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.”

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“We know you and your criminal gang won’t go down without a fight, which is why we request that you return our men and prisoners to us without a struggle,” the Imperial officer said. Wearing a dark blue coat with gold embroidery to signify his rank and a powdered wig, he sat at a massive table covered with a map with guards to either side. The room was ridiculously decorated, with gold and silver plates, bottles of wine and Royal Navy memorabilia such as swords and flags hung across the room. All of these signs of luxury contrasted greatly with the figure across from him, the Captain.

The Captain wore a white shirt underneath a brown jerkin and black coat that complemented his long, black unkempt hair. His dark leather boots rested crossed on the table in front of him, right next to a dagger he had stabbed into the table to place his hat on with his massive sword, belt and two flintlock pistols laid nearby. Beneath his dark eyes and expressionless face was a short beard and three unremarkable necklaces. In response to the officer’s request, he stood and walked to the window of the massive room, looking to his ship that was held right against the imperial vessel. The vast sea spread out beyond it, seemingly endless and peaceful apart from a storm that had begun to gather in the distance. The British officer watched as the Captain stood and thought. He had heard stories of this man and his ship, Freedom, but frankly was unimpressed. This silent man had rescued hundreds of criminals facing the death sentence with a ship he had stolen from the British months before. The stolen ship was a Merlin-class sloop, a 91-foot long ship with 2 masts and 14 6-pound guns crewed by around 100 sailors, all of them escaped criminals. In comparison, the ship he commanded, the HMS Sphinx, measured 114 feet in length with 3 masts and held 22 much larger 9-pound cannons as well as two 3-pound cannons. Crewed by 160 men with an additional complement of British soldiers and guards, the larger ship was both faster and more formidable than the smaller Freedom. As the officer reveled in the satisfaction of catching the fabled enemy of the British, he wondered how the man he gazed upon had come to elude the empire for so long. The way people spoke of him, he’d expected to meet an eight-foot tall monster with flaming eyes and biceps larger than a cannonball. The man who stood in front of him was instead of average height, and his width came more from his large coat than his frame.

The Captain then turned back to the officer, motioned towards his ship and pointed one direction, then pointed at the officer and pointed the other. “You ask for us to let you go-after you return our criminals and soldiers?” the officer asked. The Captain shook his head no and pointed to wanted posters on the wall before shaking his head again. The officer interpreted, “You want to keep your criminals and just release the guards. And in exchange we’ll let you go freely.” When he received confirmation in the form of a nod he pondered a moment before replying, “Very well. Keep your criminals to yourself, give us our men back and you shall be on your way.” With that the Captain gathered his belongings, strapped his sword and pistols to his belt, placed the hat on his head, and strode out of the room. As the officer rose to follow him out, The Captain suddenly paused and spun around, flinging his dagger at the feet of the officer who leaped back in surprise, leaving it stuck in the polished wood of the floor. The Captain grinned and walked across the Imperial frigate that dwarfed his own, returning to Freedom. If the army of armed British sailors and soldiers nearby bothered him, he didn’t show it.

Watching the Captain’s return from behind a cannon belowdecks was Hilt, the weapons officer of Freedom, waiting for the signal that came a moment later-the Captain waved his hand in the air and turned to look at the British ship. As Hilt relayed the signal to the other crew members, the hatch to the lower decks opened and the British prisoners were sent up the stairs and across the deck of the ship to the Sphinx. The officer onboard the Sphinx watched as the Captain removed his hat and did a dramatic bow, waiting until all the prisoners were across before giving his own signal to his men. The red-coated soldiers and guardsmen marched with rifles in hand and swords at their belts onto the deck of the smaller ship, where the Captain stood alone. As the British formed a semicircle around the Captain with guns raised, the officer stepped forward and spoke. “You thought we’d let you run freely? You disguisting outlaws are even more stupid than I thought. Drop your sword without a fight, or die by our rifles.” He spat the words with malice. The Captain rose from his bow slowly and calmly placed his hat back on his head. Meeting the officer’s gaze, his face remained expressionless as he pulled forth his sword and held it high in the air.

The British stood motionless as they watched the Captain to see where the sword would go next; to the floor, or to the enemy. Instead, it did neither and simply stayed put, raised above the Captain’s head. “Well?” the officer impatiently inquired. “What is your decision?” A frustrated growl could clearly be heard in his voice. At this the Captain grinned and shook his head as if in disappointment, and pointed his sword forward.

Seemingly from nowhere the Captain’s crew emerged to respond to his summons. Hatches to lower decks flew open as a war cry rose up among the charging men, swords brandished before them. From the helm of the ship appeared men with pistols who immediately let loose on the soldiers surrounding their captain as the Captain’s quarters below opened to reveal yet more men with muskets, pistols and swords. Simultaneously, the men on the lower deck’s cannons fired a volley at point-blank range, blasting holes into the sides of the Sphinx. In the confusion, the British immediately surrounding the captain broke formation and began to panic, firing wildly before pulling out swords of their own to engage in a deadly melee. The few among the British that kept their wits about them enough to fire at the Captain missed as he leapt aside in the chaos, rolling behind the combatants and avoiding death by the musket fire. The Imperial officer ran back to his own ship, ordering more guards, soldiers, and even sailors to join in the melee. Unwilling to fire on its own men, the Sphinx held back on letting loose its mighty cannons.

The chaos of battle descended on the two ships as the smell of gunpowder, blood and steel filled the nostrils of the men fighting. As deafening gunfire and the clash of swords mixed with the screams of the dying and the thuds of lifeless bodies hitting the deck, the element of surprise granted the Captain’s crew the advantage in the opening moments of battle. Out of immediate danger, the Captain quickly stood to his feet and joined in the combat, deftly blocking any attempts on his life with his huge sword. In reply, he used the hilt of his sword to daze the enemy or used his powerful form to shove them over the bodies of the fallen, allowing his crewmates to finish them off. Through all of this his enemies saw a grim, calm expression on the face of the Captain. As Imperials continued to pour onto Freedom, though, the combat became less one-sided. The Captain’s men were being slowly pushed back while some joined the mass of motionless bodies on the deck.

Markus, the navigator of Freedom, stood back from the fight and watched his Captain, neither firing his pistol nor drawing his sword. The men who had let loose the initial volley of cannon fire had gathered behind him, guns at the ready. Markus and his men waited for a silent order from the Captain. As the Captain earned a moment of hesitation in the combat, he locked eyes with Markus and gave a nod. Markus ordered the thirty or so men to ready their weapons at the men aboard the English ship. When he yelled “FIRE,” a spray of bullets hailed down on the enemy shooters, taking down many and forcing the rest to take cover. “Now’s the time! Get to work, ye dogs!” With the momentary gap in the enemies’ gunfire, half of the men behind him went with Markus to begin to unfurl Freedom’s sails while the other half charged into the chaos on the deck.

One Englishman proved to be very skilled in combat, slicing down many of the crewmates as they tried to stop him from advancing further onto Freedom’s deck. Before long the Captain took notice of his slain comrades and fixed his gaze on the British soldier. The soldier locked eyes with the Captain as he cut down another of the crew, and watched as the Captain’s face transformed from expressionless to purely enraged. His lips curled into a snarl as he marched through the tide of enemies, shoving men aside or striking their weapons with enough force to knock the swords from their hands. His massive blade seemingly created an invisible barrier through which no enemy could pass as the red-coated soldier stood in terror. This man had heard stories of the silent Captain’s prowess in battle, and his heart filled with fear at the sight of such an intimidating figure wading through the battle to face him. As the Captain neared, the soldier lifted his sword above his head with both arms and swung down mightily to strike at the advancing enemy, hoping to end their duel before it began. The Captain stepped right into the swing and held his sword above his head to block the blow effortlessly, a seemingly impossible task given the power behind the assault. Both swords shook with the force of the clash, but the Captain seemed unaffected as he drew forth one of the pistols at his belt with his free hand and swung it up to the man’s face. The last thing the soldier saw was glaring eyes and the barrel of a pistol.

As Markus’ men succeeded in getting Freedom moving she began to escape the Sphinx’s grasp, the British having failed to take her quickly enough to stop it. Faced with being trapped on a ship full of enemies or retreating, many of the English elected to abandon the fight and flee to their own ship. Those that didn’t make it before the ships separated had seen their last sunrise.

The Captain quickly returned to the helm to stand beside his tall and thin first mate Leen, navigating their escape. The enemy ship would soon follow in pursuit, and would catch up quickly if no action was taken. Hilt led a group of men belowdecks, where they began to reload the cannons, sure that the fight wasn’t over yet. As one of the sailors surveyed the dozens of bodies that littered the deck, he heard the sound of explosions coming from the enemy ship just in time to shout a warning before he was added to the ranks of the dead. The British let forth a tremendous volley from their cannons, 9-pound cannonballs exploding into the hull of Freedom and tearing wood and men alike apart, further adding to the blood and gore that stained her deck. The English ship then turned to face them, and before long was speeding forward and closing the gap between ships rapidly. As the men looked to the Captain for orders, he began to turn the ship sideways, pointing to their own cannons and the sails of the Sphinx. After some questioning looks, the crew began aiming their own cannons for a return volley and showered the sails of the enemy ship in metal. Though not very damaging, the torn sails began to slow the enemy down, forcing the British to follow head-on and rendering their terrifying side cannons unusable. As Freedom fled, it soon became apparent that even now they would not be fast enough to escape the English.

Leen followed the Captain’s gaze up to the sky, where in the distance a storm could be seen above the dark water. “Captain, what say ye?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the response. The Captain pointed towards the storm. “Into th’ storm?! With a hurtin’ ship? Yer crazy!” The Captain looked him in the eye, smiled and nodded, drew his sword and aimed it at the storm. “Aye, aye, Captain,” Leen muttered as he turned the massive wheel of the ship. And so Freedom sailed into the storm.

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The sun soon abandoned them and the sea grew angry with their insolence as the ship and her crew descended into rain and darkness. Waves tore at Freedom’s sides, rain washed away the dark blood from the battle, and lightning attacked the water around them, each strike threatening to end all of their lives if it came too close. Leen stood on the main deck, helping the other men fortify the ship against the storm by securing ropes and sails as best they could while avoiding getting thrown overboard. Rend, a hulking behemoth of a man and probably the most physically intimidating member of the crew, stood nearby frantically tying a rope as he shook his head in disbelief. “What in th’ hell’s he thinkin!” he shouted over the roar of the thunder and rain to Leen. They paused from their work briefly to look up at the Captain, the sole figure at the helm of the ship, who stood calmly with his hand on the wheel, occasionally grabbing his hat to save it from being swept away to the hungry sea. Leen shouted in reply, “I dunno, man’s gone insane. But eh, we lost ‘em.” Looking back, the British ship had vanished into dark clouds, not willing to test its luck against the power of the storm. Both of them, as well as the rest of the crew, just hoped they would live long enough for the dangerous gamble to be worth it.

Waves splashed water into the scattered holes in the hull as panicked sailors worked to dump buckets out and cover the holes with whatever they could find. On the ships’ interior, men worked to secure all the crates, boxes, barrels and cannonballs they could as the ship rocked terrifyingly back and forth. Men gripped onto the ship’s railings as the howling wind threatened to toss them to the sea. Many prayed to a god they didn’t believe in, asking forgiveness for their criminal pasts and a chance at a future where the world was not dominated by the churning darkness of the sea and the anger of the rain and sky. Many more drank their fill of rum and ale in case this was their last day. Some had families they wanted to see again, some wanted to start a new life for themselves, and some simply didn’t want to die for the foolishness of an overconfident captain. They all shared one thing though: they feared this death at the hands of the storm.

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Once all precautions had been taken and all cargo secured, the crew sat below decks, paralyzed with fear. Soaked through their clothes, the bone-chilling cold of the rain and air took all strength from their bodies. Many imagined the dark evils that lay in wait beneath them, preparing to destroy the doomed ship at any moment-a fearsome Kraken that would wrap its tentacles around the ship and drag it to its watery grave, mermaids that would ride the waves to the deck and lure the men into the relentless sea, or an enormous angry whale that could effortlessly crack Freedom in two with its tail. The shivering men sat in silence, hearing only the storm and anxiously awaiting their fates. It was Handle, the ship’s cook, that eventually broke the silence. “Well lads, if ‘tis to be our last day, it’s been miserable with ye assholes.” A chuckle went through the ranks of the frightened sailors before the gravity of their plight took hold once more and condemned them to a frozen silence.

On the deck of the ship, only Leen and the Captain remained, doing their best to point the ship towards the largest waves and avoid catastrophic damage to their beloved Freedom. “Yer one crazy bastard, ye know that?” Leen remarked to the Captain while they were both at the wheel. The Captain shrugged, keeping his gaze on the ship’s direction. Just then, a massive wave crashed over Freedom’s side, throwing Leen off balance as he went tumbling towards the edge. With unbelievable reflexes and impressive balance, the Captain sprinted across the deck towards Leen’s powerless body. Just as they reached the edge of the ship, Leen went crashing through the railing as the Captain leaped to the edge of the ship and barely caught hold of Leen’s falling hand. Dangling over the roaring sea below, Leen held onto the Captain’s rough hand for dear life, praying to make it back to the deck. The Captain’s face grimaced with effort as he struggled to hold the man’s body, but eventually he was able to haul Leen back onboard. As Leen caught his breath and attempted to calm his shaking body, the Captain sprinted back to the wheel, which was spinning wildly, lurching the ship to one side, bringing it nearly parallel to a massive wave that was charging towards them. The Captain grabbed the wheel with both hands, struggling to force it back the other way and face the wave before it made contact. The ship groaned as it resisted the sudden change of direction, and too slowly turned to face the wave. When the wall of water struck the unprepared ship it shook the entirety of the hull, new cracks appearing where the wood was weakened from cannonfire and knocking over everyone and everything that wasn’t tied down. The ship tilted sideways, nearly at a 45 degree angle, threatening to flip entirely and end the lives of all those onboard. To the horrified crews’ relief, it managed to right itself and continue to fight the storm.

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None of the men remembered falling asleep, but they were woken by footsteps on the deck of the ship. The hatch to the lower decks opened and an exhausted and visibly shaken Captain and Leen walked down the steps, motioning for the others to come up. Upon reaching the deck of the ship the sailors were met with a brilliant sun, brighter than they’d ever imagined possible, as if to congratulate the men on escaping both the British and the storm’s wrath. They had arrived at their home; a large island with makeshift houses and men and women who looked similar to the crew, though a bit less rough, going about their daily lives.

“Where is this?” Axel asked, having been fortunate enough to survive the trials of the day. The Captain led the men off Freedom onto a recently built pier, where the men and few women of the village cheered for the Captain’s return and embraced their friends who had made it back safely. Leen looked over the village with satisfaction before replying, “This be Cap-town, also called Outlaw Island. We was all rescued by that there Captain, crazy sunofabitch. The crown’s navy don’t know this place, so we’re safe-for now.” Axel looked at the black-coated, silent man who strode through the town, getting food and drinks after his long journey. “Who is he?” he asked Leen. “What, the Captain? No one really knows, on account of his not talkin and all. All I know is I was one of the first he saved, and we’ve been building here since.” Axel shook his head in wonder. “Come on then,” Leen clapped Axel on the back. “We made it, and that’s cause for celebration ‘round these parts. Let’s get us some rum!”

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Colin stared at the wood of the platform below him, knowing that in a few moments his life would end. The executioner, an especially large British soldier, put the noose over his head and moved to the next man in line. Four were on the platform, with a line behind of many more to be hanged that day for crimes the crown believed irredeemable. The day looked especially dark and gray, as if the sky would mourn the deaths of these men and women. As the executioner turned to walk across the platform and pull the lever that would end his life, a commotion among the gathering of commoners below erupted. Men wearing cloaks threw them off and held daggers or swords to the throats of nearby guards as the executioner drew his sword to resist the intruders. The crowd shouted and scattered hurriedly for fear of violence breaking out. A man wearing a black coat and a pointed hat, with two pistols at his belt, suddenly emerged from the crowd and strode up the platform. In seconds of what the executioner expected to be at least a fair fight, the man had disarmed him and shoved him off the platform into the dirt below. Before the executioner could rise and continue to fight, another man had his sword at his neck, ordering him not to rise. As the bearded man cut the ropes around the criminals’ necks, Colin looked into the expressionless face of his savior. “Who are you?” he asked. The Captain took off his hat and bowed in reply, before hurrying to release the rest of those condemned to die.