Pirate on the High Seas Ch. 02

The year was 1702, a Dutch merchantman was running before the wind bound for Curacao, pursued by the pirate barque 'Harrier'. Sails straining, the wind five points abaft the high stern, the nimble barque was gradually overhauling the heavy prize, the helmsman's eye constantly checked the mainsail, looking for small luffs, turning the huge wheel to keep the best point of sail.

"Guns crews to quarters," Captain Drover's voice carried easily to Reno, her first mate, the dark pirate yelled the orders to the crew. The flag they were sailing under was a red square with a skeleton holding an empty hour glass, indicating the victim's time was up. The noise of bare feet pounding the deck faded as the motley ruffians ran to unlash the guns. The loaded weapons had tompions fitted into the open muzzles to keep the powder dry, seawater splashed occasionally through the unsealed gun ports. A thin spike was pulled from each firing hole and fine powder poured into it. Glowing, rope end matches, were whirled to keep them bright, the crew peering through small gaps in the gun ports, not wanting to reveal their intentions too soon.

The merchantman payed off the wind, making a more tempting target to Starboard, no longer heeling over to the gunwales, she showed her full beam to any broadside.

"Make our course as if to bring us alongside her Starboard side."

Such a course would make their intended victim to windward, should 'Harrier' then draw level she would be 'in irons', the sails flapping uselessly, open to gunfire and their prize alluding them.

"Send word to secure the Larboard guns, make ready to hoist Starboard gun ports. Larboard gun crews to braces."

"Haul the braces, hard a'Larboard."

The ship turned in it's own length, the hard drills paying off. At five Starboard cannon a crewman turned the large screwed, handle releasing the wooden tompion.

"Run out the guns."

Gun ports were lifted, tackles hauled and the gun trucks slowly run out, the men timing their efforts with the roll of the vessel, steadily each barrel projected some distance from the ship's side. Men strained against the sheave blocks holding the guns in place, awaiting the order to shoot.

Harrier bore down on the Dutchman. As each gun came to bear, so the Starboard side bellowed their chain shot high into the other's rigging. Noise and smoke obscured the Dutch reply. Balls crashed into Harrier's side, splinters whirled through the air, men lay screaming, pierced by oak daggers.

"Boarders away."

Deck hands threw grappling hooks into what was left of the Dutch rigging, run the free end around a mast and hauled the vessels into a tight embrace. The whole crew then boarded with cutlass and pistol at the ready. As usual the merchant crew gave up easily, not ready to face death for a cargo owned by some rich owner sat comfortably at home. The ships were being pushed steadily by the wind, yards were colliding, leaving the Harrier entangled with her prize. A compromising situation should a another vessel happen upon them. A lookout was sent aloft to search the horizon.

The cargo was a mixed one, with sacks of green coffee beans for trade on their island territories, the beans were to be roasted and tipped whole into boiling water to make a refreshing brew.

"Hoist those bean sacks aboard and search the ship."

The coffee beans were swayed aboard, with the merchantman's crew loading the sacks for hoisting. They knew that most pirates wanted treasure and high value cargo, generally crews were left unharmed. The latest fashion of coffee drinking drove the commodity price very high, it was almost as good as gold in the hand.

Captain 'Bell' Drover ordered the crew to cut the Dutchman's rigging and remove the grappling hooks, freeing up the vessels.

Soon Harrier's crew swarmed back aboard, having cut the Dutch gun tackles and stolen the gunpowder from them. Unable to sell such an obviously Dutch ship with none of the pirates able to speak the language, the vessels parted, the Dutch to continue their journey to Curacao, with much of their cargo intact. The pirates to sail their, now, lumbering barque to a trading post in Maracaibo, some four days of sailing.

At Midnight the pirate Captain ensured the watches had changed and went below to the aft cabin. Julia opened the door to her beloved, dressed in a thin lace gown, she was backlit by the candles, which flickered fitfully in the door's draught, a vision in light and shade. "Ye Gods, Julia, you open the door and my heart along with it." They kissed, the simple act draining the tension and worries of the last couple of hours. Julia unbuttoned the heavy brown coat and eased it from slim shoulders, the pirate's smooth body was growing in a more erectile way below the belt. Julia was aware but took her time to undo the white broadcloth shirt, sliding her hand through the gap and gliding it over a soft female breast.

Although called 'Bell' Drover the Captain's true name was Belle, Julia knew that at birth a small penis protruded above the split of a vagina like depression, she was thought to be a girl. Indeed, later she grew breasts and retained the softness of childhood but her male appendage also remained and it too grew, her balls dropped filling the depression which reverted to hold them. The maleness of her was only too obvious as Julia pushed the salt stained calico breeches down. They kissed once more, the delicate lace at the top of Julia's thighs was pressed hard by a rampant, would be invader. Belle picked up her lover, pacing her on the truckle bed they shared, both now caressing each others breasts, stirring their emotions, a preamble to sharing the love they felt. Belle's fingers trailed down to the fine curls of hair above the sweet spot she desired so much. Mouth watering, her head moved to kiss her way down, drawn by lust and love until her lips brushed those moist lips she sought. Fingers now came into play, trailing along tender flesh, leaving in their wake a tingling frisson of growing sensation. Julia squirmed trying to get those fingers to enter her but they veered down each thigh, only to return, brushing tantalisingly along wet lips.

She moaned, feeling two delicate fingers slowly enter her, seeking out the inner folds of her maidenhood, touching briefly on her clitoris before delving deeper. Wetness ensued as the fingers brought others to the party, one was directly beneath her clitoris now tempting the organ into further stimulation. Julia grasped Belle's cock, holding it in a loose grip, just easing it to and fro, as the vessel rocked in the waves. Belle kissed Julia's shoulder, lips chasing the lace as she pushed it from each shoulder, following still as the fabric bared each breast. By now Belle was so rigid, her cock felt it could hold back no longer, she manoeuvred herself to straddle her lover and pressed the throbbing end, to nose it's way into the wet slit. A moan, by whom, they could not determine, both were at the height of passion, each wanting to feel the other's body respond to their own. A gradual push and Belle was sheathing herself into the tight depths of her darling, Julia sighed as body and desire were filled. A slight withdrawal and a further push forward, how great that was, they both wanted more and knew how to get it. Their bodies melded, a gradual pressing of hot flesh, starting at the join of their sex and working both up and down as they held each other tightly, breasts pressed close, lips joined in a kiss.

Belle began a withdrawal, Julia felt the onset emptiness she always experienced at these times, when Belle was almost out they both sought to send her sliding back in again. A fullness for Julia and the feel of a velvet glove gently sliding up Belle's cock. They instinctively settled into a rhythm as old as time itself, working their bodies toward a state of nirvana, lost in the sexual passion that drove them to climatic conclusion. Sweat sheened them as they drove their bodies together, each seeking their own reward but also that of their partner. Belle was holding back now, she knew Julia needed more time, could feel the gradual increase in tempo as the girl began to reach the peak of orgasm. They were slamming their bodies together now, Belle thinking of dangers when sailing close inshore, anything to ward off her imminent climax, Julia striving for that elusive goal. All efforts were directed to their heightened passion, Julia's back arched below Belle's straining arms, whose bottom in turn was driving forward with rhythmic precision. Julia gasped, her nails dug into Belle's back, her body was overwhelmed by the rush of orgasm, Belle had held back for so long could she cum now? Julia's body slumped back to the bed, Belle stopped. Their lips met in the sweetest kiss so far, Julia lost in the after glow, whilst Belle was content to lay, supported on knees and straining arms, gently nuzzling the tender breasts that lay beneath.

The pulsing, squeezing grip of Julia's wet pussy gradually faded and she lay relaxed and content. Belle pushed gently to full penetration, held momentarily, then eased out. Driving forward again, Mother Nature wasn't to be thwarted, bodies spurred by forces beyond their understanding, they continued to make love with ardour. Once again Belle was nearing release, pressing ahead with all speed, hoping that Julia would match her once again in climax. Together they soared, steeped in sensation, hoping to prolong the desire but longing also to reach orgasmic fulfilment. Belle groaned, her hips driving forward, her spurting cock pressed tightly into the soft warm pussy. Julia felt the ejaculation within her, hot and strong, she climaxed almost at once, replete now her lover had cum. They clung together almost as a drowning man might cling to life, kissing and cuddling in the warm afterglow of sex. They slept but Belle was awoken by eight bells of the middle watch. Dim, pre-dawn glow showed obliquely through the stern windows, the sea state was good and the wind still abaft or thereabouts. She liked the quiet time before dawn, accustomed to the creaks of masts and and strain of sails. She arose naked from her bed and stood at the wash bowl, the battered mirror showing a lithe womanly body with the soft appendage that grew so obediently when confronted with a nubile form. Her ablutions were soon performed, the chill morning air lent speed to the process. Shirt, breeches and coat were donned, hiding her true self from the crew, only Reno knew of her breasts and he would tell no one.

Since Belle had stolen gold and silver from the Jamaican Governor's right hand man, Julia's father, she had sailed South toward Venezuela seeking to take Spanish and Dutch prizes. Jamaica was also to be avoided because with a change of Governor, a Captain Hornigold had a 30 gun frigate and sailed under the auspices of the British king as a privateer, ostensibly to capture pirates. Often in consort with a single masted brig sloop commanded by Captain Bonnet and a larger three masted sloop by Captain Teach. They sailed the transport routes frequented by merchantmen and therefore by pirates. Keeping in line abreast, they could keep the other's topsails in sight and watch for sail in a twenty mile wide sea area.

Two days of sailing brought Harrier to the trade routes one hundred and fifty miles North of Maracaibo, Belle kept good record of their whereabouts, her map keeping was exemplary. She had long ago proposed to put lookouts on a mountainous island in the vicinity of several trade routes, with the advantage of a large expanse of ocean open to them. Coded smoke signals would alert them to merchant shipping, sent only when danger of apprehension was minimal. Belle had drawn two small lines of clear sight to demonstrate it's purpose, her sweeping hand when indicating the idea, knocked over a coffee jug. Catching the resultant puddle in the map, folding it quickly to prevent further spillage, the soggy square was pushed into a sand bucket. Later, Julia had retrieved it, Belle's first ever consultation on strategy, tearing the map into a smaller, more manageable size for a memento. After an uneventful day, at two bells of the second dog watch, Belle slept, she needed to be fresh by first light. Lulled by the routine of watch changes, the hourglass and ship's bell announced the passage of time.

In the cold, first hour of the morning, a man cried out briefly as he died, his throat cut. The sounds of muskets and pistols rent the air. Belle Drover awoke to the thud of feet overhead, as boarders killed the ship's watch keepers, more boarders swarmed over the deck. The noise continued as she pulled on breeches and a coat, grabbing a cutlass, she stood firm to attack the first person through the cabin door. A black headed man ducked under the deck head beam, the Captain didn't recognise him and gave an upswing with the heavy blade cutting the stranger from jaw bone to eye socket. The twenty one year old man staggered, then stood upright aiming a brace of cocked pistols, blood dripping from the open wound to his face.

"Surrender Captain or all your crew will be slaughtered."

The earlier, disparate, sounds of fighting had ceased, it would seem the sleepy crew had been captured. The pistol wielding stranger glanced swiftly as one of the boarders scuttled down the steps toward him,

"Captain Teach, Sir, we have the ship and you'll never guess what ship!" He held aloft the red pirate flag.

"A pirate, eh?" Enquired Captain Teach, who as a privateer was no better than a pirate himself, although licensed under an English flag of convenience. Captain Drover's cutlass fell clattering to the floor, joining the blood it had provoked from the tall, swarthy adversary.

Julia, had dressed and followed her Captain up the companion way to the poop deck standing at sword point as they gazed at everyone assembled on the main deck. Captain Teach used a neckerchief to staunch the blood still flowing freely from his jaw, his voice rose to the assembled men.

"You men will serve me as Captain, either on my ship, or here, aboard my prize. Any dissenters will be run through and dropped overboard. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a low growl of consent, a few knuckled their forehead, a more obvious show of obeisance.

With threats and blows, a prize crew was set aboard Belle's ship, some prisoners were tied by the waist to the marlin spike racks, ready to haul on the braces as required. Others were sent aloft, under threat of muskets to trim sail. The rest of the crew and Julia were pushed aboard the privateer at sword point, it was only then that Belle realised the whole of the privateer was painted black, her black dyed sails were 'gull winged', a hasty type of reefing. The ships were still making way, jostling together, tied by the lines of grappling hooks. Captain Teach took Julia's arm as she balanced precariously on the taffrail, hoping the sharp knife in her garter wouldn't cut her. Helping her to alight the deck, she landed awkwardly, a piece of paper showed at her bosom, the folded, brown stained paper piqued his curiosity.

"It seems we have more than one treasure before us lads," shouted Teach as he withdrew the map from it's hiding place.

A flash of inspiration had caused her to sequester the torn, stained strategy map in her bodice with the idea it would be seen as a treasure map, possibly keeping them alive for the time being. Teach gazed at it as the privateer's crew ran to unlash the two ships. The eighteen gun sloop was flying a black flag with the white, horned skull of the devil, otherwise known as 'Old Roger'. Even if Harrier's lookouts had seen the ship in the darkness it was unlikely that they would have won a gun battle, against a wide awake crew and out gunned almost two to one.

The captain also studied Julia's papers, showing her to be Lady Constance, wife to the Duke of Cumbold and the wealthy daughter of the late Baron Hartnup. The papers were in fact once used by Belle, in a ruse to fool Julia's father but would stand scrutiny for Julia herself. Although false, the papers were drawn up very skilfully, alluding to real people known to the elite of Jamaica. Although her antecedents were to a branch of the family that had faded into obscurity, they still proclaimed her worthy of ransom. Her finery suggested she was indeed a personage of some standing, hotly protesting she had been captured by 'those ruffians'. Julia stepped up to her former 'captor' holding Belle's lapel and slapping her face. Wondering just what was transpiring, Belle played along, growling,

"Ungrateful hussy, I should have asked for less ransom, perhaps then it would've been paid."

As they were bundled down into a dark hold, Belle felt the knife Julia had thrust into the stiff calico of her lapel. Although with arms tied both at the wrists and elbows it was difficult to see how it could be used. A long rope was secured at the forward bulkhead, looped under each man's bound arms and tightened aft. It looked as though they were to be taken to be hanged at Kingston dock, Jamaica. The heat below deck was stifling as the sun rose in the sky, their arms were burning, supporting their weight over the rope for seven hours by the ship's bell. Jamaica was a week away, or more with the wind as it stood, they would soon die without water. A couple of men brought brackish water in a wooden pail, lifting a small panikin of it to each in turn. It would seem they would have to put in for water very soon.

Captain Teach nursed his cheek as he studied his coastal chart of Venezuela and the islands one hundred miles off it's coast. He laid the tattered map he had taken from Julia and placed it over his chart. The island depicted appeared to be Aruba and the cross, indicating the point of interest would appear to be on the mountainous North East side of the island near a beach landing point of two small inlets separated by a rocky spit. No more than a further day's sailing and worth it, should the pirate have actually placed treasure of some sort there. But first they must put in to a rocky headland of Venezuela and replenish the water, the bone dry island of Aruba was to the East.

The prisoners sat at the oars powering the two boats into the sandy bay, the privateers levelled pistols at them and held boarding pikes at the ready. Another boat had already landed, crewed by privateers who kept watch over the prisoners whilst holding loaded muskets. Barrels were tumbled along the shoreline, Harrier's crew were to scrub the inside with sand, hammer home the open end, then roll them to a stream. By mid afternoon one of the ships boat's was loaded with freshly filled barrels and made for the ship. Under guard, Belle and Mathews, her second mate, hoisted them from the waterline and lowered them below decks for stowage. Reno and Johnson manhandled the heavy barrels into the sand and stone ballast that lined the bilge, ensuring they nestled them deep to keep them stable. More of Harrier's prisoners manned the oars to row back to the beach, again with an armed escort.

"How many does that leave aboard," asked Belle. Carey didn't have to stop to think,

"Eight of them, four of us and Julia," he replied. "Their Captain in his cabin with Julia, two on anchor watch, the two they relieved probably preparing food, these two watching us and the one watching Reno and Johnson." It was time to act, Belle briefly showed the knife to Reno, his grin showed bright in the gloom of the hold as she dropped it to him. The dark, ex slave caught it deftly and appeared to stumble close to his guard, the man stepped forward threateningly but Reno arose with the blade foremost, taking the guard in the heart. A surprised look was the man's last act, Reno wiped the blade and hefted it back up to Belle. Their guards were standing in the scant shade afforded by the shrouds, arcing overhead securing the mainmast. In the bright sunlight, they couldn't see into the hold, so were relaxed as Carey went for a drink of water. Their attention was on him though, wary as he neared them. Belle slipped around the mainmast and came up behind them, slit the throat of one and slid the knife into the side of the other as he turned toward the noise. She and Carey eased the men down to the deck as best they could, relieved the bodies of their knives and dropped one down to Johnson so he and Reno could silence those in the galley. She and Carey crept forward toward the anchor watch, lying in the shade of a scrap of canvas, watching the small boat return to shore. They were lolly gagging, pistols tucked in their belts and the thought of food to come, they died hungry. Withdrawing the men's pistols they checked the flint and powder pan, making their way swiftly to the main cabin with another pistol apiece, Belle's knife back in her garter, noise was no longer a problem.