Freedom's Captain
“Oi, why’d yer Cap’n just sit us still so the British could catch up to us? We coulda at least tried to leave ‘em behind on the seas.” The man who spoke, Axel, was a small and unremarkable figure who was one of the newest batch of crewmen, just freed from the gallows earlier in the day. He addressed the dozen or so crewmates who gathered around a small table belowdecks, waiting for the return of their captain. With skin darkened from the sun and ragged clothes from long days at sea, these men more closely resembled beggars and thieves than the crew of a ship. It was Brand, a tall and powerfully built man who was one of the oldest members of the crew, who replied. “We’d never make it, did ye see the speed of that thing? Freedom may be nimble, but she ain’t the fastest in the world, nor does she got the most guns. We couldn’t outrun or outgun those bastards if we tried, so Cap’s gotta make a deal. They’d’ve never let us go anyway, not until they get back ye and yer fellow criminals, or these lot,” he nodded his head in the direction of the tied up English guards who sat on the floor nearby. These red-coated men were unlucky enough to be stationed at the gallows when the Captain and his men had made their entrance. “I’m not sure how Cap’ll get us out o’ this one, but mark me words, lad, he always does.”
