The dying flames flickered in the fireplace as the howling winds outside crept into the house. A cold draft breathed against the embers, making them crack in the silence. He jumped from the sound. As he watched the glowing pieces fly up and die, he swore he could hear the sloshing waves caressing the hulls, the piercing cries of the gulls, and the acrid smell of powder. His fingers found their way into his pocket and pulled out a tiny jewel. It was dark blue and so polished that it seemed to shine with its own light. As he looked at it, he felt his nose sting and a single tear slid from his eye.
“Daddy?” He snapped out of his trance of drowning in his memories.
“Yes, Esmeralda?” He looked into her bright green eyes and felt another twinge at his heart.
“I’m cold.”
He shifted in his seat and let her sit in his lap. “Better?” She nodded. Picking up the poker, he stirred the dying fire. It was amazing how similar each fire looked, yet how different they were. Five years ago, he could not bear the sight of fire, no matter how cold he was. Now, he could not leave it.
“Are you okay?” Her tiny fingers wiped the tear on his cheek.
“Of course.” A fake smile. But what else could a man do?
She pointed at the tiny jewel, her childish curiosity goading her on. “What’s that?”
Quickly stuffing it back into his pocket, he smiled and kissed her forehead. “It’s nothing. Hey, shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“I’m cold.” That’s right; that was why she came out in the first place.
“Tell you what, you can take my coat. It’s been here next to the fire, you’ll be warm in that.”
Esmeralda thought about it and shrugged her tiny shoulders. Waddling off to her room with the comically large coat draped on her shoulder, she left him alone by the fire, which was what he wanted. The fire cracked again. He could smell the sea now. The floor seemed to rock underneath his feet and the spray coated his face again. Taking out the jewel from his pocket once more, he looked at the polished stone. Its blueness seemed to expand until it encompassed his whole vision.
The sea crashed against the hull of the ship, sending stinging spray into his eyes. Rubbing his roughened hands against his eye, he gazed up at the brilliant blue sky. Not a single cloud was in sight. Perfect weather. The Cutlass, pride of the Imperial navy, slowly sailed past his ship. He waved at the men on the flagship and was greeted with the same gesture.
“What do you think? Is the commander right? Or are we on another wild-goose chase?” One of the other gunman strode beside him and rested his hand against the railing.
“When have we not been on a wild-goose chase?” He chuckled. The weather was too good for them to complain about the conditions on the boat.
The gunman spat into the water. Silently, they stared into the horizon and watched as the infinite blue of the ocean merged with the infinite blue of the sky. He watched as the water broke against the painted hull and wondered just how many months left until he would be on land again. He had everything planned out already, down to each piece of bread that he would eat. No more banging the worms out of the rotten loaves. No, he was going to dine on freshly made bread.
“Ship ahead!” The shrill cry of the lookout came down from the crow’s nest. “She’s not flying our colors!”
“Well, well, maybe this isn’t a wild-goose chase after all.” The other gunman picked up his head and looked ahead at the white sails of the lone ship.
Everything went as expected. The order came and all hands were at their battle stations. The enemy ship was drifting listlessly in the currents, seemingly devoid of fight. He thought it harmless at first until he saw its bristling guns. It must be a capital ship, either lost from its fleet or fleeing from an unseen enemy. Either way, unless it hails back with a friendly response, it would be sent gurgling down to Davy Jones’ locker.
The contingent of marines marched up and rested their rifles against the railings. Some of them were green in the face. He bit his lip to hide the snigger that tried to leave his lips. These men were still land-blubbers, no matter how long they spent out at sea. He peered at the flag on top of the foreign ship. It was not one he had seen before, and he had seen ships from Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, and the other naval powers. Looking back at the mainmast, he saw the proud lion of England unfurled at the top. Now, like the rest of the crew, he waited for the other ship to show its true colors.
Seconds became hours. Minutes became days. Still the ship does not raise a flag, does not mark a nationality.
“C’mon, you bastards, raise your colors.” He muttered as his fingers drummed against the thirsty cannon.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, a single red flag was slowly raised on the other ship’s mast. When he saw the flag, his heart sank. It was a double-headed eagle. He had never seen a ship sail under those colors. He knew what they were to do. The captain strode to the helm and bellowed out orders. Everything became mechanical to him, second nature from the intensive training and drilling. They were going on to holding actions.
The two ships wheeled around, with Cutlass rounding the starboard side. He looked closer at the unknown ship and realized that its hulls were badly damaged. It could not afford to even take on a single warship let alone two. He could see the marines setting up their positions on the enemy ship. They were going to attack as well.
“Hold your fire! Shoot only when they shoot!” The captain bellowed.
The marines looked backwards with annoyance. They wanted to desperately blow off some steam for being cooped up in the hold for days. He saw the flashes of fire and the smoke from the powders before he heard their distinctive crack. A bright-eyed young marine fell backwards, screaming from the bullet that lodged itself in his neck. The first shot was fired, now they were to retaliate.
Explosions rocked the ship as the cannons fired. The flames singed his hair. The enemy ship tried desperately to repel the might of the Imperial navy, but it was not enough. They simply did not have the firepower or the will to resist. His ears went deaf and his eyes seemed to have gone blind from the cannon. But still he fired.
The smoke blotted out the sun, turning the once blue sky into a gray overcast. The smell of powder was overpowering. It seeped into every pore of his body and threatened to overwhelm him. In his state of near blindness, he traced the brief outline of the enemy vessel before loading the last shot into his cannon.
“Fire!”
The explosion from his cannon was matched by another one. He turned in amazement as he watched the enemy ship split apart at the seams while wood and men were tossed about like leaves in a midsummer storm. The flames erupted from the split ship and belched smoke high into the air while sending ripples of heat slamming against him, knocking him to his feet. The marines beside him were still firing, even though the enemy ship has been dealt a mortal blow. Men were scrambling into the water like ants scurrying from a disturbed anthill. The sea seemed to boil as men struggled to stay afloat in the frigid water. They must’ve hit the powder hold.
His ringing ears were beginning to recover from the pandemonium that had reigned moments earlier. The smoke was starting to clear. His vision was returning. Now that he could see clearly again, he watched as the tiny figures struggled in the water. But something didn’t seem right. Some of the figures were too small or delicate to be of sailors.
“By God, what have we done?”
“There are women and children aboard!”
“What did we do?”
“Oh God, oh God!”
Similar cries seemed to rise up as they heard the shrieks of drowning mothers and dying children. This was not a warship, it was a merchant ship, foolish to fly the flag of an unknown navy and more foolish still to trade fire with ships of the Empire.
“Cast a line! Save as many as you can! Move it!” The captain screeched from the wheel.
The great ships turned and made its way towards the wreckage. The screams and shrieks grew louder. He watched as a piece of wood, carrying a father and his daughter, drifted closer and closer to the ship. Tying a rope to his waist, he jumped into the icy water. He gritted his teeth against the cold current and struggled towards the father and daughter. Climbing aboard the piece of wood, he saw that the father was bleeding from a wound in his side, no doubt a testament to the marksmanship of the marines. The girl was hardly a year old and bawling in her father’s arms.
The man was dying, and he seemed to know it. Raising his hands to the stranger that just crawled onto the piece of wood that he was on, he beckoned.
He watched as the dying man raised his daughter towards him. With trembling hands he took her into his arms. The dying man reached into his pocket and tucked a small blue jewel into the bundles of cloths that wrapped around the child. He said something in a foreign tongue. Perhaps a prayer, he’ll never know.
When they pulled him back onto his own ship, he looked down at the child and stared into her bright green eyes.
Do it now.
chaplain118 vs ♔The Nanny♔ {Naval warfare care of ♔Luckylewis♔}
{Phat} Word limits do not apply
Primicerius
Treason is just dates
Originally Posted by chaplain118
)
Loutre
Quae est infernum es
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