John over seriously. "Ye remind me of myself at yer age."

"So will you do it?" John asked.

"Ye're a persistent lil' fellow. I'll give ye that, but no I can't take ye on as an apprentice. Where ever did ye get such a notion?" the captain asked.

John shrugged. "Nowhere. I thought it up myself."

Captain Black Sam sighed, rubbing his sweaty face with his palms. "Ye don't want to be a pirate, lad, trust me. 'Tis not a proper life fer a pup," he said as he massaged his temples with his fingertips.

"I'm not a pup!" John shouted and stomped his foot as hard as he could against the deck. "I'm ten."

"Aye so ye say, but ye look so young. Come back an' ask me when yer fifteen. Then we'll talk."

"But how will I find you? You could be anywhere by then," John whined.

"Lad, yer testing me nerves. I'm through arguing with ye. Be off." Black Sam turned to the map on his table and began studying it.

John stood his ground, trying to think up a more compelling argument.

"Well be off with ye then. I've got other matters that need tending to," the captain said as he scowled down at the map in front of him. He shooed John away with the back of his hand and took a sip out of his coconut chalice.

John backed out slowly, bowed as if he were leaving the king, then opened the door and left. That went as I expected, John thought. He whistled a merry tune as he walked past the tall pirate on his way back to the Bonetta. The tall pirate had been waiting for John to come out and began following him as soon as he walked by.

John slowed his pace as he headed towards the gangplanks, quickly scanning the deck for his slingshot, knowing that it had to be on the Sultana somewhere. He couldn't see it, and wondered if one of the pirates had found it after his mother had thrown it over.

Giving up, he crossed the gangplanks to the Bonetta and descended the hatchway ladder, ignoring the constant glare of the pirate guard shadowing him. When he arrived in the common room, he hesitated at the bottom of the ladder. His mother was talking to Jack. Her head snapped towards him as his bare foot touched the deck.

"John!" she cried and ran to him. "I'm so glad you've come back. I was worried." She wrapped her arms around him before he could escape.

John froze as she embraced him. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do next. For a moment he contemplated pushing her away and climbing back up the ladder, but he didn't really want to spend another uncomfortable night in the crow's nest.

"Can I stay with Jack in the galley?" he asked. "I've been helping him peel potatoes."

" 'Tis true, the lad has been a great help," Jack added.

"Well I don't see why not. As long as you stay out of trouble," she said sweetly. "I only came out to see if the cook had any of that fine tea with lemon," she smiled at Jack as she spoke, lifting up her cup.

"Of course," Jack said as he took her cup from her. He disappeared into the galley and quickly came back with the amber liquid. "I added a lump of sugar," he said as he handed it back to her.

"The captain has offered to teach you how to play chess," Alice said to John. "Perhaps you'd like to play a game with him. I'll leave you with the cook for now, but please, won't you come back to the captain's quarters for dinner?" Alice pleaded.

John swallowed the lump of nerves that had formed in his throat. He wanted to yell: "No! I hate you!" But instead he nodded reluctantly.

Alice cleared her throat. "Well... you know where I'll be," she said, then went back to the captain's quarters.

John sighed with relief as she disappeared into the cabin. For the rest of the afternoon, John helped Jack in the galley, getting ready to serve dinner. He decided he would play nice with his mother for now, just until he could convince Black Sam to bring him on as a pirate's apprentice. He knew it would be easy to get away to the Sultana since he was expected to work in the galley with Jack. The cook cared for John but wasn't about to restrict his movements in any way. And as long as his mother believed he was with Jack, he didn't have to worry about making excuses.

After dinner, Captain Savage taught John how to play chess. It was an interesting game that John took to with surprising attention.

"I believe we have a natural military strategist here!" the captain exclaimed proudly as John beat him for the second time.

"I'm so glad he has taken to it so enthusiastically," Alice said, peering over the cover of Bonifacius: Essays To Do Good.

***

John spent the night in the captain's quarters and slept in his hammock. The next morning he woke up early and helped Jack with breakfast. While the cook served the crew, John ran off to the Sultana to harass Captain Black Sam about becoming a pirate's apprentice. The answer was always no, but Black Sam seemed to welcome the distraction, which only encouraged him to try harder.

That was John's routine for the next week and a half. His days were spent his with Jack, and his evenings with his mother and Captain Savage playing cards and chess. And, of course, every day he'd sneak off to badger the pirate captain, hoping the man would eventually give in and let him become part of the Sultana's crew.

# Chapter 8

John woke early and headed to the galley to help Jack prepare the morning meal. As soon as he walked into the kitchen, Jack handed him a long wooden spoon and pointed to the stove where a large tin cauldron sat, bubbling. John stirred the barley-filled liquid, becoming lost in thought as he watched the broth swirl and gain momentum. He took a deep breath as the steam rose; the familiar aroma of smoked pork woke his stomach, causing it to rumble.

Today was the last day the pirates would be on the Bonetta and Captain Black Sam Bellamy had not given in to John's constant badgering. John felt desperate. He knew he had to do something drastic to prove himself. But what? he thought as his brain grasped at vague ideas, nothing, other than stowing away had occurred to him and that thought was thrown aside as soon as it had risen. He wanted to be accepted by Black Sam as an equal and treated with respect and he knew sneaking onboard was not the way to do that.

Later that morning, while Jack served the crew a breakfast of barley porridge drowned in creamy pork broth, John snuck out of the galley and headed for the Sultana. Over time, the two pirates guarding the hatchway had come to admire John's tenacity and the short one often spoke words of encouragement to him as he passed by. The tall one didn't say much but always let him pass so John took that as a sign of acceptance.

"Don't take no fer an answer John," the short one said.

"Aye, 'n let the capt'n know we wouldn't mind ye kickin' around," said the other man grumbled.

John nodded to the men. He marched across the gangplanks and up the deck of the Sultana towards the captain's quarters. This will be the day I become one of Captain Black Sam's crew, he thought as he knocked hard three times. The quartermaster opened the door and left without saying a word, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he brushed past John.

"An' how are ye this fine morn," Captain Black Sam said in an exhausted tone.

"I came to ask..." John started ceremoniously.

"I know, I know... ye want to be a pirate's apprentice," Captain Black Sam interrupted. "An' just as the day before my answer is still no."

"But why?" John cried.

"A pirate's life is dangerous. There's no place for ye here on the Sultana," the captain explained.

John's heart skipped a beat. The captain usually didn't feel the need to explain his answer. John felt a stir of excitement as he thought about what to say next. His eyes wandered to the ornate silver pistols the pirate captain wore on two belts that criss-crossed over his shirt, which was un-buttoned to the chest.

"The pirates guarding the hatchway told me to tell you they wouldn't mind having me around. I can be helpful. I know how to make broth and soup. I help out in the galley all the time. If you want, I can be a Powder Monkey. I already have some experience at that too. Captain Savage gave me a pouch of black powder to carry at the beginning of our voyage," John said.

"Aye, an what of yer mother? What am I to do with her?"

"We'll leave her behind," John said.

Captain Black Sam eyed John suspiciously. "Would ye not miss her?" he asked.

"I'd be glad to be rid of her," John said. He still hadn't forgiven her for the spanking he'd received in front of the men. His cheeks reddened as he thought about it.

Black Sam stared silently for a long moment before he continued. "So yer ready to grow up jus all of a sudden." He paused, then said, "An' are ye ready to meet yer doom as well?"

John's heart began to flutter like a moth caught in a jar.

"Yes!" he cried.

The pirate captain sighed and shook his head as he pushed his chair away from the cluttered, wooden table.

"Be off with ye," he said, shooing John away with the back of his hand. He reached for a black bandanna on the table and tied it around his head. Then he turned his back on John and reached for his red captain's jacket that hung inside the wardrobe.

"But... I...," John stammered.

The captain placed his tricorn hat on his head and turned to look at John. "My answer be the same. I be nah in the business o' pilferin' lads from thar mother's bosom." He threw his jacket over his shoulders theatrically, pushing his hands through the sleeves and out the cuffs.

When John didn't move, the captain ushered him out of his cabin and shut the door behind him. The heartbreaking sound of the lock being engaged crushed John's soul. He began to walk back to the Bonetta with tears welling up in his eyes. But as he reached the two pirates who were guarding the hatchway, he wiped his face dry with his hands and tried to look stoic.

"An' what did he say?" the short pirate asked.

John could only shake his head for fear that a rush of fresh tears would accompany his words if he spoke.

"Ah," the tall one said. "The capt'n be as tough as barnacles."

"Aye, that's why he's capt'n," the short one said.

John descended the ladder to the common room and sat heavily on the floor in the corner. Jack was accustomed to John's sudden bouts of mid-morning malaise, and went about his business, carefully avoiding the boy and his black mood.

John was at a loss. He didn't know what to do. He felt as if a wonderful opportunity was slipping through his fingers and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Frustrated, John sat as if in a daze all through the morning until he heard a commotion in the common room.

Jack was about to serve lunch and the men were starting to line up. At first, John dismissed the sudden flurry of movement as hungry men eager to receive their afternoon meal. Then he heard Captain Black Sam's distinctive, commanding voice. John shot to his feet and rushed to the door.

The pirates pushed their way through the crowded common room. John counted five in all: Black Sam, his first mate Hendrick, Richard the quartermaster and the two pirates who were normally posted over the hatchway. The excitement in the air was palpable. Black Sam cleared his throat and clapped his hands together to get the crew of the Bonetta to stop talking.

"As ye may 'ave heard, we're ready to take leave of the fair Bonetta, an' are makin' preparations to push off as I speak. 'Tis time we took on some recruits," Captain Black Sam said. He took a step back and waved his quartermaster forward.

The quartermaster stepped forward, puffing out his broad chest as he prepared to speak. "As a part of our final farewell it is customary to request recruits. I've been told thar is a goldsmith among ye. Please, step forward."

The crew of the Bonetta looked around at each other as they looked for the goldsmith. John knew him even before he stepped up. He had met Paul Williams the first day of their voyage.

"Aye... I believe you're looking for me," Paul Williams said.

"Then yer kindly requested to join my crew," Black Sam Bellamy said.

"Of course you will be paid handsomely for yer services," Richard added. "An' when ye have acquired yer fill of gold we'll drop ye off at the port of yer choice."

Paul smiled as he spoke. "I was lookin' fer a new job," he said as he walked towards the pirates. He took his place behind the gang and waited to see if any of the other men were about to join. The crew of the Bonetta began to talk among themselves. John trembled with excitement. This was his last chance to convince the pirate captain to make him one of his crew.

"Would any others like to join us?" Hendrick called out over the ever-increasing wave of voices.

John was about to rush forward when another man called out.

"Aye... I'm lookin' to join as well," the man said.

The cook grabbed John by the arm to hold him back. John didn't struggle. He was more interested in searching for the origin of the voice. It was William Osbourne, the gunner's mate, the other man John had met two weeks ago. The goldsmith and the gunner's mate had become fast friends over their journey, so John wasn't surprised to see one following the other into piracy. William pushed through the crew of the Bonetta to stand beside his friend Paul.

"Is that all then?" the pirate captain asked as he examined the crew of the Bonetta.

John broke free of Jack's grasp and ran towards the pirate captain, not knowing what he intended to do when he reached the man. Black Sam turned, his mouth tightening in an annoyed grimace.

"John, what are you doing?" Alice cried. She had opened the captain's door to spy on the men, and now she stuck her head fully out the door, not caring if she was seen by the pirates.

When John reached Black Sam, his eyes focused on the two polished pistols that hung inside the captain's long-tailed jacket. John stopped just short of running into the captain and quickly reached for a pistol. He placed one hand on the strap that held the pistol and pulled the weapon free of its holster with his other hand.

The pirate captain took a step back and grabbed for John and his pistol, but John was too quick for him. He ducked and ran through Black Sam's arms.

Alice leapt from the door and began pushing through the crowd towards her son.

Acting on instinct, John pointed the gun directly at his mother's head and pulled back the firing pin. She gasped in terror, stopping just before her forehead hit the barrel. John held the pistol steady, aiming the flintlock firmly between her eyes.

"Get back!" John yelled. "Don't come any closer."

"John?" Alice cried as she backed away. "How could you threaten your mother so?"

"I'm tired of you always telling me what to do!" John yelled. "I've decided to become a pirate and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

Alice blinked rapidly. John hoped she wouldn't cry. He had no intension of shooting and was beginning to regret pointing the weapon at her. In a sudden rush of guilt, John pressed the barrel to his temple and turned to face Captain Black Sam Bellamy with tears of desperation in his eyes.

"Make me a pirate or I'll do it. I swear I will!" John cried.

Captain Black Sam and the rest of the pirates looked so shocked that John almost laughed. He suppressed a smile and pushed the end of the barrel into his temple.

"Well don't just stand there. Do something!" Alice screamed at the pirate captain. "Take him. I don't know what to do with him anymore," she cried.

Captain Black Sam looked from Alice to John. He seemed dazed and was holding his other pistol limp in his left hand as if he didn't know what to do with it.

Large beads of sweat ran down the back of John's neck into his shirt collar. He didn't want to shoot himself either and was beginning to worry Black Sam was going to call his bluff. But finally, after several agonizing moments had passed the pirate captain found his voice.

"Yer welcome to join m' crew," Captain Black Sam said. He re-holstered his pistol and held his hand towards John and motioned with his fingers. "I'll be takin' back m' pistol, now."

# Chapter 9

John took a deep breath and sighed. I did it, he thought as he lowered the weapon.

"Do you really mean it? You'll make me a part of your crew?" John asked.

"Aye! Ye have the heart of a tiger shark. Would be a shame to not 'ave ye aboard the Sultana." Black Sam reached for the boy, embracing him in a one-armed hug.

John gave the pistol back to Captain Black Sam and smiled up at the man. He was speechless.

"Say yer goodbyes, get yer stuff an' we'll be on our way," the pirate captain said.

John rushed past his mother into the captain's quarters and pulled his extra clothes out of their luggage. Alice followed her son into the room.

"Are you not going to say goodbye?" she asked.

John turned to her while he stuffed his clothes and shoes into the net bag that Jack had given him. Alice was a stoic woman and not one prone to cry easily, but John could see her eyes becoming moist with emotion as she looked at him.

"You've grown up so sudden," she cried her voice cracking.

In a rush of pity, John ran to his mother and flung his arms around her neck as she stooped to hug him.

"I'll come back for a visit," John said. He felt another pang of guilt for pointing the pistol at her, but didn't apologize. He wasn't sure if he would ever see her or his father again, but he decided, in that moment, if he could, he would try.

Alice nodded as a tear rolled down her cheek. She pulled back from him and wiped it away.

"Make sure that you do," she said.

John nodded, and then quickly left the captain's quarters, leaving his mother behind. The pirates were waiting for him by the ladder when he entered the common room.

"Are ye ready then?" Captain Black Sam asked.

"Aye, aye captain!" John yelled. As he passed by the cook he smiled and nodded at the man who had become like a father to him. He felt a yearning to stop and hug Jack, but decided against it.

"Be safe," Jack said and waved goodbye. A tear glistened in the corner of his good eye.

With his head held high, John waved back to Jack and then nodded to the crew of the Bonetta as he made his way through the common room. When he reached the pirates, Black Sam waved him forward.

"We'll be followin' yer lead young John," the pirate captain said.

John's smile widened so much it began to hurt his cheeks. He climbed the ladder to the deck of the Bonetta for the last time, feeling as if he had just entered a dream. He climbed through the hatchway and hurried over the gangplanks to the Sultana where he stood by the captain's cabin and watched the pirates board their ship.

As soon as the last of Captain Black Sam Bellamy's men were aboard the Sultana, the Captain turned to John.

"Come into m' cabin John, thar's some business we need to discuss," the captain said. He opened the door and waited for John to enter.

John did as the captain asked. He stood by the table, which was covered in nautical maps and charts, and watched as the captain closed the door behind him.

"Sit," the pirate captain commanded. He pulled a chair away from the wall towards the table and motioned for John to take the seat.

John did as he was told, dropping the heavy net bag on the floor as he sat down.

"First off, I must tell ye since yer not familiar with our ways that I can't just make the decision to bring you aboard. Ye see, it's against our Code of Conduct," the pirate captain sighed. He pulled up his chair, so he could face John, and sat down astride.

"What do you mean, you said—" John blurted.

Black Sam interrupted holding up his hand to silence John. "Aye, I know what I said. What's to happen next is a vote. Yer stay on the Sultana will be decided by the majority of her crew. Those are the rules. Thar's nothin' I can do about it."

"A vote?" John asked, bewildered. What was the use of being a pirate captain if you couldn't make your own decisions, he wondered.

"Aye, the quartermaster has already begun the process below deck. When he comes up, we'll know how the vote went," Black Sam explained.

"Oh," John said, sure the men would reject him. He was deeply disappointed. His mind filled with fear and doubt once more.

Black Sam sighed. "Don't look so down lad. As ye've said before some of the other men will vouch for ye."

John remembered the two pirates who once guarded the hatchway on the Bonetta and their kind words the last few times he went to see the captain. He felt his spirits lift.

"So what do we do now?" John asked.

"Well for now, ye can be an honorary pirate's apprentice. But truth be told, I'm at a loss. I'm not sure what to do with ye," the captain said. He picked up a golden pitcher off the table and used it to fill his coconut chalice with grog.

"I can climb up to the crow's nest and keep a look out for ships. I can work in the galley. I'll even swab the deck. I can do lots of things."

"'Tis true ye can do all those tasks. Well then start with the first. Off to the crow's nest with ye. I'll call ye down when the quartermaster has the results of the vote," Captain Black Sam said, sounding more confident.

John leapt up, "Aye captain," he said enthusiastically and ran to the door, throwing it open. After quickly sizing up the two masts to see which one housed the crow's nest, he ran for the rope ladder of the mainmast and climbed to the top.

From the crow's nest, John had a perfect view of all three ships. The Marianne and the Sultana had disengaged from the Bonetta and were drifting east, leaving the pilfered ship on her own. John watched the Bonetta's deck. Her crew had come to life and they were scurrying about, hoisting the ship's sails to catch the wind, and preparing to leave.

John saw his mother on deck. She faced the Sultana, holding a hand to her face to shield her eyes from the sun and wind. Just then, as he watched the Bonetta's sails fill, he felt a surge of panic as he realized if the pirates voted nay, they'd want him off the ship. What will Black Sam do with me then, he wondered.

As far as John could figure there'd only be two options. The pirates could chase down the Bonetta again and leave him with his mother, or they'd just drop him off somewhere. John hoped for the second scenario. At least that way he could continue his adventure.

John watched the Bonetta until she disappeared over the horizon and continued looking in her direction long after she vanished from view. The minutes passed slowly as John surveyed the empty ocean. Without anything left on the water to hold his attention, John felt his gaze drawn to the hatchway. When the vote was done, Richard, the quartermaster would come up onto the deck. Any minute now, John told himself.

John stood rigid with his hands firmly gripping the railing of the crow's nest. He couldn't stand waiting. He found himself wishing he could hear what the pirates were saying about him. Then a thought bubbled to the surface of his mind. He could try spying on the vote.

He began the climb down to the deck anxious to find out how the vote was going. When he reached the bottom of the ladder, he ran to the hatchway and stopped suddenly over the opening, straining to hear voices. Before descending, John stuck his head through the hatchway and looked to see if anyone would notice him.

It was dark. As John's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized he could hear voices coming from a closed off room in the stern of the ship. It quickly became clear no one would see him if he climbed down. The end of the ladder would place him inside the hold rather than at the edge of the common room, as it would've on the Bonetta.

John slid down the ladder and tip-toed towards the closed door left slightly ajar. A beam of candle light escaped the common room through a crack in the doorjamb. Beyond the door, voices grew louder as many pirates argued their point. John pressed an eye to the crack to see what was happening.

It was a packed room. The pirates inside the common room were standing shoulder to shoulder, crowding around the quartermaster who stood elevated on the seat of a wooden chair.

"So it's settled then. Arguments have been put forth for yea and for nay. We'll vote on whether or not we'll keep following the capt'n's orders," the quartermaster yelled over the din of mumbling pirates.

John was confused. They weren't supposed to be voting on keeping the captain. They're supposed to be voting on keeping me, John thought.

Richard, the quartermaster, yelled over the mumbling pirates. "All in favor of continuing to follow Black Sam Bellamy as captain of the Sultana, place the white marble in the tin. If ye wish to vote nay, place the black marble in the tin." He sat down on his chair and held the tin can up for the first man to place his vote.

The marbles clinked into the container as the men lined up and placed their votes. John felt time slow down. As far as he could tell, there were at least a hundred men in the crew and each man took their vote very seriously. When they were done voting, the quartermaster poured the marbles onto a wooden tray and began counting. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat and stood to announce the results.

"The majority has spoken and the answer is yea. Now for the issue of young John. Will ye allow him to stay on an' learn the sweet trade, or will ye cast him out?" The quartermaster sat down and held the tin up so the men could make their decision.

Again the pirates made an orderly line and placed a marble in the tin. John's eye began to dry out. He moved his face away from the door and rubbed the moisture back into it before he placed his other eye over the crack. This time, the pirates seemed to take even longer to finish voting.

Many stood talking and arguing amongst themselves for quite some time before finally casting their vote. Hendrick Quintor was the most vocal against letting John join. John's heart sank as he listened to the first mate speak ill of him.

"That pup will jus' get underfoot," Quintor growled to a man standing next to him. "Pups 'ave no place at sea. It's against the code."

"Since when do ye care so much 'bout the code," Richard said. "I've already thought of a place fer 'im. I've been actin' as cabin boy ta the capt'n fer too long after the last one died," he complained.

"If he gets the vote, ye an' the capt'n will be responsible fer 'im. I'd jus' as soon slit his throat an' throw 'im to the sharks. An' I'm still might if he doesn't stay outta me way," Quintor shot back.

To make his thoughts clear Quiontor made a big show of choosing a black marble. He dropped it into the tin while pushing his face into the quartermaster's until their noses seemed like to meet, forcing Richard to take a step back. The quartermaster lifted his hands and nodded his agreement as a deep growl burst from Quintor's throat.

John could tell Richard was thoroughly intimidated by the man. He was shocked, both by Quintor's threat and by Richard's insistence that he join. The quartermaster had always been so cold towards him in the past. He had no idea that the man wanted him to come onboard.

Finally, the last man made his decision and the quartermaster took the tin back to the table with the wooden tray and methodically counted the marbles. When he was finished he stood and regarded the men with a look of astonishment.

"The vote was yea," he squeaked as he looked at Quintor's disgusted expression. Then he seemed to choke on his very words and cough as the first mate glared at him. Tapping his chest with his fist and clearing his throat, the quartermaster pushed through the mumbling crowd and disappeared as he walked towards the back wall.

John stood by the door, dumbfounded for a moment, but he soon regained his senses when he heard the men walking about the room. Afraid that someone would find him, he sprinted back to the ladder. Just then, the lunch bell began to ring, sending John into a panic. He rushed up the ladder, and ran back to the mainmast where he jumped onto the rope ladder. John was back in the crow's nest before anyone saw him.

When he looked down at the deck, the quartermaster was just beginning to come out of the hatchway carrying a tray of food. Richard brought the food to the captain's door and knocked just as the door was being opened. The captain must be eager to hear the results as well, John thought. A few moments after the quartermaster disappeared into the cabin, the captain stuck out his head and yelled for John to come join them.

# Chapter 10

John climbed down the rope ladder eager to eat, but entered the captain's cabin cautiously. The quartermaster had never been a friendly man, so he wasn't sure what to expect.

"Come in and pull up a stool," the captain called to John as he entered. "Don't be shy, Mr. Noland doesn't bite. He brought us a platter of goodies."

John grabbed the stool from the end of the captain's luxurious bed and pulled it to the table to sit. The platter was filled with dark raisins, dried apples, beef jerky, pâté, cheese and dry, crusty, rye bread. John salivated. He hadn't seen such a feast since leaving his island home of Antigua.

"Do ye 'ave a cup John?" Mr. Noland asked as he poured himself a cup of grog. It was the first time the quartermaster had ever spoken to him.

John nodded and retrieved his tin bowl, cup, and brass knife from his net bag, then sat again at the table.

"I prefer broth over grog," John said as the quartermaster poured the clear mixture into his tin cup.

"This here grog is mighty watered down. There's only a touch o' rum in it. Ye can add a bit more sugar to it if ye like," Richard said as he motioned to a silver serving bowl filled with lumpy sugar.

John spooned five helpings of sugar into his small cup, stirred and took a sip. It was so good that John wondered why no one on the Bonetta had shown him this trick. He filled his bowl with meat, cheese and two slices of crusty bread. As he began to eat, he watched the two men, hungry for their attention.

"As I'm sure ye'd like to know, the crew 'ave voted for ye to stay on board," Mr. Noland began.

John nodded and a broad smile crept across his face. He had never been happier in his entire life. He wanted to scream and laugh at the same time. He wanted to jump up and hug the captain, but most of all he wanted to run through the ranks of the Sultana and thank everyone who had voted for him.

"As ye may or may not know, 'tis the quartermaster's job to delegate tasks to the crew. The capt'n 'as kindly informed me 'tis my task to train ye up proper like." Mr. Noland paused so he could concentrate on eating a bit of cheese and pâté that he had smeared over a piece of crusty bread.

The color drained from John's cheeks as Mr. Noland finished speaking. He was hoping the captain would take on the responsibility of teaching him the tricks of the trade.

"Aye, Richard wants to start yer training off on a scholarly level. He 'as brought up a scroll for ye to commit to memory," the captain explained.

John remained quiet as he popped raisin after raisin into his mouth. He couldn't fathom what the quartermaster could possibly want him to study. Treasure maps, he hoped.

"Ye do know how to read, don't ye?" the quartermaster inquired.

John nodded. "My mum taught me."

"Good lad." Richard handed John the large scroll that had been leaning against the wall. "I ask all new recruits to read this and give their mark, round-robin, as the rest of the crew 'ave done. If they can't read, and many can't, I read it out loud for 'em."

John placed his bowl on the table and unrolled the scroll. It was a beautifully written list tilted The Pirate Code of Conduct. Surrounding the list of nineteen codes was a circle of marks, names, and signatures left behind by the men who had signed the article.

The quartermaster pointed to the circle of names with the point of his blade. "This here's the round-robin I spoke of. We sign our names thus in case of capture so no one knows who the capt'n is.

"Read all of the codes out loud an' I'll explain 'em to ye," Richard instructed.

John carefully read the first code of conduct. "Each man shall obey civil rule and law."

"Aye that means ye'll be agreeing to obey yer capt'n an' abide by the rules on that scroll," Richard explained.

"Each man sworn to be true of these articles shall have the right to vote in all matters of importance. Those who have not signed shall not vote." John looked up at the quartermaster and waited for his response.

"Aye an' that means that all men on the ship are considered equal an' have th' same voting rights, but only if ye sign th' article," Richard explained.

"The captain and officers of the vessel shall be chosen by the majority prior to the commencement of the voyage, and on any other occasion that the majority sees fit," John read, feeling more confident about reading the text out loud. "I understand what this one means."

"Good," Richard said, "An' what does the next one say?"

"The captain is the supreme commander in times of chase and battle. Any man who denies or questions his orders on such occasions will be beaten or shot. However, in all other matters the captain will govern by the vote of the majority." John's eyes widened and he looked at the captain with a renewed respect. "Have you ever shot a man?" John asked Black Sam.

"Aye, once, in the foot." The captain grimaced. "I generally don't like shooting m' own people. If I can get the point across without killing a man I'll go that route."

"If ye don't 'ave any questions about that one then please continue lad," Richard coaxed impatiently.

"All men are to have equal share in the provisions and liquor at all times, and to use it as they please unless scarcity makes it necessary for restrictions to be placed on the supply." John finished reading and looked up.

"Do you understand that one as well?" Richard asked.

John nodded and continued reading. "Every man will have fair turn to pick from a boarded prize. Each man is to receive a suit of clothes. But the first to see the sail shall have first pick of the best pistol or small-arms on board." John looked up at the quartermaster with a quizzical expression.

"Aye, that one might need some explaining. Let's say yer first to see a ship that we might overtake an' loot. Then ye'll be the first to choose a pistol fer yerself," Richard clarified.

John's eyes widened, "I can have my very own pistol?"

"Aye, but only if there's enough to go round. Since ye were last to be recruited, yer last on the list and therefore choose from the prize last. Unless of course ye set eyes on the prize an' announce her presence first. Then ye'll most certainly have first pick an' rights to yer own pistol," Mr. Noland said.

John rubbed his hands together. The thought of picking his own firearm from a looted ship held great appeal to him. He began reading the next Code of Conduct, eager to learn what else he was entitled to.

"The quartermaster is to be the first on board the prize. He is to have trust over the common treasury until it be shared. He shall keep a book showing each man's share. Upon request, each man may draw freely from the treasury against his share." John stopped reading and wondered what his share would be, but was afraid to ask.

"That one is pretty straightforward. Is it not?" Richard said as he washed down a bit of cheese and bread with a swig of grog.

John nodded, and continued reading. "If any man defrauds the company or another, he shall suffer the punishment as the majority sees fit." John looked up from the scroll and shrugged.

"Aye, that one needs explaining. It means don't make up lies in order to gain more than yer fair share of the loot an' don't steal from the company, or from yer fellow buccaneers. Such conduct will get ye strapped to the mainmast fer a whippin," Mr. Noland said as he pointed above the door with his knife. "See the cat o' nine tails hangin' over the door."

John looked above the door and saw a whip held over the door by a series of wooden pegs.

"She's a nasty lil' thing. The punishment for stealin' is ten lashes."

John shivered as he stared at the whip and remembered the scars on the cook's back. Each of the nine leather tails of the whip had a hard leather knot at its end. Why would anyone want to gamble or steal when threatened with ten lashes from a whip like that, he wondered. He continued reading, anxious to change the subject.

"Each man must keep his musket, pistol, and cutlass clean and in good working order upon inspection of the quartermaster," John read.

"Does that one make sense?" the quartermaster asked.

John nodded and read the next code. "No boys..." he paused and swallowed hard before he continued, "or women allowed on board," he finished meekly. His very existence on board was now a violation of number ten of the Code.

"Now this one is a tricky one for ye, seeing that yer obviously underage. However, 'tis the captain that brought ye aboard so he's the one at fault in this case," the quartermaster explained.

"Aye, but the men 'ave voted fer young John to stay," the captain argued. "If the men want him to stay then I 'ave broken no code. If they voted nay. Then my decision to bring young John aboard would've made m' eligible fer whatever punishment you deem fit," Captain Black Sam said to his quartermaster, for John's benefit.

"Aye that sounds fair," Mr. Noland said solemnly. It wasn't often that he was placed in a position to discipline the captain. The thought seemed to make him rather uncomfortable.

"Go on with the next one," the captain urged.

John looked at the words on the scroll but couldn't concentrate. He wasn't aware that forcing the captain to take him on as an apprentice would cause him any trouble. A sudden rush of guilt dampened his euphoric state. John took a deep breath and focused hard on the next line and slowly began to read.

"No married men are to be forced into service."

"Also straightforward," the quartermaster said around a mouthful of cheese and dried apple.

John nodded and continued, "Good quarters are to be granted when called for."

"Aye, that one needs no explaining neither," Mr. Noland said and gestured for John to continue.

"Any man who deserts his ship or station during battle or keeps any secrets will be punished by death, marooning, or whipping, as the majority shall see fit." John stared at the text as the reality of life on a pirate vessel began to sink in. Once I sign this document there's no turning back, John realized.

"Aye, do ye 'ave any questions?" Mr. Noland asked.

John shook his head and continued reading.

"Not a word shall be written by any man on the vessel unless it be nailed publicly to the mast." John looked up at the quartermaster. "What does that mean?"

"No private notes, diaries, or letters passed among the crew. Otherwise they might be found under suspicion of organizing a mutiny, or an unfair division of the treasury," Mr. Noland explained.

"Oh," John said and then continued reading. "Any man found guilty of striking or abusing another of the crew shall be punished as the majority sees fit. Quarrels are to be settled on shore with sword and pistol under the eye of the quartermaster."

"Does that one make sense? Speak up if somethin' needs more explaining," Mr. Noland said. "Ye can't go signin' things ye don't understand.

John shook his head, "No. I get that one." He read the next line. "All lights are to be put out before eight o' clock at night. If any man continues drinking after that hour, he must do it on deck. Any man who does not carry himself as such shall receive nine lashes on the bare back." John looked up at the cat o' nine tails hanging over the door.

"Aye, a harsh punishment, however, 'tis needed. Please continue," Mr. Noland said.

"No man shall talk of breaking up our way of living till each man has received a thousand pounds." John stopped reading.

"This one means we are all to stick together until we've accumulated one thousand pounds each," Mr. Noland explained.

John's eyes widened at the thought of possessing one thousand pounds. "How long does it take to make that much?" John asked.

"It takes as long as it takes o' course," Mr. Noland replied. "But with Capt'n Black Sam in charge it won't take long." The quartermaster winked at John.

"Glad to hear ye've placed so much faith in me," the captain raised his chalice of grog as he spoke.

John read the next line. "If any man should lose a limb, an eye, or become a cripple during the course of his duties, he is to have eight hundred pieces of eight out of the treasury."

John shuddered as he remembered the cook's dead eye. He wondered if the cook received that wound while on duty in King George the first's Royal Navy, and if he had received compensation for that ghastly injury. Now, he would never know. Jack, the cook, was likely five leagues in the opposite direction by now.

"Any questions?" Mr. Noland asked.

"No," John said quietly.

"Then read the next one," Mr. Noland urged. Both men had finished their meals and now seemed impatient.

John looked at the parchment while still thinking about the last Code of Conduct. No amount of money is worth the loss of a limb or an eye, he thought. Slowly he began reading the next Code.

"The captain and the quartermaster are to receive two shares of the prize. The sailing master, boatswain and gunners are to receive one share and a half, and the other officers are to receive one and a quarter shares. All others who have signed the articles are to receive one share."

"Any questions?" Mr. Noland asked.

John thought over the entire document. If there ever was a time to change his mind, it was now. "No," he answered.

"Then add yer mark to the scroll in the same fashion as those who came before ye," Mr. Noland said as he pushed an inkwell and a quill over the table towards John.

John studied the names and found a clear space where his signature would fit. He picked up the quill, dipped its end in the ink, and slowly and carefully wrote his name with the others.

"Now yer officially a pirate's apprentice. How does it feel lad?" the captain asked.

John smiled. "Feels wonderful," he said euphorically.

"Good. Now, I've decided to make ye a cabin boy. Yer daily tasks will include bringing the capt'n his meals an' clearin' the table afterwards, keepin' his pitcher of grog filled, bringin' him his washin' water, makin' the captain's bed, an' sweepin' an' swabbin' the floor in his quarters."

"Aye an' when ye've got some spare time I want ye to watch fer ships from the crow's nest," the captain added.

"Aye, aye," John said wondering how he was going to remember to do all of the things that were now expected of him.

"An' during times of battle yer to provide the gunner's assistants with fresh powder. Don't worry, I'll show ye where everything is an' remind ye of yer duties if ye forget," Mr. Noland said. "Now if yer finished eating ye can clean the table and take it out to the washin' buckets out on deck."

John nodded and began his new duty as cabin boy feeling relieved and thankful. At least I'll get to spend time with the captain, John thought as he cleared the leftover food and dishes from the table, using the tray that the quartermaster had brought in.

He took the tray, heavy with dishes, out to the deck to wash them in the buckets that had been set out for washing up after meals. When he was done washing the dishes and was ready to put them away, he went back to the captain's cabin. Inside, the quartermaster was waiting. John's training began immediately.

# Chapter 11

John took to his new routine gratefully. Being the captain's cabin boy gave him an excuse to stay near Black Sam. He relished every second he spent with his idol. The pirate captain seemed to enjoy John's company as well. He arranged for John to sleep in his cabin, and had a hammock hung between the large mahogany wardrobe and the wall behind the door.

John couldn't have been happier. For the first time in his life he felt he had a purpose. His days were busy and the work was sometimes hard, but he didn't mind or complain. The repetitive tasks gave him time to daydream.

As he scrubbed the cabin floor with a soapy brush, John pictured himself standing on the deck of the Sultana wearing a tricorn hat, a flintlock pistol on one hip, a cutlass on the other and pockets stuffed full of gold doubloons. The image left a smile on John's face.

He scrubbed faster. It was late in the afternoon, and if he finished his chores early he could climb up to the crow's nest and help keep a look out for the next ship. John wanted so desperately to be the first person to see it. Then he'd be sure to get a pistol for himself.

John was compiling a list of items he'd need to start his career as a pirate. Along with a pistol and of course riches beyond his imagination, John also wanted a dagger, a cutlass, and a hat. Once I collect it all, I'll be a real pirate, John thought.

After he was done scrubbing the floor, John dumped the wash bucket's contents overboard and climbed up to the crow's nest. Earlier that morning, the captain had told John not to bother keeping an eye out for ships. Since they were so far from the nearest shipping lane, he'd just be wasting his time. But John figured it would be a perfect time to keep watch because no one else would be looking. That way he would be sure to see the prize first.

But alas, the ocean's waves remained empty of vessels, except for the Marianne, the Sultana's constant companion. The dinner bell rang and John returned to his duties as cabin boy, anxious to spend more time with the captain. John had discovered in the evenings, after his meal, Black Sam drank more rum than he would during the day. And with the rum came stories of past victories, of which John couldn't get enough.

Evening was quickly becoming John's favorite part of his routine. Along with the stories came some well earned leisure time playing cards, backgammon or checkers.

John descended below deck and made his way through the crowded common room with its many canvas hammocks and loud, boisterous pirates. The men ignored him as he pushed his way through to the stern of the ship where the kitchen galley took up the entire width of the back end of the vessel, from starboard to port. This kitchen was much larger than the one on the Bonetta. Inside there was room enough for at least four men to work shoulder to shoulder.

In the back corner, a small stove housed a large cauldron of stew and a small, blackened tea kettle. A man named Joseph Rivers tended to the stew, carefully stirring the liquid with a long wooden spoon. The tall, thin man turned to John as he entered.

"Ahoy! Th' captain's tray is almost ready. I just 'ave to add the stew an' biscuits," Joseph said as he wiped his hands on his dirty cotton apron.

"What kind of stew is it?" John asked.

"Salt pork and barley," Joseph replied as he ladled portions into two bowls and placed a handful of sea biscuits in the center of the ornately decorated silver tray.

John blew his unruly, auburn hair from his eyes as he picked up the tray by two rope loops that were tied to each end. He wondered how men aboard ships cut their hair. His hair was beginning to annoy him. It was constantly obscuring his vision and tickling his nose.

John looked around at the men in the common room, sitting on the floor and eating their stew, and took note of the state of their hair. Most of the men wore bandannas of various colors which kept their disheveled locks off their foreheads and out of their eyes. John added a bandanna to the list of things he needed as he walked back to the ladder.

The rope loops enabled John to easily carry the tray one-handed up the ladder without spilling the contents of the bowls. He ascended to the deck, walked to the captain's cabin, and knocked three times. Often before dinner, the captain wasn't in the room yet. This was the case today, so when he didn't receive an answer at the door, John entered and placed the tray on the table.

He checked the golden pitcher of grog to see how much liquid was left inside. It was almost empty, so John filled the captain's coconut chalice with what was left. Then carried the pitcher below deck to where a barrel of grog stood open behind the ladder.

Inside the dark, musty hold there were many barrels and casks containing wine, beer, molasses, sugar, tobacco, rum, gunpowder, dried meat, grain, mincemeat, dried fruit and many more food stuffs that he wasn't aware of. He filled the pitcher full of grog and wondered where all the gold was hidden.

John didn't want to steal anything. He just wanted to see the treasure. Knowing that he didn't have time to look for it, John made his way slowly back to the cabin, where the captain was waiting for him at the table.

"Ah John thar ye be. I was about to start without ye. Sit. I hate eating alone," the captain said.

John placed the pitcher of grog on the table and sat on the opposite chair. He picked up his bowl and began to eat the salty stew. They ate in silence for most of the meal.

The captain seemed lost in thought, even more so than usual. As he ate, his left hand moved to his throat where a peculiar golden, heart-shaped medallion hung on a delicate gold chain.

"What's that?" John asked.

The captain suddenly looked at John as if he had forgotten he was there.

"This here's a piece o' eight cut into the shape of a heart. I kept it after looting m' first prize the very same week I decided to become a pirate. It reminds me of m' fair lady Maria. She's the main reason I turned to the sweet trade o' piracy. When I found this coin I knew I was meant to be a gentleman o' fortune," the captain said wistfully.

John made a face as if he had just tasted something rotten. He didn't like where this story was leading. It reeked of love, something John didn't understand or care to.

The captain chuckled at John's reaction and poured himself another cup of grog. He pulled a flask from his jacket and poured a nip of rum into his chalice, strengthening the potency of his drink.

"This piece o' eight was a sign that I was on the right path. You see Maria's parents are quite rich and don't approve of a poor sailor wedding their daughter. So I set off to a shipwreck site off the coast of Florida with my good friend Palgrave to search for sunken treasure. We o' course never found any. Many others had already beaten us to it. By the end of our venture, Palgrave and I were deep in debt with nothing to show fer it," the captain explained.

"So you both became pirates?" John clarified. The captain had a tendency to ramble.

"Aye an' eventually Palgrave an' I found ourselves in the company of Blackbeard himself," Black Sam sighed as he pushed his half eaten bowl of stew across the table.

"Blackbeard!" John gasped. "Where is he now?"

"Don't know. We parted ways a few months back." Black Sam picked up his coconut chalice and stirred the contents with his index finger.

"What was he like?" John prodded hoping that Black Sam would change his present conversational course away from Maria to a more interesting topic.

"Blackbeard... he's a unique fellow. He braids dynamite fuses into his beard an' lights them jus' before a battle. With the eyes of a wildman an' a smokin' n' smoldering beard he attacks his foe in a mad frenzy as if he has never feared death an' never will. The bravest of men cower in the presence of Blackbeard. Aye... 'tis true, even his name strikes fear into the hearts of the most weathered of souls," the captain said in an awe-inspired tone, his eyes becoming bright.

"When I become a full-fledged pirate I shall need a name that strikes terror in the hearts of men as well," John cried, consumed by his imagination.

"That ye shall," the captain agreed. "An' a fine pirate ye'll be." Black Sam smiled and took a long drink of grog. "Clear the table an' set up the backgammon board. I feel like a game to clear me mind."

John nodded and quickly pilled the silver serving tray with the leftovers from dinner. He ran the tray out to the deck and washed the dishes, leaving them out in the evening wind to dry. When he returned to the cabin, Black Sam was lost in thought, absently running his fingers over the edge of the heart-shaped piece of eight dangling from his neck.

When the captain looked at John he smiled sadly and said, "I promised I'd make her a queen. An' when I returned to her I'd shower her with jewels an' gold the likes of which she's never seen. Then I vowed I'd whisk her off to our very own island in the Caribbean," the captain shook his head slowly. "An' thus far I've plundered nothing but merchant ships laid heavy with goods, not the precious metals I desire."

"The goods can be sold on the black market," John insisted.

"Aye, that they can. Ye're a bright lad aren't ye," the captain said as he ruffled John's unkempt, rusty-brown locks with his fingers. "Be a good lad an' set the board up."

John opened the wooden chest at the end of the captain's bed and retrieved the backgammon case. He opened it and laid it on the table. Together, John and the captain set up their game pieces. Black Sam chose the black side and John took the opposing white.

John found backgammon even more challenging than chess. Black Sam was a fierce opponent. He didn't like to lose, and won almost every game, forcing John to think so hard it hurt. Although the game was played seriously, John and Black Sam kept at it late into the evening, talking and joking. John wished his special time with the captain would never end, but sadly the time always came when Black Sam would suddenly announce it was time for bed.

Black Sam stood up suddenly from the table, almost knocking his chair to the ground as he staggered to the wardrobe to take off his shirt.

"I'm off," he announced, his speech heavily slurred from spiking his grog with extra rum.

John jumped up and quickly assisted the captain as he undressed, carefully hanging up the captain's clothes and placing his knee-high black boots against the mirror in the back of the wardrobe beside his brass-buckled shoes. John faced himself in the mirror and paused. Up until that moment, John had been avoiding his reflection.

A boy he did not recognize was staring back at him. John brushed his wild, wavy hair off his forehead and leaned in close to the mirror to inspect the rusty brown freckles that had taken over his once pale, clean skin. John ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose as if he could wipe them away.

His cool, sea-green eyes sparkled with intensity as he decided that he hated freckles. They somehow made him look younger. But knowing that there was nothing he could do about them, he turned his face away and closed the doors.

While the captain climbed into bed, John tidied up the room quickly and turned down the oil lamp. Then he undressed and threw his clothes into a pile against the wall. With one last look at the captain, who seemed to be in a deep slumber already, John climbed up into his canvas hammock.

As John settled into to the stiff, cool cloth he recited the ever-growing list he thought he needed to realize his dream of becoming a full-fledged pirate. I'll be a true pirate when I have a pirate name, a bandanna, a tricorn hat, a pistol, a dagger, a cutlass and pockets filled with gold, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

# Chapter 12

John watched the waves and waited for a sail to appear before his eyes. Being first to pick from the prize was the only way, as far as John could figure, that he was going to quickly attain the items on his list. The Sultana had crossed into a popular trade route off the coast of Guadeloupe and south of the Virgin Islands. They were bound to cross paths with a merchant vessel at anytime.

Unfortunately, another pirate, the second youngest of the crew, shared John's desire as well. Shortly after John made his way up to the crow's nest, Eddie, Mr. Wicker's former teenaged slave, had joined him.

Eddie had not said that he intended to see the prize first as he climbed into the crow's nest, but his dark eyes were wild with treasure fever. John recognized the look because he saw it in his own eyes every time he looked in the wardrobe mirror. So it was only natural to assumed the dark haired, deeply tanned fifteen year old wanted what he wanted.

As the two boys stood back to back, silently scanning the horizon, John could feel the competitive tension between them grow. Their silence quickly became unbearable for John. It wasn't that he didn't want to speak to Eddie. The reality of it was they couldn't communicate even if they wanted to. The boy was from a remote part of India and didn't speak the King's English. Eddie only knew a few fragments, only enough to communicate basic needs and wants, not enough to have a conversation.

As he scanned the vast blue horizon, John wondered what Eddie's real name was. Slavers often gave English names to their slaves in an attempt to strip them of their former identities. John shook his head as he thought about all the terrible things he had witnessed back on his father's plantation; a day didn't go by without one of the slaves getting a serious whipping. John turned his gaze to the pirates who worked on deck and felt proud to be one of them. Everyone on the Sultana worked hard and was paid equally.

There were many former slaves aboard the pirate ship. The first mate, Hendrick Quintor, was a man of African descent. He spoke English with a Dutch accent so John assumed he hailed from a Dutch colony. Then there was John Julian, a half-blood Miskito Indian from Central America. He was the Sultana's pilot. And of course there was the African man, Marcus, who had come over with Eddie when they were freed from Mr. Wicker. These men were only the ones John could put names to. There were many others on the Sultana; at least twenty-five in a crew of close to one hundred and fifty men.

"Ship! Ship!" Eddie cried excitedly, jumping up and down, shaking the crow's nest violently.

Shocked by Eddie's sudden outburst, John crouched and hung onto the railing, his green eyes wild with fright. As Eddie's words sank in, John suddenly felt deflated. He turned quickly in the direction that Eddie was pointing and gasped in disappointment as his eyes fell on the white sails of a sloop cresting the horizon.

The men below rushed to the rail's edge to look for themselves. "Ship off starboard bow!" they cried.

Captain Bellamy climbed onto the navigation deck to get a better look with his spyglass.

"Aye, 'tis a small one-masted sloop. We shall overtake her easily," he yelled so the whole crew could hear him. The captain looked up at Eddie and saluted him. "This one's Eddie's!"

"Good job," John punched Eddie in the arm as he congratulated and tried to punish the teenager at the same time.

Eddie barely noticed John's attempt to get his attention. His eyes, glittering intensely in the hot afternoon sun, were firmly fixed on the ship ahead. The boy's tall, thin, barely-clothed body was tense with excitement at the new find.

Captain Black Sam barked orders to pursue. "Lee-oh! Let out the sails an' follow that ship. Luff and touch her!"

John Julian turned the wheel towards the ship. As the Sultana came about, the pirates on deck adjusted the sails to capture more wind and gain speed.

An excited flutter rose from John's innards to his throat as he anticipated his first hostile takeover. He wasn't sure what to expect. Would the ship fight, flee or surrender? From the stories Black Sam told, ships often surrendered rather than take the risk of angering the pirates and bringing their wrath down upon them.

John wished he had a weapon. He didn't feel safe without one. What if the crew of the ship fought back? What would he do then? He looked at Eddie. The teenager didn't have a weapon either. In fact, the boy had very little. The only thing Eddie seemed to own was a dirty loincloth. In a sudden rush of compassion, John felt happy that Eddie would have first pick of the prize. Well, almost. At least he'll get a suit of clothes out of it, John mused.

Regardless of who was entitled to the prize first, John still wanted a weapon. He climbed down the ladder and marched straight to the captain who was standing behind the helmsman on the navigation deck.

"What is it lad?" the captain asked in an urgent tone.

"I don't have a weapon," John answered.

"Aye that be true, but why would ye be needin' one?"

"In case they fight back."

"Ah. What of yer slingshot?"

"I lost it." John's face reddened when he was reminded of the day his mother threw his slingshot overboard.

The captain rubbed the short black stubble on his chin as he thought. "As I recall, Richard stepped on it an' kicked it under thar." The captain pointed to the closest port cannon. "Give 'er a look see."

John climbed down from the navigation platform and walked towards the aft, port cannon. When he reached it, he fell to his hands and knees and looked underneath the barrel. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what he was looking for. He grabbed his slingshot, hugging it to his chest as he stood up.

"I thought I'd lost this," John whispered.

He held the slingshot in the sunlight and turned it over, examining it as if it were a priceless jewel. The wooden handle was scuffed on one side, but other than that it was undamaged. John sighed in frustration when he remembered he didn't have anything that would work for ammunition. His marble collection was long gone.

As he thought about where he could find something of equal size and shape, he noticed a small burlap bag tied to the railing underneath a swivel gun. He looked inside the bag and found it was full of musket balls.

"These will do perfectly," John said to himself. The lead ammunition was heavier than a glass marble, but it was the only thing handy that was roughly the same size and shape.

John looked around to see if anyone was watching him. No one was paying attention, so he slipped his hand inside the bag and grabbed a handful of musket balls. Quickly, he stuffed them into his pockets before anyone noticed what he was doing. Then he stepped away slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself, and stood by the captain's door.

From this vantage point, he could watch the crew and stay out of the way at the same time. Whenever John had a few moments to himself, he often ended up in this very spot. He loved watching the pirates work.

The excited energy on deck was palpable. It had almost been a week since they had left the Bonetta behind and it was evidently high time they found a new prize to plunder. The men shouted and sang happily as they tended to the operation of the ship's rigging.

"Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, we're off to loot n' plunder. Ho heave, ho, stuffed to the gunwales our ship will sag. Oh, ho, ho, we won't be torn asunder. Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, 'tis no wonder, thar's nothin' but the sweet trade fer me."

It seemed as if the pirates on deck were all wearing the same uniform, a pair of cut off breeches, bandannas on their heads, and of course their pistols, knives and cutlasses were strapped to their bare, sweaty torsos. Their lean, strong muscles bulged and stretched as they worked the ropes and rigging under the bright afternoon sun.

It had been a hot week. Each man's skin was deeply tanned from working sunrise to sunset. Some of the pirates had the look of men aged well beyond their years, with skin weathered and leathery like a dried up apple. So it was difficult to judge the age of most of them.

The Sultana was quickly gaining on its prize now, and the Marianne was following closely behind. John ran into the captain's cabin and pulled an extra spyglass out of the captain's chest. He ran to the bow of the Sultana to get a better view of the soon-to-be-plundered ship. John looked through the telescope and examined the vessel dead ahead. The ship's name was painted on the stern.

"The Pearl," John read out loud to no one in particular.

"Hoist the Jolly Roger!" the captain cried enthusiastically.

The men replaced the Union Jack with their pirate flag, which was a simple white skull and crossbones against a black background. John's heart began to race as the reality of the situation sank in. They were really going to do it. It was really going to happen. He was finally going to see firsthand how pirates overtake a ship.

John could barely contain his excitement; he had to take deep breaths to calm himself. He closed his eyes and became one with the Sultana. As she sped through the waves, her prow cut through them effortlessly, sending a refreshing sea spray up to meet John's hot, flushed cheeks. He took a deep breath and relished the briny smell of the ocean mist.

He opened his eyes. The Pearl was dead ahead. The Sultana was pulling up on her starboard side and the Marianne was on her portside. Soon the Pearl would be surrounded by pirates. She didn't stand a chance.

"To yer stations an' man the cannons!" Captain Black Sam bellowed.

The pirates organized themselves into groups at the bow and stern and lined the deck, two at each cannon.

John didn't need the spyglass anymore to see the men aboard the Pearl. It was obvious they were going to try to outrun the pirates. The Pearl's sail was full of wind just as the Sultana's was, but the Pearl was struggling to stay in the lead. The Sultana's bow crept ahead, gaining on the smaller vessel.

"Gunners, aim a shot over the bow," the captain ordered.

The pirates manning the foremost cannon on the portside aimed and awaited their orders.

"Steady... steady... fire!" the captain shouted.

Boom! The pirates fired a single shot. The cannon ball flew over the bow of the Pearl and splashed into the ocean just ahead of the fleeing vessel. A tremendous cry rose up from the pirates on deck as the boarding parties fore and aft prepared to leap aboard the smaller ship.

Some of the pirates held grappling hooks and ropes. As soon as the pirates were given the opportunity, it seemed they planned to throw their hooks into the sails of the Pearl and swing onboard. Some of the pirates held their pistols ready and as soon as the Sultana came broadside with the Pearl they intended to open fire on her crew.

The Sultana crept forward, gaining on the smaller vessel until the two ships were almost completely side by side. John could see that no one seemed to be out on her deck. No one was manning the navigation wheel or the rigging. They've all gone down below, John realized.

"Board at will!" the captain ordered.

The pirates used their grappling hooks to snare the Pearl's rigging and then swung themselves overboard, hanging tight onto their ropes as their bodies either slammed against the hull or swung onto the deck. The men hanging below the rail soon climbed up onto the ship. While the pirates who were already onboard swarmed over the deck, taking over the operation of the sloop and dropping her sails.

Soon after the three ships were slowed to a more manageable speed, a second boarding party from the Marianne climbed onboard, and ventured below deck. Cries rose up through the hatchway as the pirates overwhelmed the Pearl's crew.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Pistol fire rang out and then all was quiet below deck.

A moment later, Hendrick climbed up through the hatchway and stood on the deck. "'Tis all clear!" he shouted.

And just like that it was all over.

# Chapter 13

As was customary, the Pearl's captain, Edward Willas, was brought aboard the Sultana to have a formal parley with Black Sam. The pirate captain wanted to convey an air of civility, so he had John fetch some tea, sea biscuits, and canned mincemeat from the galley.

At the small wooden table, Captain Willas sat with his back straight and stiff. It was clear the red-haired man was not comfortable; he pulled nervously at his short, bristly beard and looked around the room as if he expected armed pirates to crash through the walls at any moment.

Captain Black Sam Bellamy sat on the opposite side of the table, leaning back on his chair as he often did. The two men stared each other down as John set the serving tray on the table. The silence grew so thick between the men that even the clanking of the dishes became unbearable.

John served the two men, setting out gold-rimmed porcelain tea cups and small white porcelain plates. Then he poured them each half a cup of steaming tea. He left the biscuits and mincemeat at the center of the table, where each man could serve himself.

Willas promptly refused the tea. It quickly became apparent that he was too nervous to eat or drink anything. John guessed that the man only wanted to speed up the parley. Eating and drinking would force him to linger in the captain's quarters and he obviously wanted to leave and get back to familiar surroundings as soon as possible.

After John finished setting out the food and tea he stood quietly by the table and waited. Black Sam drained his cup of tea and beckoned for John to refill it. Then he began on a sea biscuit, to which he added a generous dollop of mincemeat.

"I hereby claim yer ship an' all she contains," Black Sam announced to break the ice. "That would include her crew as well as yerself."

"Me?" Captain Willas sputtered in shock. He took a sip of tea, forgetting that he had refused it only a few moments ago, his eyes wide with fear. "But what would ye do with me?"

"If I'm in need of yer services, I'll ask ye to stay aboard the Sultana. Are ye trained in carpentry, or gold-smithin'? Perhaps ye have experience as a gunner's mate."

"I do not."

"Very well, how about yer crew?"

Captain Willas thought for a moment then said, "We have a carpenter. His name is Sam Jefferson."

"An' yer best gunner's mate?"

"Robert Stede," Captain Willas answered.

The pirate captain nodded, looking satisfied. "I can't promise that yer ship will remain unharmed," Black Sam said.

"But... but we surrendered!" Willas sputtered in disbelief.

"Aye, but only after m' men overran yer ship. Ye fled with the full intent of escape," Black Sam explained.

"We didn't fight back. Surely that counts for something," Willas countered.

"Aye it does with me, but fer m' crew 'tis a different story. They will vote on it, an' then I'll let ye know." Captain Black Sam stood up and gestured to his guest that it was time to leave.

"But what is to become of us?" the captain of the Pearl asked in a desperate voice.

"Yer punishment will be something fitting I'm sure," Black Sam sighed.

"But you're the captain. Don't you have any control over your men?"

"Aye I do, but not in this matter, I'm afraid. John, please escort this poor fellow from my sight."

"Aye, aye captain!" John said. He opened the door for the captain of the Pearl and waited for the stunned man to get to his feet.

As Captain Willas left the room John said, "Don't worry, these are good pirates. They're like Robin Hood's men."

"Good pirates," Willas whispered. "There's no such thing," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked out onto the deck of the Sultana.

John stayed by the door and watched the captain of the Pearl walk back to his vessel. The man looked over his shoulder a dozen times as he fled. It was as if he expected to be shot in the back as he retreated to his ship. After the captain of the Pearl crossed the gangplanks to his vessel, John turned back into the captain's cabin and shut the door.

"What's to become of them?" John asked.

"There're a number of possibilities. I don't want his ship, so we may burn it or sink it," Captain Black Sam replied coolly.

"But what of the men?"

"An island is nearby. They could be dropped off."

"Oh!" John said, happy with the captain's answer.

"If it were up to me, I'd just leave 'em be. 'Tis a waste of time slaughterin' a crew of eighty men an' even more a waste to row 'em to shore," Black Sam sighed. "But I aim to keep m' men happy. That's how one retains his office." Black Sam finished his tea and biscuit then brushed the crumbs from his fingers.

"Have you ever killed everyone on board a prize?" John asked, hoping the answer was no.

"Nay. There's no need, but I imagine if anyone puts up a fight thar will be bloodshed, no doubt. 'Tis a rough business we find ourselves in John. An' not all pirates hold life in such high regard as I."

John nodded in agreement as he cleared the table.

"Yer a good lad. Keep yerself busy an' stay out of trouble. I'm off to meet m' quartermaster," Black Sam said as he left the cabin.

John watched the captain go, longing to follow. He wanted to know what was happening on the other ship. But more importantly, he wanted to know what they had gained from their latest prize. He hoped they had finally acquired some pieces of eight, or gold doubloons. A pirate ship needs some sort of treasure, John mused.

***

There wasn't much on the Pearl worth taking—only a couple of bolts of silk, some coffee, a few bottles of wine, five suits of clothes, three pistols and a dagger. The pirates brought what they wanted onto the Sultana and then sent the boatswain over to the Pearl to chop down her mainmast with his double-edged battle axe. The pirates had decided chopping down the mast was a fitting punishment for attempting to flee.

The boatswain was abnormally tall for an English man and was as muscular as a prize fighter. John was terrified of him, just as most of the pirates were. He was the man who carried out the punishments decided on by the majority.

The captain of the Pearl didn't complain as the boatswain chopped down the mainmast. Willas seemed to know the pirates were letting him off easy and was visibly relieved that he'd still have his ship when the pirates left.

With a thunderous crack, the mainmast fell over, crashing onto the deck of the Pearl in an array of splinters and snapping ropes. What a terrible mess, John thought as he witnessed the mayhem. He wondered how her crew would survive out at sea without their mainsail. He guessed that someone would come by and help them eventually. They were being stranded on a busy shipping lane after all.

As the Sultana pulled away from the crippled ship, John found himself hoping that someone would come across the Pearl soon. The thought of being left to float aimlessly in the vast waters of the Caribbean left a knot in John's innards. As the Pearl shrank in the distance, John's attention was captured by a large group of pirates gathering on deck.

Mr. Noland was waddling about, busily setting the looted pistols and clothes on the deck. John climbed up to the navigation platform where he could watch the scene unfold. He knew it was unlikely he would be called to take anything from the pile, but he was still interested to see what Eddie would be given.

Eddie stood behind the short, fat quartermaster, his eyes bright with interest as Mr. Noland prepared to start calling names from his list.

"Eddie... lad, yer first. Choose a weapon and a suit of clothes," Mr. Noland instructed.

John swallowed hard, he couldn't help but feel an intense jealousy towards the teen-aged boy. His eyes scanned the flintlock pistols that had been laid out over the deck, wishing that he could pick one from the bunch.

Eddie clearly knew what he wanted. He picked up a short iron-barreled pistol with silver and ivory inlay, and a suit of clothes which included a pair of red trousers and a red-and-white, striped button-up shirt.

"Here lad, this one would fit ye better," Mr. Noland kicked a pair of navy-blue knee breeches and a white shirt to show the teenager which ones he spoke of.

Eddie dropped the clothes he had chosen first and took the ones that Mr. Noland recommended, then he ran to the hatchway and disappeared down the ladder.

"Capt'n, is there anything ye desire from the prize?"

"Aye, I'll take that dagger," the captain said as he stepped forward. He stooped to pick up the knife and then walked toward his cabin.

"Lad, I'll be needin' yer service," Black Sam called to John as he opened the door.

John reluctantly descended the ladder to the deck. He wanted to see who took what, and resented being cooped up in the cabin when there was so much excitement going on. He stopped in the doorway and continued watching Mr. Noland as he called out the next name on the list.

"Hendrick!"

"Come in lad," the captain ordered.

John entered and shut the door behind him. As he leaned against the wooden door with his arms crossed over his chest, the captain turned and held out the dagger he had taken from the prize.

"Come take a closer look if ye like," Black Sam insisted.

"Can I hold it?" John asked, stepping forward to take the blade, forgetting his resentment of only a moment ago.

"Aye, ye can do more than that. It's yers if ye want it."

"Mine?"

"Aye."

Exhilarated, John took the dagger, holding the handle in one hand and resting the blade in the other. The deadly-looking double-edged knife had a plain wooden handle with mother-of-pearl inlay. It was a simple design, but breathtakingly beautiful. John turned it over and over, memorizing every detail. Finally, he had attained one item on his list.

"I got to thinkin' ye should have at least a small weapon just in case ye need to defend yerself," the captain said.

"Thanks," John said, looking up at the captain gratefully.

"An' ye'll be needin' this as well," Black Sam held out a brown leather sheath connected to a buckle strap. "Come here an' I'll put this on ye."

John stepped forward and held his arms out so the captain could drape the leather strap over his shoulder.

"Can I wear it around my waist?" John asked.

"Aye, we can make a new hole in the leather with yer new knife," the captain lifted the strap over John's head and wrapped the strap around John's waist, taking note of where the strap needed a new hole so it would fit properly.

Black Sam took the dagger from John and brought the strap to the table, where he punched a small hole through the leather with the end of the sharp blade. Then he fitted the strap around John's waist and fastened the buckle using the new hole.

"Fits snug enough?" the captain asked.

John nodded while the captain pushed the knife into the leather sheath. Black Sam stood back to admire the look of the dagger hanging from John's waist.

"Now yer on yer way to becoming a proper pirate," the captain said.

"Aye, aye captain!" John said, radiating with pride.

# Chapter 14

The very next day, another ship was spotted just after the Sultana passed Saba Island on her way north. John was in the galley fetching the captain's lunch when the alert sounded.

Clang, clang, clang, clang rang the ship's bell.

"Ship ahoy! Man yer stations!" Hendrick called as he stuck his head through the hatchway.

John dropped the captain's serving tray on the galley counter and ran alongside the rest of the pirates to the hatchway ladder.

"What are ye in such a hurry fer?" Joseph Rivers called after him.

"I want to see," John exclaimed. He wanted to do more than just look. This time, he planned to play a more active role in the capture of the prize, although he wasn't sure how just yet.

When John reached the deck of the Sultana, the Jolly Roger was just being hoisted and most of the pirates had taken up their stations. John ran to the captain's cabin and retrieved the spyglass. Then he climbed up to the navigation deck for a better look at the new ship.

She was another small, one-masted sloop, much like the Bonetta and the Pearl. The Sultana was on a collision course with the ill-fated new vessel. John read her name out loud.

"The St. Michael," John gasped with excitement.

The Sultana was gaining on her so quickly that she seemed dead in the water. John's hands gripped the railing, causing his knuckles to turn white. What was Black Sam thinking, he wondered. If the Sultana didn't alter her course soon, it would be too late. John turned his head towards the pilot and examined John Julian's deadpan facial expression. If the helmsman was stressed, he was hiding it well.

John quickly surveyed the men on deck. No one else seemed to notice the imminent danger either, or perhaps no one cared if they lived or died. That thought was extremely disturbing to John. A great battle cry rose up from the pirates, and they waved their pistols and cutlasses in the air as the Sultana crashed through the waves towards the helpless vessel.

The St. Michael isn't even going to try to run, John realized as a surge of adrenaline raced through him. His heart began to beat faster and he broke out into a cold sweat. At the last minute, the Sultana changed her course and passed within a foot of the stalled vessel's stern. John let out the breath he had been holding and whooped for joy. The pirates continued their battle cry, yelping and hollering like a pack of hungry wolves. Feeling giddy from an adrenaline overload, John climbed down to the deck and joined the chaos.

As the crowd of pirates enveloped him, John's heart continued to race, and soon he was overcome with excitement. Before he knew it, he was yelling too. He pulled his slingshot out of his belt and began waving it excitedly in the air.

The Sultana looped around the St. Michael, coming up slowly on her this time, and passing her along the starboard side. The Marianne came around the other way, effectively cutting off the St. Michael's escape route. John was pressed against the railing as the pirates crowded in closer to intimidate the terrified crew of the St. Michael, who were huddled on her deck waiting for the pirates to board.

Lost in the excitement, John decided to fire his slingshot at the helpless crew. He chose a bald man with pink sunburned skin and aimed at the back of his head. The shot went low and hit the man high in the back, leaving a white welt on the flesh between his shoulder blades. The man turned toward John and scowled, but John remained unfazed.

He quickly lined up another shot and began firing randomly at the crowd, knowing that at least some of his musket balls would hit someone. The small metal balls rained down on the crew of the St. Michael, causing chaos in the group. The men began shouting protests in French, and ducking to avoid getting hit.

A firm hand landed on John's shoulder, startling him. John stopped and looked up into the dark, menacing eyes of Hendrick Quintor. The first mate scowled down on John, looking very displeased.

"Ye've had yer fun. Now run along lad," Quintor growled.

Thoroughly intimidated, John ran from the first mate and headed for the navigation deck, where he knew he'd see everything when the pirates finally boarded their prize. When he reached his favorite lookout spot in the center of the navigation deck railing, he saw Hendrick leading the boarding party.

The group of pirates threw gangplanks between the two ships and began making their way cautiously over to the St. Michael with pistols and cutlasses in hand. John watched as the captain of the newly acquired ship surrendered without incident. Another easy takeover, John mused.

"Doesn't anyone ever put up a fight?" John asked the helmsman.

"They'd be smart not to," John Julian said. His English was surprisingly good for a native of Central America.

"But does it ever happen?"

"Aye, but rarely," John Julian said.

John waited for a more detailed answer that never came. He watched as the captain of the St. Michael was marched over to the captain's quarters for a parley. John didn't need to be told that he was needed. He descended the ladder and waited by the door for the captain's orders.

"John, fetch some wine, hard tack, and cheese... oh an' find the Frenchman, Neveu," the pirate captain said as he entered his quarters.

"Aye, aye," John exclaimed, scrambling to obey. He had no idea who Neveu was.

John was moving so fast that he practically leapt through the hatchway to the deck below on his way to the galley. His feet slid as he stopped at the kitchen door.

"The captain wants wine, hard tack, and cheese," John relayed.

Joseph Rivers scowled at John, visibly annoyed that he was being ordered around by the boy. There was a moment of dead-silence between the two before the cook nodded and began assembling the food on the serving tray.

"Ye'll have to get the wine from the hold. Thar's a few bottles in a crate near the head," Joseph said as he worked.

"Do you know where I can find Neveu?" John asked.

"Neveu... ah, he's a decky. Ye'll find him with the others," Joseph pointed the blade of his knife upwards to indicate the deck.

"What does he look like?" John was beginning to worry that he wouldn't be able to find the man.

"Just ask fer him up thar an' someone will know," Joseph explained.

John nodded and took the tray to the hold, to begin looking for the crate that held the wine. He found it where the cook said it would be, and forced a board off the top with his new dagger. The nails came free with a screech.

John reached inside and brushed away the packing straw to reveal a bottle of red wine. He grabbed the bottle by the neck and carefully lifted it out of the crate. Then he placed the board back in its place and hammered the nails back into the wood with the butt of his dagger's handle.

He placed the bottle on the tray and carefully climbed the ladder up to the deck. At the top, he pushed the tray against the mainmast, so he would be free to look for Neveu. As John walked away from the tray of food, he hoped no one would pilfer from it while he was gone.

John faced the men working on deck and yelled, "Neveu!"

Just about everyone turned to look, which wasn't the effect John was hoping for. No one answered.

"The captain wants Neveu in his quarters," John said, feeling uncomfortable with so many eyes on him.

"Wha' fer?" a man with a heavy French accent asked. It was clear that John had found the man he was looking for. The thin, muscular French man was darkly tanned. He wore a green bandanna and white cotton shorts. No shoes. A single cutlass hung from his belt.

John shrugged. "Translator, I guess." He turned and walked quickly back to the tray of food he had left on the deck and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was untouched. He picked up the tray and looked over his shoulder to see if the French man was following. Neveu was right behind him. They arrived at the captain's door together. John knocked three times.

The door opened. Black Sam was standing on the other side, looking alarmed. With wild maniacal eyes, the French captain stood behind Black Sam, peeking over his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" John asked, just as he noticed the knife at the captain's throat.

Neveu pulled John out of the way, so the two captains could exit the cabin. John struggled free of Neveu's grip, giving the man a dirty look.

"Revenir ou qu'il se blesse!" the French captain yelled as he began marching Black Sam across the deck towards the gangplanks connecting the two ships.

John didn't understand French, but he was sure the captain of the St. Michael was telling everyone to get back.

"Vous êtes en train de commettre une erreur!" Neveu cautioned.

John understood the last word Neveu said, or at least he thought he did. It sounded like error, and he knew that meant mistake. He looked around at all the other pirates, they were all backing off. This worried John. His body tensed as he grabbed for his dagger, he couldn't let the man leave the Sultana with his captain.

Before he knew what he was doing, John was running at the French captain's back. When he reached the man he screamed as loud as he could and plunged his dagger into the French captain's right thigh. The man let out a high-pitched scream as he instinctively reached for the blade embedded in his flesh.

John pulled out the dagger and prepared to slash at the man again. But the two captains were now locked in a deadly dance, struggling over the Frenchman's knife. Black Sam head-butted the French captain square in the nose, knocking the man backwards. The two men stumbled, slamming into John, and knocking him off his feet.

A triumphant cry rose up from the pirates as they cheered on their captain. When John looked up, he saw Black Sam had grabbed hold of the knife with both hands, attempting to disarm the French captain. The pirate captain struck the man repeatedly in the stomach with his knee until the knife clattered to the ground.

As Black Sam stepped aside, the rest of the pirates descended on the man, kicking him.

"Stop!" Black Sam yelled. "Tie him up and throw him in the brig. Neveu, tell his crew if they surrender completely no harm will come to them."

"Aye, aye capt'n'," Neveu said before jogging over to the other ship to deliver the message.

John was standing now, shocked at what he had done. He watched the pirates drag the French captain down the hatchway. It had all happened so fast. John couldn't take his eyes off the pool of blood where the French captain had crumpled. He looked at his hands and noticed they were covered in red, too.

Anxious to be rid of the blood, John went to the washing buckets that had been left out for cleaning up after lunch. He fell to his knees and rinsed his hands and dagger. The soapy water turned pink as he rubbed his hands together. His shirt was bloody as well, but he didn't mind that as much.

"Yer a feisty one, aren't ye?" Black Sam said as he ruffled John's wild auburn hair with his fingers. "I owe ye an' I'll never forget it."

John looked up at the man he idolized and felt himself fill with pride.

"Captn'!" the quartermaster said as he walked carefully over the gangplanks. He had just finished doing an inventory of the St. Michael.

"What is it? Good news I hope," Black Sam said as he turned his attention to the quartermaster.

"She's filled to the brim with fresh prime beef packed in salt," Richard answered.

"Anything else?" Black Sam asked.

"Aye, twenty crates of wine, five crates of brie, and a few kegs of beer."

"I feel cause fer celebrating," the captain said as he slapped John on the back. "Once we're done here, we'll find a proper place to land an' have ourselves a cookout."

# Chapter 15

That night, the pirates voted on the fate of the French captain. Surprisingly, they decided to let him live. John thought the man was a goner for sure. Instead of execution, the pirates had chosen twenty lashes with the cat o' nine tails.

After breakfast the next morning, the captain of the St. Michael was brought up from the brig, stinking of bilge water. The stench was enough to make John gag, even from the height of the navigation deck. John held his hands over his nose and mouth, trying to block out the rotten smell of dead fish that clung to the man.

Hendrick and Mr. Noland ripped the wet, dirty shirt from the ill-fated captain, exposing his tanned back. They tied his arms around the mainmast so his back faced the crowd. When they finished, they stepped away and waited for the fearsome Boatswain to step forward.

The Boatswain was standing in the open doorway of the captain's cabin, wearing only a pair of canvas knee breeches, his muscular chest oily with sweat. He smiled an evil grin as he reached for the cat o' nine tails above the captain's door; the muscles of his chest stretched and bulged as he brought it down from its perch. He ran the nine leather thongs through the palm of his massive hand, inspecting the whip for wear as a smile of satisfaction crept across his lips. John could tell the man loved his job, which was as good motivation as any to behave according to the code; otherwise he'd have this mammoth man to contend with.

When the boatswain was satisfied the whip was still in good working order, he approached the bare back of the French captain with sure, heavy strides, raising the thongs of the whip over his shoulder as he marched forward. He wasted no time. He stopped suddenly, only a few feet from the French captain, and brought the whip's lashes down on the man's bare skin.

The leather lashes struck hard, breaking the skin instantly with a sickening crack. Yelping in pain, the French captain pressed his face into the wood of the mainmast and clenched his teeth.

The boatswain struck the man over and over again, barely allowing him to catch a breath between screams of agony. With every blow, the pirates cheered. John cheered too, at first, but after the first ten blows the man began to whimper and cry, and John was reminded of that terrible day when his mother had struck him after she had lost her temper. Unwelcome tears stung his eyes as he relived his moment of humiliation. Everyone had been watching that day too.

John turned away and focused on the calm Caribbean Ocean, not only to block out the whipping, but also to hide his tears from Black Sam. The pirate captain stood beside John, close enough to know that John was overcome with emotion, but he didn't seem to notice.

The French captain cried out a few more times, and then suddenly it was over. John forced his eyes back to the scene and witnessed the horrible, bloody mess that was now the French captain's back. He knew the man would be scarred for life, just as the cook from the Bonetta had been. The thought made John wonder how many more men out there had suffered this same fate.

The French captain's head rolled back as Hendrick and Mr. Noland untied him, bringing John to the realization that the captain had most likely passed out. The two men dragged the French captain to his ship and threw him face first on her deck. Then they returned, and pulled the gangplanks back onto the Sultana.

"No! I won't go," yelled a man from within the crowd of pirates. "Ye can't force me."

John looked into the crowd of pirates that had swarmed over the deck of the Sultana to witness the whipping, and realized there were some new faces among them. John assumed that they were new recruits brought over from the St. Michael.

"Who's that?" Black Sam asked.

"'Tis Thomas Davis," Hendrick replied with a sneer. "He's a lily-livered sprog."

"An' what skill does he have?" the pirate captain asked.

"He's a carpenter," Hendrick answered.

"Well then, Mr. Davis, I can an' I will force ye. We're in desperate need of sprogs of yer caliber," Black Sam said.

"I refuse," Davis said stubbornly.

"Would ye then prefer to visit Davy Jones' Locker?" Hendrick growled. The formidable first mate gripped the golden handle of his cutlass and smiled the most terrifying grin John had ever seen. Hendrick's unusually white teeth flashed in the sunlight, contrasting starkly with his mahogany skin.

Hendrick's threatening smile silenced the new recruit. All the red drained from Thomas's flushed cheeks in an instant. John looked to the captain with eyes wide with surprise. Surely he wouldn't allow a man to be killed just because he didn't want to be a pirate. That was slavery, forcing a man to work against his will. And wouldn't that go against what Black Sam stood for, he wondered.

"I'll use yer services fer a few weeks an' then I'll let ye go," Black Sam promised.

John let out a sigh of relief. But there was an angry commotion from the pirates on deck. It quickly became apparent that they disagreed with their captain in this matter. The corners of Black Sam's lips curved downward as he pressed his mouth together. John guessed that the captain would have to take back his promise when his crew voted against his decision.

"Let's not dwell on this issue. I say, we land, so we can drink an' eat our fill. Our latest prize was loaded to the gunwales with fresh, prime beef, an' we shall not let it go to waste," Black Sam declared.

A great cheer rose up from the men. It was clear they were eager to have some shore leave. John was excited about the prospect as well. It had been at least a month since he left his home island of Antigua, and he was beginning to miss the feel of land under his feet.

"To yer stations! Jibe-ho! Helmsman, set a course due south. We're bound for Blanquilla Island. Luff and touch her! I want to see coastline by the end of the day," Black Sam bellowed.

The helmsman began to steer the Sultana in a wide circle that would bring the vessel about from a northerly direction to a southbound position. As the Sultana changed her course, the pirates on deck hurried to obey their captain, adjusting the sails so they would catch the wind.

When the Sultana had finally come around and was heading in her proper direction, the captain yelled, "Let go and haul!" Then he left the operation of the Sultana to his crew and descended the navigation ladder to return to his quarters.

"Escort our latest recruit to the common room, and show him where to bunk," Black Sam said to his quartermaster.

"We'll be needin' yer services shortly, Mr. Davis. Standby 'til then," Black Sam ordered as he opened the door to his quarters and disappeared into the dark cabin.

John watched the quartermaster as he took Thomas Davis by the arm, escorting him below deck. The man looked as forlorn as any captured slave. John knew that look well. He had seen it many times at his father's plantation. But just as in the past, he could do nothing for the man, so he followed the captain.

"Ah, John thar ye be. My spirits need liftin'," Black Sam said as he placed the heels of his black-polished leather boots on the table.

John hurried to fill the captain's chalice with grog before he could do it himself.

"Sit an' have a cup with me lad," Black Sam urged as he filled his pipe with tobacco and lit its contents with a match.

John poured a cup for himself and sat on the chair facing the captain.

"'Tis a dark day," the captain said, rubbing his handsome, tanned face. His eyes were swollen with fatigue.

"Because you forced a man into piracy?" John wondered out loud.

"Aye," Black Sam agreed.

"But you promised to let him go," John added.

"Aye I did, but m' men will override that decision," Black Sam said.

"Why?"

"He's a carpenter, an' we are in desperate need of that type of tradesman."

"So what's the difference between forced piracy and slavery?" John asked.

"A sprog that's been forced to join the 'sweet trade' still gets paid. Slaves don't," Black Sam explained.

"Oh," John took a sip of grog, and made a face of disgust. He had forgotten to sweeten it.

The captain smiled and pushed the sugar bowl towards John with his knife.

"What's a sprog?"

"An untrained recruit," Black Sam answered.

"So what will happen to Mr. Davis?" John asked as he added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the liquid in his cup.

"Most likely, when it comes time to let him go, m' crew will vote to keep him. Then he'll have to stay 'til we find another carpenter to replace him."

"But what if he refuses to work?"

"Then he'll be visiting Davy Jones' Locker just as Hendrick promised," Black Sam explained.

"You'd have a man killed for not wanting to be a pirate?" John asked.

"'Tis up to the men, I'm one against many."

"Where's Davy Jones' Locker?"

"At the bottom of the ocean," Black Sam replied solemnly.

"Do all pirates go there when they die?" John asked.

"Nay, only lazy pirates are bound fer Davy Jones' Locker. The good ones who have served a hard-life go to Fiddler's Green," Black Sam said. He slowly sipped his grog and watched John over the rim of his cup, a thick cloud of smoke hovered over his head like a hellish halo.

"So what's the difference?" John asked.

"Davy Jones presides over yer bloated corpse at the bottom of the sea where crabs an' fish nibble the rottin' flesh off yer bones. Fiddler's Green is a place where there's always jolly music, a sailor can kick up his heels, drink as much rum as he likes, an' smoke as much tobacco as he wants," Black Sam explained.

"Oh," John said, sounding disappointed. Neither option sounded very appealing.

"Does that notion offend ye?" Black Sam inquired.

"No, why would it?"

Black Sam shrugged, "Some folks are more inclined to lean towards more conventional beliefs."

"I just don't think Fiddler's Green sounds like much fun."

"Hmm... well then, what'd be yer notion of a fun afterlife?"

John thought about it, and decided that he didn't like the thought of an afterlife at all. In fact, he preferred not to think about such things. But instead of voicing his opinion he shrugged and said, "Don't know. I suppose I haven't thought about it."

Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang.

"Thar's the lunch bell," Black Sam said, and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. "When ye fetch lunch, ask the ship's surgeon fer some of his willow bark powder."

"Aye, aye captain," John said as he rose from the table. He quickly went about his duties, fetching lunch in the galley. The ship's surgeon was in the common room eating his lunch, so John had no trouble tracking the man down.

"The captain has a headache," John announced as he stopped beside the surgeon's table.

Dr. James Ferguson looked up from his bowl of soup, appearing startled. "Tell him I'll be up to see him shortly. I hear he had a brush with death yesterday."

John nodded. He rather liked the doctor, the man reminded him of his uncle. They both had the same kind of reddish brown hair and pale, freckly skin. The difference was the doctor wore round, gold-rimmed glasses underneath his great bushy eyebrows.

"An' I hear yer the one that saved him," the man's hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. "Jus' think of where he'd be now if ye weren't on board."

John smiled. "I did what I had to."

"Of course ye did. We'd all do the same in a heartbeat. The capt'n is well liked among the crew. Run along lad. I'll be up shortly."

John left the doctor to finish his meal and brought the captain his. They ate together in silence, on account of the captain's growing headache. The doctor came not long after John had left to do the washing. When John came back, the captain was laying in bed while the doctor felt his pulse.

After counting out the captain's heart-beat, the doctor passed a candle over the captain's face. Its bright light transformed the captain's vivid blue eyes into sparkling sapphires.

The doctor stood up, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.

"Don't worry lad, he'll be fine. It seems he has a slight head injury from when he and the French man slammed their heads together."

"It was a head butt," the captain corrected.

"Hmmm... in any case ye need rest. I don't want to see ye up an' about fer the rest of the afternoon," the doctor warned.

"Aye doctor," Black Sam agreed. "I'll have me a wee rest. John, ye can have the rest of the afternoon off to do what ye like," the captain said as he placed his tricorn hat over his face.

"Aye, aye captain," John said as he closed the curtains.

The doctor left, quietly closing the door behind him. John stayed, and watched the captain for a moment, not wanting to go. But after a moment, he did as the captain ordered, and left just as quietly as the doctor had.

Out on the deck, the sweltering afternoon sun took all motivation away. John stood by the door blinking. He was at a loss. He hadn't had a whole afternoon to himself in over a week, and wasn't sure what to do with himself.

Finally, he wandered up to the navigation deck and hung his arms over the railing. After watching the waves and clouds for what seemed like an eternity, he turned to John Julian.

"Are we there yet?" he asked.

The helmsman turned to John, giving him a sharp look. It was obvious that they weren't at their destination yet, so the man shook his head slowly, as if to say don't bother me, little boy. John was unfazed by the man's agitated glare.

"How long will it take to get there?" he asked again.

The helmsman sighed, but chose to take up the conversation.

"If the wind holds, we should make land fall before the sun sets," he answered.

"Oh," John said, wondering what he was going to do until then.

"Why don't ye go below deck and watch the quartermaster divvy up the prize? He's supposed to be doing that this afternoon."

John eyed the helmsman suspiciously. He suspected that the man was just trying to get rid of him. But John took his advice, and ventured down to the common room, where a crowd of pirates had gathered.

The quartermaster had already started calling out names and handing out pilfered items from the St. Michael. There wasn't much left, only a few clothes, some bandannas, handkerchiefs, and a black tricorn hat. John's eyes fell on the hat. It looked smaller than most. Maybe it would fit me, John thought.

But John knew he had no chance of acquiring the hat. There were at least a hundred men ahead of him on the list. The only way he would be called was if their next prize had plenty to go around. John decided to stay, and see if anyone chose the hat. Perhaps no one would on account of its size.

A tall man was called next. John recognized him as the man who had stood guard over the Bonetta's hatchway. John remembered the man fondly, even though he hadn't been friendly at first. He did eventually turn a blind eye to John's trips to see the captain and even encouraged him a little in the end.

The man picked up the hat and turned it over to look inside. Then, he tried the hat on. Sure enough, it was too small for his head. He threw the hat down on the floor and picked up a red handkerchief instead.

John watched as the man walked back into the crowd to stand with his friend, the short, fat pirate wearing a black waistcoat, a silk shirt, and white knee breeches. John recognized him as the other pirate who had been guarding the hatchway. John had never bothered to learn either of their names. There were at least one hundred and fifty men on board the Sultana, too many to remember them all. The tall pirate looked John's way, making eye contact.

John looked away and focused on the quartermaster as he called another name from the list. It sounded like Gary or Larry. The short pirate began to move towards the loot, but the tall pirate stopped him and whispered something in his ear. Both men looked at John, then the short pirate began making his way to the quartermaster.

Larry, or Garry, or whatever his name was said something quietly to Richard, and then both men looked at John. John felt a prickle of anxiety crawl up his spine. Are they talking about me? he wondered.

The quartermaster shook his head and indicated that the man should choose something from the looted items. The short pirate picked up the hat, brushed it off, and tried it on. It didn't fit him either, but he chose to keep it. He walked back to his friend and they began a lively discussion.

Why would someone take something if it didn't fit him? John wondered, feeling annoyed. Perhaps he should try trading something for the hat, he thought. But he knew he had nothing of equal value that he wanted to give up. The men started walking away from the crowd and were soon lost behind a wall of pirates.

John watched the quartermaster divvy up the prize until there was nothing left. The crowd had already begun to disperse long before that happened. John only stayed to ease his boredom. He turned to go and nearly bumped into the large belly of the man standing directly behind him.

"Excuse me," John said, not bothering to look up at the man's face as he stepped around.

"We saved this fer ye," the man said grabbing John by the arm.

John looked up and realized it was the man who had taken the hat. He was so shocked to see that the item he wanted was right before his nose, he didn't know what to say.

"Let's see if it fits," the man said, plopping the hat on John's head. The hat's brim sunk over John's head, flattening his hair over his eyes.

"Thanks," John said, pushing his hair to the side with his fingertips.

"It wouldn't have fit any of us anyways," the man said. "Besides, ye deserve it fer yer show of bravery yesterday."

The tall man stepped forward, clapping John on the shoulder. "Aye, good show, I've never seen anything like that from a lad of yer age. Where does all yer fire come from?"

John shrugged. He was beginning to feel overwhelmed by their compliments.

"Aye, we're all very impressed with ye, John King," the short pirate said. He grabbed John by the hand and shook it enthusiastically. "I'm Larry, an' this is m' associate Barry," he said, pointing with his thumb at the tall man grinning like an idiot, his mouth full of rotting teeth.

John nodded, trying not to grimace as he looked into Barry's mouth. He was reminded of the description of scurvy that the cook back on the Bonetta had spoken of. John hoped that he'd never be afflicted by the disease.

"It's good to finally learn your names," he said politely. He still couldn't believe he had just been given the hat he wanted. It was as if all the items on his list were just coming to him, and the hat fit just as if it were made for him. It must be a sign that I'm meant to be a pirate, John thought.

"We were just about to sit down to a game of Talonmaria. Would ye like to join us?" Barry asked as he wrapped his arm around John's shoulders, not allowing him the chance to say no and escorting him to a back table.

Even though John was unfamiliar with the game, he decided to stay and learn. He had time to kill, and these two pirates seemed eager to befriend him. Larry grabbed three stools and set them down. John sat down, and waited for the men to make themselves comfortable.

Barry produced a ratty deck of cards out of his waistcoat pocket and began dealing each player a hand. As he set out the cards, he explained the rules. John didn't understand the directions at first, but knew from experience with other games that he would learn as the game progressed.

Time went by quickly as one game turned into another and another. John caught on quickly, and he even managed to win a few rounds. Before he knew it, the dinner bell was being rung. John quickly stood up, feeling guilty for not thinking of the captain sooner. He thanked the two men and hurried up to the captain's quarters to check on Black Sam.

The doctor was just leaving the cabin. "He's still resting. Don't wake him. I've given him medicine that will help him sleep," the doctor instructed.

John nodded, feeling dispirited. He wasn't used to eating without the captain. He retrieved his meal from the galley and ate alone on the deck, watching for signs of the island they were heading for. But by the time he finished his dinner, the ocean was still empty, with no sign of an island anywhere. John scanned the horizon and noticed the faintest hint of fog far off in the distance.

"Land ho!" the cry came down from the crow's nest.

John felt his heart leap against his chest. He stood up and tried to spot the land. Far off in the distance, there was a faint glimmer of golden sand illuminated by the setting sun.

# Chapter 16

John watched as the first group of pirates rowed to shore in the wooden dinghy that had once been lashed to the portside deck. The small boat seemed to be making slow, steady progress, but to John it felt like the first lading party had already been gone for an eternity. He took in the pristine island view and felt a sudden urge to feel the stability of land beneath his feet.

Blanquilla was a tropical paradise. Banana, mango, and coconut trees hugged a golden, sandy beach. But most importantly, the island was well known to be uninhabited by people, and so it was the perfect place to have a private pirate party.

As soon as the dinghy settled on land, the first group jumped out and set to their task of collecting wood and dry tinder from the jungle floor. Black Sam had instructed them to build several large bonfires, so they would have plenty of hot charcoal for when the beef arrived.

John watched as the rowboat made her way back to the Sultana. Another fifteen pirates had begun to crowd around the top of the rope ladder, waiting to descend. At this rate it'll be midnight by the time I get to go, John thought. He glanced over his shoulder toward the captain's closed door.

Waiting was not something he was good at. John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could've tried to get passage on the first boat to the island, but the captain hadn't woken up yet and he wanted to be nearby when he did.

John briefly entertained the notion of waking up the captain, but then quickly thought better of it. If the captain's headache hadn't gotten better by then, he would likely be in a sour mood. Best just to leave him alone, John thought.

As the rowboat prepared to launch for a second time, John felt another strong compulsion to join the next group.

The golden sand of the serene beach beckoned to him. He desperately wanted to run barefoot into the surf and dive into the crystal clear, unimaginably blue water. He watched enviously as the second boatload rowed slowly towards its destination.

"We're here," a familiar voice said from behind.

John spun around, and almost hugged the man who had become like a father to him.

"Are we going to spend the night on the island?" John asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

"Aye," the captain said. A gentle smile crossed his lips. His sparkling, blue eyes looked out over the waves towards the beautiful tropical paradise that awaited them.

John noticed for the first time that the color of the captain's eyes was the same shade as the ocean close to shore. Black Sam's unusual eyes had an unnerving magical quality to them, especially at twilight when the setting sun made them glow.

"That hat looks good on ye," Black Sam said. "Can I see it?"

"Aye," John said. He took the hat off and handed it to his captain.

"I wasn't aware that thar were any children on board the St. Michael," he said as he inspected the well-worn hat.

John shrugged. "It's a little too big for me."

"Well then perhaps it was made fer a small man like Wilson," Black Sam said nodding towards the four foot man who was in charge of swabbing the decks.

Wilson was a quiet man, and John had little reason to speak to him. John made a mental note to try to get to know the tiny pirate. I wonder how he came to be on this ship. His story was most likely an interesting one.

Black Sam plopped the tricorn hat back onto John's head and playfully pushed it down as far as it would go. The brim of the hat stopped at his eyebrows, pressing John's unruly auburn hair into his eyes.

John pushed the hat up with the tips of his fingers and brushed his hair off his forehead, tucking it into the band of the hat. He was grateful that he had something that would help pin his hair back so it wouldn't be hanging in his eyes all the time. A bandanna would be nice, too.

"Yer looking more an' more like a pirate everyday lad," Black Sam said proudly. "An' acting like one too. Have ye given much thought to yer pirate name?"

"No," John said. "How did you get yours?"

"It's a borin' story," Black Sam sighed. "Back when I started out in the 'sweet trade' there were two Sams on Hornigold's ship. The men started calling me The Black Sam 'cause the other was a blond man an' the name jus' stuck."

"You're called Black Sam because you have black hair?" John said in an incredulous tone.

"Aye."

"Humf," John said, wondering what his pirate name should be.

"An' what about yer name? How about John the Red?" Black Sam said, clapping John on the back with an open palm.

John shrugged, not feeling very keen on the name.

"Bloody John or something of that sort," Black Sam suggested.

"Hmmm... maybe, I'll think on it some more," John said, not wanting to commit to anything just yet. When he took on his pirate name, it would have to be perfect.

"We should get our bedrolls ready. I plan to be on the next dinghy," Black Sam said as he turned to go.

John hadn't thought about what he needed to bring with him. Now he was glad he had waited for the captain. He followed Black Sam back to the cabin, where they unhooked John's canvas hammock from the wall. Black Sam took a thin wool blanket from the wardrobe and showed John how to wrap up his bedroll, using the hammock's cords to lash it together.

Black Sam made a bedroll for himself with a blanket from his bed and another wool blanket from the wardrobe. He used two handkerchiefs tied together to bind the material into a manageable package. Then he tucked the bedroll under his arm.

"Ye should bring our eating utensils with us as well," Black Sam instructed as he left the room.

John quickly collected their dishes and stuffed everything into his net bag. His bloody shirt lay crumpled in a heap on the floor where he had left it. He picked it up and pressed it to his nose, so he could smell the fabric. The shirt had a slight musty odor and was beginning to smell like a dead animal, but he decided to bring it anyways. He had heard other pirates talking about washing their clothes with water and beach sand. I should do the same, he thought. He collected the rest of his dirty clothes and stuffed them in the net bag, too.

Dragging the heavy bag behind him, he flung his bedroll over his shoulder and hurried to join the captain on the deck with the other pirates. John pushed his way through the crew until he reached the railing, eager to see how much progress the dinghy had made.

The rowboat was just reaching the shore with the second boatload of men and cargo. A few of the pirates leapt from the boat to help drag it onto the sand so the others could unload the cargo without getting wet. John scanned the beach. Some of the pirates were hard at work building a bonfire, while others were busy digging a massive pit in the sand with wooden-handled shovels.

"Why are they digging? Are we going to bury treasure here?" John wondered out loud.

Black Sam laughed loud and hard. "That's where we're goin' to cook the beef," Black Sam answered. He stood behind John and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"In a hole in the ground?" John said in disgust.

"Aye."

"But won't the food come out all dirty?"

"Nay, it'll be safely wrapped in banana leaves. That pit is what's called a ground oven. It'll be lined with rocks and hot embers, an' then be covered with fresh green leaves. The wrapped beef will be laid over top. Then, it'll be covered with more leaves, an' more sand, then we'll leave it be till the morrow," Black Sam explained.

"Oh!" John said. The rowboat left shore and headed back towards the Sultana. He watched enviously as some of the pirates took a swim in the refreshing looking blue water.

"When I reach the shore I'm going for a swim too," John announced.

"Aye an' then ye can help collect rocks fer the oven," Black Sam said.

"Aye, aye captain," John said, surprised that he'd have to work while on shore leave.

As the rowboat came closer to the Sultana, the pirates around him became restless. The two men onboard the small boat were making excellent time since the boat was now much lighter without passengers. The crew around John, anxious to begin their shore leave, began crowding around the top of the ladder once more.

"We're on the next one," the captain announced nodding toward the quartermaster.

"Aye, captain," Mr. Noland agreed waving for the captain and John to come forward. To keep order among the men, the quartermaster stood next to the rope ladder, regulating who went next until the boat had reached its capacity.

John looked down the rope ladder to the water below and wondered how he was going to manage the climb when he was carrying so much. The rowboat crept up slowly beside the Sultana, stopping only when one of the pirates on board grabbed the ladder. The man tied the mooring rope to an iron loop that hung off the side of the pirate vessel, and then he looked up while lifting his hands to the sky.

The captain threw his bedroll down to the waiting man and began to climb down. Once the man had stowed the captain's bedding under the bow-seat, he reached up for the next item, impatiently clapping his hands together.

John threw down his bedroll and the net bag before beginning his descent. When his feet reached the last rung, he realized he couldn't reach the bottom of the rowboat no matter how far he tried to stretch his leg. He tried to climb down one more rung, and hung his legs down the side of the Sultana's hull towards the rocking boat beneath him. But still, he couldn't reach.

"Jump, lad," the captain ordered.

John looked over his shoulder to get a better look at where he'd be landing, then looked up to see that another pirate had already begun coming down. The man showed no signs of stopping and would soon be treading on his fingertips, so John let go and hoped for the best.

When he landed, the boat moved, causing John to stumble backwards. He would've gone overboard if the captain hadn't reached out to steady him. Once John gained his balance, Black Sam directed him to the stern, where they both sat down.

It didn't take long for the rowboat to fill up with passengers and soon they were on their way to shore. John's excitement grew with every stroke of the oars. He could hardly wait to feel the sand beneath his feet.

The other men on board were showing signs of excitement too. They talked loudly, fidgeting impatiently in their seats like school boys. One of the men had brought a fiddle onboard and began to play a merry tune. The other men began to clap and stomp their feet as if they couldn't wait for the festivities to begin.

Then one of the men began to sing, "Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, we're off to loot n' plunder. Ho heave, ho, stuffed to the gunwales our ship will sag. Oh, ho, ho, we won't be torn asunder. Ho, heave, ho, hoist up the jolly flag. Oh, ho, ho, 'tis no wonder, thar's nothin' but the sweet trade fer me."

Other men took up the song as well and soon most of the pirates in the rowboat were singing. They repeated the song many times, giving everyone in the boat a chance to join in.

John smiled, and began clapping and stomping along with the men. He was so caught up in their merry fervor he barely noticed when their boat came ashore. The two pirates who had been rowing jumped out and pulled the rowboat out of the water until the hull scraped noisily against the sandy beach.

Along with the rest of the men, John stood up and jumped out of the boat, forgetting about his cargo. He tripped when his feet hit the ground and landed on his hands and knees.

"Oi! Lad!" the man who had stowed John's belongings yelled.

When John didn't answer, the man threw John's bedroll and net bag off the boat. John stood, realizing his mistake, and thought briefly about collecting his things, but the call of the luscious blue water was too great.

He took an unsteady step towards the waves, wondering why he suddenly felt so off-balance. It was as if he were still on a rocking boat, pitching and yawing with the waves. After a few moments of staggering, John began to adjust, walking with more skill than before, but now he felt dizzy and stumbled a few times as he made his way towards the place he had chosen to swim.

He found a spot on the beach where the surf had created a natural deep pool in the sand. Running like a drunk at full speed, without bothering to take off his tricorn hat, shirt, or knee breeches, John plunged forward into the cool, refreshing water. He stumbled for a moment as the surprising strength of the waves threatened to knock him off his feet. Then, laughing with abandon, he threw himself forward, performing an awkward belly flop.

He sunk below the waves, and felt the cool water envelope him as he relaxed and let his body float. John's hat came free, its absence reminding him that it was there. He planted his feet in the sand and jumped upright. Standing waist deep in the waves, he rubbed the salty water from his eyes. When he could see again, he looked around for his hat, which was floating towards shore.

John leapt for his hat, capturing it in one wide swoop of his arms. He plucked it from the water and dropped the sopping wet hat back onto his head. Streamlets of cool water trickled out of the hat and down his face and neck. He had forgotten what being clean felt like. It felt good.

Grinning so wide he thought the corners of his mouth would split, John walked back to the beach to look for his bedding and net bag. He found his possessions easily and retrieved them. Then, he began looking for where the captain had placed his bedroll. He found a pile of belongings set under the shade of a big banana tree and placed his there, too.

It's time to get to work, he thought dismally, as he turned to face the ocean again. His swim had been much too brief. But the sun was setting, and he didn't want to be wet when the air cooled. I'll swim more tomorrow, he thought as he began looking for rocks along the edge of the jungle.

While he searched, he noticed other men were returning to the beach with arm loads of large round rocks. John traced their footprints in the sand back to a rocky stream bed. At the sight of the rushing water, John suddenly realized he was thirsty. He collapsed to his hands and knees near a clear pool of fresh spring water, submerged his lips, and began sucking greedily. It had been over a month since he had last tasted fresh water untainted by rum. Back at the plantation he had taken fresh water for granted, thinking it would always be plentiful everywhere he went.

Once he had drunk his fill, he found three large rocks and began making his way back to the spot where the pirates were busy working on the ground oven. As soon as he threw his rocks down beside the pit, they were picked up by one of the workers and placed carefully along the bottom of the pit with the rest of the cooking rocks. Only half of the pit had been covered with rocks, so John left to gather more.

As he trudged back towards the stream, he heard a great cry ring out from the men on the beach and the men still onboard the Sultana. He turned his head wildly, scanning the beach, wondering if something terrible had happened. A second, two-masted sloop had dropped anchor near the Sultana. John realized with a rush of relief that it was the Marianne. Her pirate crew had finally come to join them.

John had forgotten they had been sailing with another vessel. He hadn't had many dealings with the men on board the Marianne, and only knew the name of her captain, Palgrave Williams. Black Sam often spoke of Palgrave during their leisure time. Not long ago the two men had struck out together from the shores of Cape Cod with the dream of making their fortunes as treasure hunters. Now they were both pirate captains in their very own two-ship fleet.

John watched the first rowboat set off from the Marianne. By midnight there'd be at least three hundred pirates drinking and singing across the beach. We're going to need more wood, John thought as he continued trudging through the sand.

When John returned with more rocks, he tried counting the number of men already on the beach. Although he couldn't be sure, it seemed as if there were already close to one hundred men moving about. And at least half of them had dedicated their time to constructing the huge ground oven. The project would be done in no time.

John turned toward the trees and realized even more men were tromping around the tropical jungle collecting wood. Twelve large bonfires were lit along the beach, and groups of pirates were beginning to collect at each one. John scanned the crowd and saw only strange faces.

A chill began to invade John's extremities. Over half of the beach was now under the shadow cast by the jungle. John was still wet, so he stood by the closest bonfire to dry off and get warm. The construction of the ground oven was well underway. There seemed to be an over-abundance of rocks for the workers to choose from, so John decided he'd rather explore than collect more.

With his back to the flames he continued to scan the faces of the pirates and tried to spot Black Sam. Many other men had begun collecting around the bonfire as well, drinking and visiting. As the crowd thickened John began to feel cramped, so he left the fire to take a walk along the beach.

With each step, he savored the feel of the luxuriant, soft sand caressing his calloused skin feet. He stepped closer to the waves and cool, soothing mud, squished up between his toes. John picked up an old, broken clamshell embedded in the sand. There were many like it scattered amongst beds of flattened seaweed and they were easy to see in the dusky twilight.

John threw the shell into the waves with a flick of his wrist, sending it skipping across the water three times before it sank. The tide seemed to be heading out; it receded with each wave, slowly lengthening the beach.

I wonder what else I can find, John thought as he set out to explore. While he walked, he overturned rocks with his toes, discovering a plethora of creatures that ran for cover. He picked up a coin-sized red crab and placed it in his palm so he could examine it more closely. The crab scurried out of his grasp, falling to the sand and disappearing under a piece of weathered driftwood.

John continued onward, finding all kinds of shells. His favorite was a pinkish, cone-shaped snail shell. These were the type that usually had hermit crabs hiding inside them. He collected a few and stuffed them into his pockets as he walked.

Night was falling quickly and it was becoming difficult to see. He turned to look back, and saw how far he had come. The pirates' fires flickered like candles in the distance.

On his way back he spent less time looking at the sand and more time gauging how far he'd have to walk before returning to the warmth of the fire. It was creepy all alone on the dark beach with the wide black ocean on one side, and a mysterious tropical jungle on the other. John's ears picked up the sound of something large moving through the long grass under the trees. I wonder what kind of creatures lurk through the jungle at night?

In a sudden rush to return, he quickened his pace, only to stub his big toe on something sticking out of the sand. He tripped and fell face first. Acting on instinct, he flung out his hands to brace himself against the fall. His palms pushed unharmed into the soft sand. Only his lips and chin hit the ground.

Sitting on his bum, spitting sand and rubbing his sore toe, John looked for what had tripped him. Something long and round stuck out from the sand at an angle. On closer inspection, John realized it was a wine bottle.

John grasped the bottle by the neck and pulled it from the sand with one good yank. Then, consumed with curiosity, he carried it to the water to wash off the dirt, hoping to get a better look at it. As soon as he had picked it up he could tell there was something inside. He shook the bottle and heard a gentle tink as the mysterious item moved. But even after he washed it, he still couldn't see what it was. I'll have to look at it in the light.

As he carried the bottle to the nearest fire, he ran his fingers up and down the smooth glass. The wine bottle was sealed with a cork, its inside void of liquid, of that much he was sure. He could hardly wait to get a better look inside.

When he reached the fire he held the bottle up to the light so he could look through the green-colored glass. The item inside seemed to be a rolled up piece of paper. A scroll, perhaps.

John took his small flip-knife out of his pocket and used it to pry the cork loose. The rotten material came out in pieces, so it took him a few frustrating minutes to remove it. When the bottle's neck was finally clear, John tipped the bottle upside down. The scroll didn't come out. He tried shaking the bottle, smacking the bottom, but the rolled paper stopped where the neck narrowed. Then it suddenly occurred to John that the only way he'd get it out was to smash the glass.

John stood up and trudged back to the stream, where he could find a rock suitable for the job. He found a large round boulder near the edge of the stream and threw the bottle at it with all of his strength. When the bottle struck the rock, the glass smashed into hundreds of pieces, leaving the scroll exposed.

John picked up the paper, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass. As he unrolled the parchment he could tell there was something written on it, but he couldn't read the words in the dim light of the rising crescent moon. He ran back to the fire and held the paper in the light of the flickering flames.

At first he couldn't make heads or tails of the document. On one side there was a drawing in black ink of a triangle with a chain of small, oblong-shaped objects near the bottom edge, and a strange squiggly line running up the left side of the paper. In the center of the triangle there was an X.

On the other side of the paper was an inscription in Spanish, and a detailed drawing of a circular object with many irregular shaped pieces inside it. John stared at the circular object, turning the paper around so he could examine it from every angle.

In the top right corner of the paper was a drawing of a chest with a top and front view. A large cross covered the top of the chest, and continued down the front. There was an arrow drawn from the chest to an area on the edge of the circular design, accompanied by another detailed description in Spanish, a language John didn't understand.

"Thar ye be," Black Sam exclaimed as he hunkered down beside John. "What do ye have thar?"

John handed the paper to Black Sam, thankful for the company. "I found it inside a bottle," John answered.

"Hmmm, it's in Spanish," Black Sam mumbled as he eyed the inscription. "Looks like a treasure map."

"It does," John said, grabbing the paper and looking it over with renewed interest.

"An' this here's the Devil's Triangle," Black Sam said, pointing at the triangle.

"What's that?"

"It's a patch of cursed water where many do not dare to venture. An' certainly not to the center where that X has been drawn."

"So you wouldn't want to go there?"

"Thar's nothin' to be seen out thar. It's just endless water."

"Oh," John said, sounding disappointed.

Black Sam got up, brushing the sand from his knees. "I'm layin' out m' bedding near a fire that's more central. Yer welcome to join me if ye like."

John jumped up and followed the captain back to the banana tree where they had left their things. The captain scooped up his bedroll and walked to the bonfire at the center of the beach, where he laid out his blankets close enough to the fire to benefit from the heat. John did the same, laying his hammock beside the captain's, but instead of sitting on his wool blanket as the captain did, he chose to wrap it around his shoulders.

The captain lay down on top of his blanket, folding his hands behind his head. "I suggest ye keep that paper close to yer heart while yer sleepin' unless ye want to lose it," Black Sam said as he turned over to lie on his side.

John stuffed the scroll inside his shirt and into the waist-band of his breeches. Then he clasped his hands behind his head and lay down. It was a clear night. The stars were a captivating sight, sparkling like faceted jewels thrown over black silk.

John stayed up, and listened to the pirates laughing and singing all around him. His mind swirled with thoughts of the possible treasure that could be at the center of the Devil's Triangle.

I'll have to find someone who can read Spanish and somehow I have to convince the captain to take me to this spot. John closed his eyes and pictured what the treasure would look like. It was a chest filled with gold doubloons, jewels and fine necklaces. As he imagined running his fingers through the treasure, John fell into a deep slumber.

While he slept, his mind conjured up dreams of ghost ships and damsels in distress.
