Possibly Pirates: Seeds of Greatness

[Jadeling Hawkins]

Sloane and Deirdre froze as one, Deirdre hiding behind Sloane, as Thomas rose up and spoke. It seemed as though he intended on helping them escape...And what option did they have but to follow him, when he was armed, large, and in the way of the door?

"If this is a trick..." Sloane started hotly, her fists clenching. But there was little she could think of to threaten him with. "Lead on," She finished, grasping Deirdre's hand. Her brow knit with determination as the trio headed out, for she knew that if they didn't escape, it meant being slammed into with a cannon ball, or snatched up by a pirate, or run through on accident in the middle of the fight. With Thomas in the lead, Sloane boldly following behind him and Deirdre fearfully following after her, it seemed as though all of the sailors were too busy racing around and struggling to put out fires or stave off boarders to actually take heed of the escaping girls.

"We need a life boat," Sloane stated, pleased that her great nerves didn't show through her voice. There was another girl lying in the hall, shrieking and trembling with terror. She looked to have been unharmed, both by the men and by the cannons, so it seemed that Brain was not the only 'gentlemanly' pirate on the ship. Sloane bent, seized the girl's arm and slapped her silent before sternly pointing at Deirdre. "Hold her hand, walk with us, we're leaving. Don't fall behind!"

They picked up another two girls in a similar state, and like ghosts the women clung together following Sloane, who was following Thomas, to freedom.

[Xersist]

Thomas groaned as the two girls were picking up more ladies to follow behind. He looked down and grabbed some rope that was hanging on a hook. He turned back at look at the new frightened pack of woman. "Alright tie tis around yee hands, make them look good and tight, but make sar yee can untie tha knot.... Were gonna get up on that deck. Now play along or you'll ruin the whole thing, and we'll all be dead." Thomas lifted up a hatch and looked out on the deck. The commotion of the British Navy's Guns and the men running around on deck, made the place perfect for an escape.

[Irish Wolf]

Brain quickly handed out the firedarts, the gunners loading them into cannons of different makes, sizes and metals. The wicked barbs slid iron and bronze tubes, coming to rest on course black powder. The gunners took aim as their attacker overtook them on the port side. Men rushed around on deck, arming themselves with pistol, blade, pike musket and a number of other small arms.

"Steady" called out the master gunner, "...........Steady." The Dido came abreast of the Hound's Tooth. "Steady" Seconds passed like lifetimes. "FIRE!" Burning match cords were shoved into touch holes, black powder burned and exploded, thunder and flames leaped from the mouth of the different cannons. Balls of flame flew through the night, smashing into wood planking and white canvas sails. Flames licked up the sails of the Dido, as if they were soaked in oil. One dart punched through the gut of a Dido sailor, pinning him to a mast.

The crew of the Hound's Tooth cheered, now able to see their attacker clearly. Musket leap to shoulder and the flintlocks fell. Musket, musketoon, blunderbuss, carbine and pistol fire echoed like a hundred thunderclaps. One was Brain's blunderbuss.

[Muser]

Old Tom gritted his teeth, and yanked a large chunk of wood from his left thigh. It came loose and torrents of blood spilled down his leg. He swore and nearly tore his shirt to shreds as he removed it from his body, pressing the thick cloth down upon the wound. Crimson blood quickly soaked the cloth and began to pool beneath Old Tom, a steady stream of drips and drops distorting the surface of the blood with ripple after ripple as the blood seeped into the ancient wood of the Hound’s Tooth. Reaching awkwardly to the side, Old Tom snagged a length of rope and wrapped it around his leg a number of times before tying it tightly around the wound, trapping the soaked cloth against it. He exhaled slowly and tried to stand, bracing himself against the cannon he had been sitting beside. His heartbeat thumped in his ears, and he felt weak. Reaching for a flask of rum, he took a long gulp and drained the remnants of the booze. His head still hurt, and the world was still a dimly lit blur of shapes and colours and screams. He rested heavily on the cannon, waiting for his head to stop spinning and for the world to come into focus. The smell of burning wood and flesh wafted into his nostrils, and Old Tom shook his head.

The deck around him slowly came back into focus, and for the most part, the damage was minimal. At the very least, equipment and people had been knocked over when the first two cannonballs had struck the ship. A poorly lashed cannon had even toppled over and trapped a man beneath its bulk. He was screaming over and over again about his leg, and his mates were trying to help him as best they could. Old Tom sighed heavily, and couldn’t help but remember the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach he had had earlier and how all this seemed to be the fault of their mysterious Captain.

The Hound’s Tooth had been attacked from the other side, but Old Tom couldn’t resist sticking his head out of the nearest porthole and taking a look outside. Nothing appeared but the empty sea and the stars above. The moon had risen higher in the sky and glared brightly down at Old Tom. He frowned, his weather beaten brow furrowing in concentration. Thinking caused a flash of pain in his temples, and he quickly raised his calloused hands up to rub at them, letting the cool sea air wash over him and clean the smoke from his lungs. Looking downwards at the decks below him, Old Tom could see tongues of flame licking at the ship far below. He glanced back up towards the moon and tried to figure out what time it was. Only a few hours had passed since he and Matthew had sat and smoked together.

Matthew!

Old Tom pulled his head back inside the ship and quickly scanned the deck. Matthew was nowhere to be found. Tom swore and pushed himself off of the cannon and moved to help the team of men who were trying to rescue the trapped man. Ropes had been tied around the cannon, and after a few tries, the massive hunk of metal had been lifted high enough off the ground so that the trapped man could be pulled to safety. His leg was crushed flat, and would need to be removed by the Surgeon. He screamed and bled, until a friend of his stuffed a flagon of rum in his face and made him drink deeply from it. Even before the last of the rum was slithering its way down his throat, his friends were dragging him away.

Men to the right and to the left of Old Tom were readying their cannons. Barrels were being swabbed, and bags of powder were being stuffed down those barrels, followed by the heavy cannonballs. Within moments, the Hound’s Tooth was ready to reply with its own brand of Hell. Old Tom’s expertise would have been greatly appreciated, but something nagged at the back of his mind. Matthew should have returned by now, and he knew that. Old Tom patted his friends on the back, told them that he would be back as quickly as he could, and made his way towards the stairs that led below decks. The hallways and stairs were crowded with men and women, pirates and hostages alike fleeing in every direction. At one point the deck below Old Tom felt suddenly soft and pliable, and though he could only glance down quickly, Tom thought he caught a glimpse of a wounded man beneath his feet that had fallen and was now being trampled under foot. Old Tom moved faster, finding wood once again beneath his feet. He pushed passed men, pulling them out of his way. Thick clouds of smoke were boiling up from the hostage area, and the smoke stung at Old Tom’s eyes. The screams that screeched out into the night were loudest from this deck. Matthew had to be here. A man pulled at Old Tom’s arm, trying to pull him back from the stairs to the hostage deck and told him not go in there.

“You’re too old, Tom. What the hell can you do? Get back up to the guns! They need you there!” Old Tom tried to push the man out of his way.

“We be talkin’ later about what Ol’ Tom can and can’t be doing, Paul! Right now, I be going in dere!” Old Tom finally shrugged himself free of Paul’s grip, and made his way into the hostage area. The smoke forced its way down his lungs and Old Tom coughed violently. Reached down, he tore a long strip of clothing from a dead man, and wrapped the cloth around his mouth, covering his mouth and nose. A large hole had been blasted into the side of this room, and luckily, most of the smoke was billowing out of it. Old Tom staggered forward, nearly tripping over a number of prone bodies. A number of women and men were screaming, but a woman’s voice suddenly cut through all of them and chilled Old Tom to his very core.

“Spirit got me a whole helluva lot farther than you, you bastard pirate scum!” Through the smoke, Old Tom could see what looked like a filth-covered woman was hunched over what looked like the shape of a man. Glancing down, Old Tom could see a pair of rather familiarly beaten looking leather boots. He swore, wondering for just a moment if the combination of a blow to the head and smoke inhalation was messing with his brain. The man who wore the boots grunted, and tried to shake the woman off, and Tom caught just a glimpse of Matthew’s agony stricken face. Old Tom took a quick look around his feet, and found a half burning chunk of wood. He grabbed the flaming chunk of wood with both hands and ran forward, bringing the make shift club back and then swinging it forward. The piece of wood struck the woman’s head violently, she went stiff and crumpled to the ground. Old Tom dropped the piece of wood to the ground and made his way to Matthew’s side. His face had turned a deep burgundy shade, and his eyes were closed. But upon closer inspection, his chest was rising and falling, albeit slowly. Tom knelt beside Matthew’s prone body, reached over and slapped his right cheek forcefully. No reaction. Tom grabbed Matthew by his collar and pulled him up to a sitting position and slapped him again. This time one of Matthew’s eyes opened, and through the haze and smoke, glared up at him.

“Took your bloody sweet time, didn’t ya?” Matthew grinned broadly for just a moment before succumbing to a horrendously violent coughing fit. Gobs of blood and spit spattered onto the deck. Old Tom knelt beside Matthew for just a few moments, resting a comforting hand upon the man’s back. Before the coughing fit had even passed, Old Tom grabbed Matthew by his free arm and tugged him to his feet.

“Old Tom goes about at ‘is own speed, young Matt. Come wit me. We be having places to be, and they ain’t here.” Matthew, bracing himself on Old Tom’s shoulder for just a moment, steadied himself. His throat, both inside and outside, hurt like hell and even the shortest of inhales made him want to double over in pain. He managed to choke out a few words at a time in between his retching and gasping for air.

“Jenny. I can’t… leave her to… die in this place, Tom.” Old Tom arched an eyebrow, taking a quick glance around the near destroyed deck.

“Matt, the hell you be talking about? Who the hell is that?” Matthew shrugged Old Tom off of him, and swirled around. The smoke had become all encompassing and nearly impossible to see in. He started to shout.

“Jenny! Jenny!” He staggered forwards, cupping his hands around his mouth, and kept shouting her name. “Jenny!” A voice responded, but so quietly that Matthew almost missed it. He shouted her name again, and froze. The voice responded again, and Matthew made his way towards it. Jenny was cowering in a corner near the back, coughing and shielding her face from the smoke and the flame. Tears streak down her dirt smudged face.

“Matthew?” She called out weakly, lifting her head slowly to peer through the smoke. Matthew appeared in front of her, his eyes red and swollen and blood staining his teeth. He looked fearsome and vicious, and Jenny shrank back at the sight of him. He reached for her and she slapped at his hands, shaking her head. “No, no, no, please don’t!” She cried out, when Matthew pushed her hands away and lifted her clear off the deck and into his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder and let herself be carried away. Matthew staggered once as he got to his feet, adjusting Jenny in his arms. She didn’t weigh all that much, but in his weakened condition and with the smoke swirling all around them, Matthew was struggling. Old Tom frowned, but didn’t say anything. He moved in front of Matthew and cleared the way as best he could, kicking bodies and planks of wood out of their immediate path.

Minutes later, the three of them emerged from the smoke a few decks above where they had been, coughing and staggering, tears streaming from their eyes. Full on panic had taken over the ship; pirates were running around frantically trying to extinguish the flames that threatened to engulf the Hound’s Tooth and others seemed intent on causing more damage. Matthew gently set Jenny down on the deck and ran both of his hands over his face and through his hair, smearing the sweat from his forehead. He took a few deep breaths, letting the relatively fresh air fill his lungs and push the acrid smoke out. With fresh air in his lungs, and the pain of his near death still fresh in his mind, Matthew turned to Old Tom.

“We need to ‘elp put that fire out Tom, before it gets any ‘igher and reaches the powder.” Matthew frowned at the thought of the fire reaching that powder and the massive explosion that would follow. That blast would annihilate the ship and most of the people on board. Buckets of water were already being brought to the source of the fire, but more help was always appreciated. Matthew turned slightly to look down at Jenny, her arms wrapped tightly about her knees. She looked up at him, blinking the tears from her eyes. Matthew swallowed hard and turned back to Old Tom. “But we ‘ave to get ‘er to safety first.” He said, gesturing back towards Jenny.

“There be not many safe places aboard this ship, young Matt. Especially now.” Old Tom replied, gesturing in his own way around himself at the ship. “It be chaos, my friend!” Matthew nodded, and rubbed idly at the abrasions around his neck. Turning his head to glance around, he caught a glimpse of Thomas and behind him a flock of frightened women. Matthew turned back to Old Tom and arched an eyebrow, before kneeling down in front of Jenny.

“Come on, Jenny. I’m getting you to safety, all right?”

“Matthew? What…?” She replied, as Matthew once again scooped her up into his arms. She clung to him as she did before, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Matthew carried her across the deck, pushing through a throng of people. Jenny shuddered every time someone touched her, and her cracked nails began to dig into Matthew’s skin. He ignored it, and pressed on. Carefully, he set Jenny on her feet and stepped towards Thomas. He nearly pulled Thomas over as he grabbed him by his collar.

“Look, Thomas, I ‘aven’t got time to explain this to you. But you need to do me a favour, right now.” He brought Jenny forward and moved her towards the group of women. “You need to protect ‘er and make sure she is kept safe and escapes with the rest of these women. Understand?” He turned back towards Jenny, and sighed softly. “He’ll keep you safe.” He noticed now that the two girls that Brian had captured were amongst this group of women. He glanced at them for just a moment then flicked his eyes back to Jenny. “Just wait for me, all right? I’ll… I’ll find you once we’ve put this fire out and saved the ship.” He leaned forward, and for a moment stepped out of himself, placing a soft kiss on Jenny’s forehead. She stared up at him, confused and afraid. Matthew didn’t know what else to say to her, he couldn’t explain away any of the horrible and humiliating things that had happened to her since she had been brought on board this ship has a prisoner. Less than a prisoner even. She had been a piece of booty, of treasure, to be used over and over again and then discarded when she could no longer fulfill the desires of her captor. He pulled away from her, and with one last look, turned his back on her, leaving her with Thomas and the other women. Hopefully they would take care of her and make sure she got out safe. Hopefully.

Matthew and Old Tom set off back towards the lower decks. A bucket train had been quickly organized by some of the quicker thinking pirates, and they found slots easily enough. Bucket after bucket passed through their hands, but still the horrid smoke billowed from the decks. Matthew swore, and together he and Tom made their way towards the front of the bucket line. The man at the front of the line was simply standing at the doorway, chucking the water in as far as he could. Matthew swore again and pushed the man roughly, knocking him aside.

“What the ‘ell is wrong with you? Don’t you know ‘ow to put out a bleedin’ fire?” He smacked the man across the face and ripped a large strip out of the cloth on his shirt, soaked it in water and tied it over his mouth and nose. Old Tom did the same. Matthew grabbed a bucket and strode into the inferno, splashing the water deeper into the fire. It seemed to make more of an affect, and so Matthew beckoned for more buckets to be brought in. No one but he and Old Tom dared risk getting burnt, and so they did most of the work. They practically ran back and forth, buckets in hand, splashing water this way and that. But just as one small blaze was quenched, another would spring up behind them, roaring stronger and stronger each time. Old Tom and Matthew were working as fast as they could, but the heat and the smoke were beginning to take their toll on their bodies. Old Tom turned back towards the doorway to grab the next bucket and found that the doorway was empty. He frowned and patted Matthew on the back.

“The ‘ell?” Matthew shouted.

“No bucket! I and I will check it out.” Old Tom said, patting Matthew on the back and moving towards the doorway. Matthew turned back to the blaze, trying to figure out some proper course of action. He ran both hands through his hair and checked that the knot tying the cloth to his face was not coming loose. He glanced back towards the doorway, but no one was there. Not even Old Tom. Matthew frowned and made his way towards the doorway. He rounded the corner, and came face to face with the end of a musket barrel. He swore and quickly took a step back, wishing he had a weapon nearby to defend himself with. The owner of the musket pushed forward until the barrel was pressing into Matthew’s chest. It was then that Matthew got a good look at the man’s face.

“Taggert.” He spat. The man tilted his head ever so slightly and pressed the gun harder into Matthew’s chest.

“Y’know, I guess sometimes a man has to make his own luck, eh, English? I mean, I was just wishin’ and wishin’ that I would get the chance to settle our score, and nothing was gonna happen that way. But then that Navy ship attacks and opportunity presents itself!”

“You ain’t gonna settle anything tonight, Taggert.” Matthew sneered, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Oh yeah? Me and this here musket think differently.” Taggert replied, thumbing the hammer back on the musket. Matthew swallowed slowly, watching Taggert’s eyes. The man was shaking slightly with excitement, and every now and then his eyes would twitch and blink as the smoke attacked and dried them out. “I’d ask you if you wanted to say any last words, but, I can’t stand your voice, mate.” Taggert spat at Matthew. “So, I’d rather just see your brains splattered all over that wall behind ya!” Taggert pulled the trigger as Matthew grabbed at the barrel of the musket.

The small corridor was instantly filled with foul smelling powder smoke, clouding Taggert’s vision. He stumbled backwards, confused and coughing. Matthew dove out of the smoke and tackled Taggert to the ground, landing his first few punches against Taggert’s face. Taggert swore loudly and struck back at Matthew, brandishing the musket like a club. His first blow landed hard on the side of Matthew’s face, knocking him to the side as Taggert stood to rain down more blows upon Matthew. Matthew roared and retaliated, slamming a fist into Taggert’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs and a fresh wave of smoke deep down into them. As Taggert crumpled to the floor, Matthew once again leapt on top of Taggert and renewed his attack, swinging his fists wildly, each blow connecting with Taggert’s jaw. Swearing loudly and with blood streaming from his mouth, Taggert pulled his right leg in towards himself, awkwardly placed the bottom of his boot on Matthew’s stomach and pushed upwards with all his might. Matthew flew backwards and landed hard against a wooden bulkhead, cracking the back of his head against the solid wood.

“I should have killed you years ago, English!” Taggert slurred, slowly getting to his feet. A number of his teeth were loose or simply gone, his mouth a ragged mess of gore.

“In your bleedin’ dreams, Taggert.” Matthew replied, rubbing at the back of his head. Taggert swore again and lunged at Matthew, hands out stretched to grab at his neck. Matthew threw himself ungracefully to the side, slamming his shoulder hard against the open door frame. Taggert roared in frustration and lunged again, connecting with Matthew and sending both of them tumbling into the burning inferno. They landed hard and Taggert’s hands closed tightly around Matthew’s neck. Agony ripped through Matthew’s body, as Taggert’s jagged nails dug into his skin. Matthew groped around for a weapon, any weapon, and found a chunk of slowly smoldering wood. He gripped it tightly and brought it upwards, stabbing it brutally into the side of Taggert’s neck. Taggert howled and instantly released his death grip, staggering backwards, his hands now scrabbling at the piece of wood embedded into his neck. With an ear splitting scream, Taggert pulled the wood from his neck and spurts of blood stream from the wound.

“English!” Taggert roared, blood and spittle flying from his mouth as he swirled around, trying to catch a glimpse of Matthew through the smoke and fire. He clasped a hand over his neck wound, torrents of blood gushing from his body. He staggered this way and that, shouting and screaming. From the darkness, Matthew lunged at him, grabbing Taggert and pining him violently to a porthole less wall. Taggert gasped and looked down, seeing in Matthew’s hand the hilt of a sword that was now mostly buried deep inside Taggert’s stomach. Behind them the fire raged on, and a number of the support beams cracked and fell, a large portion of the roof falling inwards. Matthew and Taggert were showered in debris, and fresh billows of smoke. Matthew forced the sword even deeper inside Taggert, and was rewarded with a fresh stream of blood from the man’s mouth.

“You… think… you’ve won, eh, English?” Taggert spat, showering Matthew’s face with speckles of blood. “But… you’re a… dead man, just like… me.” The man’s eyes lingered just over Matthew’s shoulder, behind him. He turned and saw a number of heavy bags of black powder fall from the gaping hole in the ceiling to land squarely in the middle of the fire. A few moments more and the fire would reach the bags of powder and ignite.

“Then I’ll be seeing you in Hell, Taggert.” Matthew replied.

It began as just a spark, a short hiss as the first grains of powder caught on fire, but from there things escalated at an alarming rate. All at once, the fire engulfed the bags of powder and the resulting explosion ripped a massive hole in the hull and sent a huge plume of fire and debris outwards and upwards into the night sky and the open sea. The lower three decks of the Hound’s Tooth were nearly vaporized by a blast that shook the very ship itself. The ship lurched to the side, and water began to rush into its bowels. Of Matthew English there was no trace.

In a quiet, rain soaked alley in London, a young man held a girl for the last time. He kissed her lips over and over again, and held her tighter than anyone he had held before. She cried, and he kissed her tears away. He told her he would return. He would come back for her, once he had made enough money to marry her. He loved her and told her so. She watched him leave, hot tears still streaming down her face, mingling with the cold drops of rain.

“Matthew!” She cried out, but he was gone.