Thank you both! And yes, plenty of death and destruction in this story, too
New chapter, as promised, mates! I hope ye all like it! But enough of my blabbing - read it for yerself! So, I present to all of you, my fellow readers...
Captured
April 5th, 1702
Somewhere off the British Coastline
11:50 AM
A warm, dingy air plastered itself against John's cold skin as he slowly regained consciousness. The world spun rapidly around him, though his eyes were still shut tight. He could feel his body laid out restlessly on what felt like a wet, hard wood floor. He rubbed his hands on the surface, trying to get a feel for where he was, as he struggled to open his eyes, and push himself up.
The edges of his vision were dark, but it receded the more and more his eyes throbbed in pain. He saw himself facing a darkly shaded wooden wall, that was dressed in a scraped, green fungus. The floor below him was just in the same condition, greasy and moldy to the touch. He instantly threw him hands up, disgusted by the contact with the floor, and stayed sitting on his knees. He coughed a few very dry, painful coughs, before looking at the rest of his surroundings.
At his sides were the bars of jail cells, which another wall of bars behind him. They gave way to the two other cells, one on each side of him. They were empty in terms of people, but they were filled with mis-cared-for barrels and boxes, thrown roughly in to a pile in to them. Turning around, he saw the rest of the room - the opposite side of it was lined with huge crates and boxes held under netting, with only a narrow path to walk down between the cells and the containers. To the far right of the room, a wooden staircase raised itself up to an aura of light.
John's eyes widened with fear as soon as he realized where he was. He jumped to his feet, and ran towards the bars of his cell, to try and peak out the window on the opposite side of the hull. Yet as he got close to the bar, he felt his leg tugged back in a violent pull. He nearly skidded to the floor, but caught himself as he looked backwards. He saw himself chained to the wall of the ship, at his ankle.
He instantly began jiggling and twisting his foot, trying to slip it out of the imprisonment. It's rusted paint scarped against his leg, which hide under the bottoms of his frayed linen pants. He tugged and tugged with all of his might, but nothing managed to free him.
Suddenly, his spine quivered at any unexpected sound. He heard off to the side the heavy thud of a man's footsteps, pounding downward towards him. He turned abruptly, backing away as he did, to the sight of a large, grizzly man. A long, rough beard sat below his old, cracked face. He had to have been quite old, judging by the kink in his walk and the cracks on his face, but nonetheless, he was muscular, and daunting. He was decorated in an unusual manner - he was draped in heavy, murky clothing, as though he was trying to both flaunt his wealth, and shield his body in the most chaotic and flashy way. Nothing matched when it came to his large layers of shirts, his large, tanned overcoat, his long, silky pants, and his thick back boots. He was both scary, and laughable in sight.
"Whataya' doin' frettin' about, boy?" the man said in a raspy, angry voice. "Nothin' you could do can set yer foot free."
John was frozen in fear. He tried to say something, but his throat was hard-pressed to make any sounds. Finally, he petered out in a weak voice, "H--h-who are you..?"
"Who the 'ell are you, is the question! Damn street rat, meddlin' in other's business. Who sent you here?! The Francs, it was, wasn't it!"
"I-I--I, what?! No, I have no bu-"
"DAMN right ye don't!" The man then reached to his side, and pulled out the all-familiar pistol. He shoved it right through the cell bars, inches away from John. "Why, I oughta blast yer brains out..." Then, almost as if he was going against his will, be pulled it back. "Unfortunately, me mates back on the shores won't like that.... Not yet, at least." The man pocketed his gun, and turned away, to walk back up to the surface.
"Oh, thank god, I thought you were gonna eat me." John chuckled to himself, trying to make himself smile.
Unfortunately, the man caught ear of that statement. His face clenched in unruly anger, as he twisted around. He reached at his side and pulled out a long, heavy, rusted sword, carrying a thick silver blade that reached down the length of his leg. He swung it back, and swooped it down over his head to crash in to the clunky metal lock that was nailed to the door of the cell. It dropped to the floor in a snap, but the man had his arm around the door before it even hit it.
John started to stumble backward, trying to flee as the massive aggressor gained on him. But he was trapped, and the huge man broke in to the cell, and planted a massive hand on the boy's blonde hair. John shrieked in pain as he felt the chain at his feet being cut, and his body being forced out of the cell.
The man whipped the boy around and then tossed him down to the ground. He hit the floor with a painful boom on his back, trying to scratch his way back to escape. The staircase leading above was sitting behind the man, on the other side - there was no escape.
Suddenly, a flurry of shouts started to erupt from the deck of the ship. The air above their heads became filled with the drowned sounds of men barking battle orders, and the deep, blasting sound of cannon fire. John has always wondered what it sounds like - even living in a port, he had never heard a cannon release it's load. It was tremoring, leaving you wondering where it was gonna land. It was terrifying, almost.
The man whizzed around to see what was going on, standing in his same spot, but shouting profanities at the staircase. John took the moment to study his surroundings, for a way to escape - when he saw it. The metal lock to the cell had landed right by his foot, sitting their with no purpose. But Balnette knew he would find it one.
In a dash, John threw his body forward, scooped up the heavy, metal object, and scurried to his feet. By the time his opponent had turned around to see what happened, the lock met him square in the forehead, delivering a painful crunch. John watched as the man jiggled backward, before slinking to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from his head.
John was frozen by the thought of killing somebody, but he knew he had to run if he wanted to survive. With a finally curse, he took the lock and tossed it at the man's body, jumping over his corpse, and running up the staircase.
1
John walked out in to the blinding sun, to see what was going on. He instantly looked off the sides of the ship, where, to the right, a long, elevated coastline ran from the ship, perhaps a kilometer away. He realized he was aboard a roughly medium-sized ship - a galleon, judging by the shape of it at first glance - but it was packed with a lot more action than one would suspect.
Bodies of dirty, raggedy looking men lined the deck, small swords and other cutlery sticking out of the bloody punctures in their bodies. The ones that were alive were in a line - roughly five sailors - on their knees, surrounded by a group of men cloaked in red uniforms, a group three times theirs. They carried large bayonets, which poked at the throats of the crewmen. They were stern, but showed no emotion as a man, obviously their superior, looked over the crew. Soldiers of the British Royal Navy, they were.
"EY, ANOTHER!" A man pointed from the side of the Officer. As all the soldiers turned their heads, he raised his bayonet, preparing to fire. John raised his hands above his head, as he slowly knelt to his knees.
"Hold, hold damn it, hold!" The Officer shouted. He seemed in shock, as he rushed around the crowd towards John. "Can you not see he is not only a boy, but not one of them!?"
As the Naval man stood before him, John put his hands over his brow to block the sunlight out, and get a clearer view. "Captain Rutherford!?" John exclaimed. "My God, thank you so much sir, thank you!"
Captain Rutherford was on of the Navy Officers who were in charge of doing patrols of St. Joseph's every week or so. He had known his father well, as his father was one of the usual men you would see out in the bay, whenever he was not out traveling the seas. "What in God's name are you doing aboard a pirate ship, boy!?"
"Pirates?!" John gasped.
Why would my father have any business with such ruthless dogs?, he thought to himself.
"Yes, pirates. Spanish mercenaries, if you want the truth of it. Hired to do business in these waters, ferrying the profits back to a higher crime lord somewhere in Spain. Why are you here?"
"I was... wa... captured..." John blinked. He was still wondering if this was still just a sick, twisted dream, that he might wake up in his home.
"Captured? From St. Joseph's!?"
"Yes, captain! They were at the docks, and I spotted them... and... yes!"
Rutherford rubbed his hand on his head. "Men, help Mr. Balnette here on to the ship. Oh, and disperse of the flotsam."
As John rose to his feet, the wall of Navy soldiers rose their bayonets in a simultaneous action, and fired them unmercifully in to the surrendered pirates.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
See, I'm getting better! No unbearably long chapters.... yet!
Please be sure to comment, rate, and review, mates! My ears are as eager as my fingers!