The Kiss of the Dead (First Draft)

Chapter 3

Most of the men in my eye-line pulled cheap-looking and crude saint Nicholas and Christopher medallions out, kissing or stroking their guardians dearly and praying for the slightest of seconds. I more perversely prayed to a God I scarcely believed in with a saint Matthias in my grip. The prayer was an early apology to the patron saint of alcoholics. It seemed appropriate in advance for the copious quantities of alcohol that I would surely consume should I survive. The other saints around my neck got only a token touch as I reached for the first musketoon.

Yet time still dawdled, seemingly unaware of the urgency of the moment. I couldn't track the single shot as it flew between the ships. All I saw were the quick-chips of cedar break free from the pirate rail. An impressive shot. But a death sentence for many men that day.

A wave of fresh orders broke through to the hands on deck. The Master Gunner cried for his men to make ready, giving them the angle of aim. They did so with haste. Most of the unblooded were slowly realising the seriousness of their situation as the pirates released an ear-splitting full broadside of twenty, thunderous guns. The frigate dropped its sails and shuddered up to speed as its guns emptied. Our useless Captain continued to stand statuesque, whilst our helmsmen span the wheel to larboard in unison with the master gunner's order to fire. Although the two areas had no communication, both were blessed with skilled enough masters to anticipate each other. Our five gun volley was wholly successful. An impressive feat from a turning ship.

The Captain caught my eye. It must have been awful to be paralysed by fear, watching your inferiors keep their calm where you could not. Watching events unfold around you, and knowing that even should you know what to do, your crew had too little faith in you to follow your orders. Maybe that was why he could take no more? He lost his temper at the insubordination of his officers, lashing out and catching the junior helmsman with a fist to the back of the head.

The pirate broadside had been chain shot. The balls tore through the ship where they hit, with a terrifying crash of noise. Daggers of wooden shrapnel exploded along the deck, striking men without bias. Our brig's rear-mast began to creak and groan deafeningly as the balls of a chain round choked it for the merest of moments, bending slightly as the chain dug deeper into the wood. The stress became too much. The base of the timber shattered like lead-glass as it fell. Shards as large as arms were expelled in every direction. Both of the helmsmen dropped to the decks quickly out of wisdom. They still suffered, though not as badly as the landsman-Captain who cried out in agony as the smaller sharp spikes skewered him through his fine coat.

I looked down upon the carnage with a weakened heart. The countless familiar strangers below, clutching wounds or protecting their faces, and all this before a single blade had been brandished. Whether I liked the men or not, I wouldn't wish these injuries upon anyone. The falling sea-spray would worsen the agony as it hit their open wounds. The varnished wood splinters raining down upon them also tortured the exposed muscles. Checking back to the frigate, I watched it skilfully line up on our starboard flank. With our one intact sail we hadn't the power to move, floundering as the pirates approached. The Captain hurriedly dragged himself through a deep gouge cut into the deck by the fallen mast. His pitiful attempts to hide from both responsibility and further injury sickened me. It was his job, neigh - his duty to fight until the end.

It was nearly my time to contribute to the crew's efforts of defence. I perched on the highest yardarm of the surviving main-mast hidden along with the rats, men who stood with swords drawn and a ratline-rope in hand - hence the title. It was their job to swing aboard the enemy ship as we collided. The bravest of the unskilled men became rats. The men who didn't understand how to work the cannon but hadn't the bravery? They took up musketoons and pistols and waited pressed to the deck between the guns, though more than a couple of them had now stopped moving entirely, not as much through fear as fate. The enemy were close now - almost close enough.

Running along the yardarm, I used each of the rats to steady myself, trusting their rigid, pole-like bodies to take my weight while I passed them with an arm-full of weapons. As the ships began to collide and their hulls moaned and thudded into each other, I dropped my body onto the yardarm and watched those brave men swing into an unwelcome end. I let loose my three nail shots whilst straddling the yardarm. That same sadistic calm found pleasure in the pain of those that I aimed at.

The taller frigate towered over our brig by such a degree that their deck was much closer to my perch than I would have liked. It reduced the spray of my guns. Our cannon gave everything they had, firing dozens of musket balls from each gun. The grapeshot tore through their hull until it resembled gauze in places. Any men in their line of fire would be dead before they realised. As the ships settled alongside each other the pirate swarm descended quickly onto our deck. But not before firing all the musketoons they could at our already-crippled crew, my allies below them. 

In that moment of absurdity, as I sat watching men kill each other simply because they had been told to - I drew my short sword and surveyed the battle. I was a young-hand, I hadn't the bravery to rush in - nor the skill to overpower an experienced seaman. I thought to myself carefully that there was no harm in waiting a little while longer, but before much time had passed the battle began to take a turn for the disastrous. The pirates slowly pushed our men back to the far side of our ship.

My rather blunt cutlass still tucked away in its baldric scabbard, I held my short stabbing sword and drove it neatly through the neck of one of the many pirates who had jumped their rail. Using the man's body to cushion my fall, I rolled quickly back to my feet. My blade caught in the dead man's spine as his head fell limp, and I had to disown it quickly. With many dozens of men around me, there wasn't time to be thanked by the man that I had saved. Instead, I pulled hard on the hilt of my cutlass and slashed wildly at a new threat. I was not strong enough to kill men easily, but I could spar with the majority and helped to hold a line. It was futility from the start, but we fought on for moments more.

Glancing above me as my last opponent fell, I could see their Captain balancing easily atop the rolling frigate's rail. He casually dropped his arm. In instinct, I turned. Cold steel was lunging toward me, aimed at my heart. I used my attacker's momentum to turn his back towards me. Holding the surprised pirate tightly round his neck, I sheltered from the volley of shots his brothers-in-arms let loose. Amidst the devastating spray of musketoons most of the men aboard our ship, ally and pirate alike, faltered.

The continuous volleys saw that all fell flat to the deck in death or agony. Yet shards of wood, stones, and anything that could fit down the barrels still rained upon our combined crews indiscriminately. I found my way to shelter behind a barrel of powder, dragging the now-dead pirate as a shield. As I dropped his lifeless body to the deck, I noted that his once-vicious eyes and dominating figure had become unrecognisable. Disguised as they were behind a blanket of cuts and lacerations that saw most of his body turn red.

The pirate bell began to ring free as the few of our remaining men who had found cover surrendered.