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 as
ked, 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."