Pirate Story – Last Voyage of the Black Betty – Chapter 6
by Craig Nybo ~ May 15, 2009
To read this story in its entirety, so far, and to read the chapters in order, visit this link: pirate story.
To purchase the official soundtrack to this story, visit this link: pirate music.
Chapter 6
The early full moon cast a sheen of light over the Kattegat. Flecks of it danced off the near calm water like a million diamonds winking in rhythmic patterns. Stark stood on the bridge of The Black Betty, squinting, trying to get a read on the bay. The land, thick with foliage, blended into the night, camouflage, almost part of the sky. A dense, almost impregnable forest of deciduous trees clogged his view to Halmstad; yet he knew the town must be close. Stark imagined her residents tucked in for the night, their fires cold, their oil lamps long extinguished. They undoubtedly slept. Unquestionably their guard would be down. But Stark still reasoned that any fight with Halmstad would not be met without resistance. The Danes had been at long war with the Swiss. Only lately had an uneasy peace been reached between the two reckonable forces.
“Depth, Mr. Scree?” Stark asked his navigator.
Scree checked the rope he had lowered into the inky brine to get a read on the bay’s depth. “Seven fathoms, Captain.”
“Excellent. I believe we are close enough to deploy. Drop anchor if you please, Mr. Jax.”
Jax turned to shout the order. Stark raised one hand to silence him. “Steady, Mr. Jax. Tonight promises to be most unpleasant to the good folk of Halmstad; best not warn them that we are in the offing.”
Jax nodded once and pointed to a quartet of crew who stood around the capstan. The men understood. They put their backs to the wheel and slowly lowered the anchor.
“Where’s my cockswain?” Stark asked, glancing around the quarterdeck.
“Here, Captain.” A burley man with stringy hair and only four fingers on his right hand climbed the short ladder that led up to the quarterdeck.
“How many working transports have we?”
“Eight, sir.”
“Enough for a hundred men if we pack light.”
“Yes, sir; if we pack light.”
“Very good. Jax, enlist one-hundred men. Tell them they will need small casks of powder, guns, balls and shanks. I think I know exactly how to spend this picturesque night, and they will be in charge of leading the festivities.”
“Yes sir,” Jax said with a nod and descended the short ladder to the spar deck.
***
Five hours later, under the blanket of night, The Black Betty skirted the edge of the Kattegat and cut towards the outlet of the Nissan river, only her gallant sails bent, the rest had been furled and tied. Scree clutched white knuckled on the wheel, his palms slick with sweat. He glanced over his shoulder at Rhett, his first mate, whom he had set to monitor the depth. The Black Betty hadn’t been built to travel rivers. This was a task better suited to galleys, not a fully square rigged sailor. Stark had stones, that much couldn’t be argued.
“Three fathoms.” Rhett said, trying his best to stay calm.
“Keep a steady eye, we don’t want to run her aground.” Stark said, keeping his eyes forward, scanning for any sign of civilization.
“What are you doing?” Ian peeled out of the dark, climbing up onto the quarterdeck.
“Greetings, old friend.” Stark said with a smile. “Where have you been?”
“You plan to navigate the river?”
“T’is already set in motion.” Ian seemed to be crawling under his skin in either fear or rage; Stark relished it either way.
“You’ll run us aground.”
“I know this ship from bow to stern. Any captain worth his stripes would do the same.”
“Two and a half fathoms.” Rhett said.
Scree looked up at Stark, his eyes wide. “Captain?”
“Steady, Mr. Scree.” Stark kept his eyes on Ian and wore a smug smile.
Scree swallowed and nodded.
Stark turned to his lieutenant. “Mr. Jax, have five men man the gallants. Make ready to furl the sheets.”
Jax nodded, leaned over the rails, and gave the orders to one of his mates. Five men leapt into action, climbing the rat-lines like monkeys, making their way to the bending gallants.
“If you ground this ship, we will be taken and hanged as pirates.” Ian spat.
“And what a glorious night to die.” Just then Stark caught site of lights, winking oil lanterns he reasoned. They hung high above ground, perhaps twenty feet. Stark squinted and caught site of the first buildings of Halmstad, large brick structures, lavish and modern. “It seems Halmstad may be more of a force than we had anticipated.” Stark said, eyeing Ian. “Running aground is not my worry. However, being swarmed the the enemy of your choosing might be.”
Ian scoffed. “You just put me within blade’s length and I will show you what I can do to the enemy of my choice.”
“Hold steady, Ian, you will indeed have your chance.” Stark wheeled around to Scree. “Take us in, Mr. Scree. I want to be within gunning range.”
Scree nodded.
“Mr. Jax, keep an eye out. As soon as we reach gunning range, furl the gallants. In the meantime, fetch the gunner if you please. I would like to have a word with him.”
“Yes, captain.” Jax left the quarterdeck, climbing quickly down the ladder.
***
Henri Raye led one-hundred men through the bush. Each man held a small cask of powder and the weight of a matchlock and cutlass. At several points they stalled, having to bushwhack their way through brambles and thick foliage. Henri thanked the fates for a full moon. In pure pitch, there path would be impossible.
“How much further?” Dex asked.
Henri smiled. He loved the boy, only sixteen, still full of youth’s zeal, although his innocence had been stripped from him since he and Saul Cappa had found him as a near infant in a cardboard box, buried in the trash, deep in the dregs of London’s downs. Dex had been taken aboardship and literally raised by pirates, fed from the milk of goats, stocked on board until he could eat meat. Henri believed in his heart that they had truly shown the boy to a better life, they had rescued him from exposure and death and led him to glory.
“Stark estimated one and a half miles. By my reckoning, we should see cottage lights at any moment.” As if on cue, flashes of lantern illumination peeked through the trees, their red and yellow fire dancing like pixies, winking and taunting. Henri raised a hand and the rest of the company stopped, pushing up behind him for instructions.
“Gentlemen, we are on the edge of either fortune or death. Stark warned that this place is no stranger to hostility and that they no doubt have arms to spare. We must blend. We must be the shadows. We will divide into groups of four and deploy our tasks in silence and with all speed. Stark awaits our signal.
“If you are seen, first skulk, then run. If you are captured, do not speak. We will find you and free you. They might outnumber us, but we have surprise on our side. And, I would wager, our lust for their lucre is greater than theirs.”
Several of the men laughed. Henri himself smiled, but then he raised a hand to quell the noise. “Move silently and wait for my signal. Gentlemen, tonight we release hell on Halmstad.”
Henri turned back towards the city and moved on. “Stay by me, laddy.” He said to Dex. “You are far too young to fall this night.”
“I won’t fall.”
Henri laughed, deep and guttural. “Saul, are you with me?”
Saul walked only yards behind Henri, his cask of powder getting heavier by the moment. “I is here.” He said.
“Help me keep watch over the boy.”
“I will.”
“You remember how I’m always telling you to control that monster in your head?” Saul had, with his dim mind and almost inhuman strength, nearly killed a mate on more than one occasion. It was Henri who had first told Saul that he had a monster living in him and that he had to control it. Saul had taken Henri’s metaphor at face value and, ever since, thought of himself as a cage for a ferocious beast. Sometimes the beast got out without his permission. Sometimes he controlled it. Saul’s relationship with his inner beast teetered on a tight line. Most of the crew distrusted and even feared Saul. Henri understood him and had become the moron’s friend.
“I am simple, but strong; that’s what you always tell me.” Saul said.
“Tonight, you can let that monster out . You can hurt anyone you want and take anything shiny that you see.”
“For me mum?” Saul asked.
“Yes, for that evil charlatan of a woman you call your mum, may she rot in hell.”
A hundred pirates, let by Henri Raye, passed through the forest to the edge of a clearing. There, standing before them in majesty, was Halmstad, more than a hamlet, a city. They paused a moment to crawl over the establishments, businesses, and homes with lecherous eyes. Halmstad stood vast and daunting, though nestled in sleep. Her streets, wide enough to allow three wagons side by side, were vacant. Sporadic oil lanterns hung high on posts along some of the main city streets, a probable deterrent for thieves and drunkards. Suddenly the task of sacking Halmstad seemed more difficile than Henri and his large band had expected. Halmstad was no petty village. The small army of men hesitated at the edge of the clearing, but only for a moment; for, as Henri had said, their lust for lucre outweighed their fear. Group by group they deployed, four in each band, fanning out, armed with powder, matchlocks, cutlasses, and rage.
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