Legacy of the King's Pirates

Chapter 2: The Privateer

Captain Edmund Merrick pressed the spyglass to his eye, steadying it against the rolling of the ship. A Spanish merchant vessel loomed on the horizon. Sailing east from the port of Maracaibo on her way home to Spain, the ship undoubtedly held precious cargo. Unfortunately for her, she would never make it. He had hoped to find another ship todayone he had been tracking for months, but this Spanish conquest would surely bring enough treasure to satisfy the greedy appetites of his crew, as well as please the governor of Jamaica. Merrick had received a commission from Sir Thomas Moodyford in the name of King Charles II to "set upon by force of arms, and to take and apprehend upon the seas, or upon any river, or in any port or creek, the ships and goods of the King of Spain, or any of his subjects whatsoever."

Merrick smiled. He had gone from being a ruthless pirate one minute to being a soldier in His Majesty's service the next. He snapped the spyglass shut and barked orders to his crew. With additional sails hoisted and a slight veer to port, the Redemption would overtake the slower trading ship. His crew strapped their pistols and cutlasses to leather belts, then flung them over their shoulders and around their waists in preparation for battle.

"They're signaling for a show of colors, Captain," the first mate shouted.

"Run up the Spanish flag," Merrick ordered, "but keep my ensign close at hand."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Prepare your weapons for battle, gentlemen." Merrick leaped down the quarterdeck ladder. "Clear the gun tackles and load the guns," he ordered the master gunner. "But don't run them out until my order."

Merrick scanned his raucous crew as they prepared for battle, salivating for the treasure that soon would be theirs. Never had he seen a more unsightly bunch of miscreants. Clothed in tattered, unmatched apparel "borrowed" from prior conquests, they strutted across the deck shouting obscenities toward their enemy. The stench of their unwashed bodies and foul breath wafted over Merrick as he stood before them. Despite their disorderly appearance, he knew if he didn't command their respect at all times, he would one day find a knife in his back.

"Take no life unless you have to," he commanded. "But make it quick and painless if you do. It's the treasure we're after."

He assigned ten men to remain above deck disguised as common fishermen and sent the rest scrambling down the main hatch out of sight. Merrick slapped a large floppy hat over his blue bandanna and hid his pistols and cutlass under a long, black fishing coat. He hoped his trap would work. If need be, he could pursue and outrun the merchant vessel, but he much preferred a quick and easy conquest.

Merrick leveled his spyglass on his prey once again as she came more sharply into view. Her crew sauntered about the deck, performing their duties, still unaware of the menace creeping up on her. A few more minutes and she would be within range of the Redemption's cannons.

By his side stood Master Kent, his first mate, and Sloane, his quartermaster and old friend. Kent was the only pirate, other than Merrick, who had been graced with a formal education and who knew how to speak and dress in polite society. Merrick assumed the lad, who could be no more than nineteen or twenty, had been born to nobility, but Kent preferred to keep the details of his past to himselfa sentiment Merrick both understood and respected. Truth be told, the boy reminded Merrick of himself not ten years ago. Skilled in seamanship and able to command respect from the crew, Kent had earned his post as first mate.

The young lad glared at the merchant vessel, his eyes holding no fear, only an insatiable lust for blood and treasure that gave Merrick pause. He handed Kent the telescope, allowing him to peruse their enemy at close range. The boy stood near Merrick's height, a vigorous lad with curly brown hair and barely a whisker on his chin. His eyes twitched in excitement as he gazed on their victim. Giving the glass back to Merrick, he stood waiting for his command.

"Have the master gunner ready the gun crew," Merrick ordered, and the first mate spun on his heels and rushed down the companionway.

Merrick bowed his head and offered a quick prayer for the success of their mission and a minimal loss of life.

"I hope he heard ye," Sloane said.

"He always does, my friend." Merrick smiled. "But it's His will that will be done in the end."

Nodding at the quartermaster, he returned his gaze to the Spanish vessel, now less than two hundred yards away. The Redemption flew down upon her, parting the calm sea with assurance.

Merrick slapped his hand on the railing and strutted across the deck. He ordered the gun crew to position a warning shot over the bow of the merchant ship, giving the Spaniards a chance to surrender without bloodshed. The master gunner ordered the crew to fire, and the shot let loose with a reverberating boom, shaking the ship to her keel and sending up a plume of gray smoke. It splashed, as intended, in the water on the starboard side of the merchant ship and sent the crew of the Spanish vessel into a frenzied panic. Down came the red and white flag of Spain from the mainmast of the Redemption, and up went the ensign of Captain Edmund Merrick.

The remainder of the Redemption's crew came up from under hatches, growling and shouting like a pack of hungry wolves bursting from a cage. The pirates on deck discarded their fishing garb and readied their weapons.

Would the vessel heave to and surrender? Or would she run? Merrick glared at the merchant ship through his spyglass as the distance between them lessened. His answer soon came in the form of raised sails, including topgallant and outer jib, that caught the wind in a billowing display of snowy canvas. Merrick cursed their captain under his breath. Why would heoutgunned, outnumbered, and heavierchoose a course of action that could only end in disaster?

Turning, he shouted orders for his own sails to be spread with every inch of canvas to their yards. Upon catching the wind, the Redemption cut a white slice through the Caribbean waters in swift pursuit.

Time seemed to move in slow motion, heightening Merrick's senses. Every sound was magnifiedthe sea splashing against the hull, the jaunty snap of the wind in the sails, the shouts of excitement from the men readying themselves on deck, even his own breathing.

Soon the ships sped side by side, not fifty yards between them. Captain Merrick fired a round toward their enemy that blasted through the midsection with a deafening roar, sending its yards and canvas crashing to the deck. Crippled, the Spanish vessel sat helpless in the water, awaiting her fate.

Merrick ordered Kent to furl top and main sails and ready the grappling hooks in preparation to board. The thrill of the impending combat sent a mixed shiver of excitement and tension through him. With the warm wind gusting through his long hair, his pistols strapped to his shoulder belt and his cutlass in hand, he felt every bit the fierce warrior he used to be. No longer an outlaw pirate, he was now a privateer, commissioned by England, but he also had another agreement, unbeknownst to most, with the governor of Jamaicato capture and bring to justice the most vicious pirates terrorizing the Caribbean. This arrangement appeased both Merrick's newfound faith in God and his hunger for freedom and adventure. The ship he'd been seeking as of late belonged to the first villain on the list, his ex-captain, a man whose cruelties had cost the lives of hundreds of innocent people.

As the pirate ship closed in, the desperate Spanish sailors fired off a volley of musket shot. Scurrying into position, the pirates returned fire. Kent approached Merrick. "Captain, shall I order the swivel guns to sweep their deck and put them in their place?" His face hardened in a mixture of rage and blood-lust that concerned Merrick.

The captain shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Master Kent. The ship is plainly ours. There's no need for bloodshed." He eyed his first mate curiously. "See to it the men are ready with the grapnels. On my order, we'll spray musket shot to keep them at bay until we can heave the ships together."

Kent nodded, but his eyes burned with restrained defiance before he marched off to do his captain's bidding.

As the Redemption swept down upon its prey, the faces of the Spaniards contorted in terror. The pirates growled and hurled obscenities in their direction. Yet the sailors stood their ground, rallied on by their courageous captain who stood on the foredeck, braying orders for them to take arms and position themselves for the inevitable boarding.

"FIRE!" Merrick bellowed. The air exploded with the crack of muskets and pistols and the thunderous shouts of the pirates as the Redemption came astern on the merchant vessel's starboard quarter. Smoke obscured Merrick's view and flooded his nose with the acrid sting of gunpowder.

Six of his crew swung grappling hooks above their heads before releasing them in unison. They flew through the air and landed with a clank, gouging the deck of the Spanish vessel. The pirates tugged on the lines. In seconds, the ships crashed together with a thundering jolt. Upon Merrick's order, his men drew their swords and scrambled over the bulwarks of the captured vessel like a flood of rats. Frantic shouting erupted, along with the clash of cutlasses, the blast of musket fire, and the agonizing screams of the injured. Yet the pirates continued their ruthless assault. Though his own skills had been sharpened under the expertise of the King's Navy, where honor and decorum were highly esteemed, Merrick had learned to accept their cruel form of battle.

The Spaniards fought with more tenacity than Merrick expected from common merchants, but they were clearly no match for such an unorthodox onslaught.

A loud shriek drew his attention behind him. Kent forced a Spanish sailor to his knees at sword point. The poor man groveled for mercy, but the first mate raised his sword to strike him nonetheless.

Merrick charged toward him to stay his hand. "We do not kill uselessly," he shouted, grabbing Kent's wrist.

"But do we kill the useless?" Kent's hard look of disdain sent an icy shiver over Merrick. Releasing his hand with an angry toss, Merrick stood between the sailor and Kent. "No one is useless."

The first mate scowled, then shrugged his shoulders and strode away.

Finally, the Spanish captain called upon his men to stand down, and the fighting ceased. Merrick sheathed his sword and gulped to catch his breath. Blood trickled from a gash on his arm.

"Shanks, Royce, stay with me," he ordered his men. "Jackson, get Brighton and see to the injured." Most of the pirates had already gone below deck to seek out the cargo. "The rest of you, search the ship and make sure there are no sailors hiding." Three of the men grabbed their pistols and headed down the hold.

"Don't kill them," Merrick shouted after them. "Bring them to me alive." With grunts of disappointment, the men disappeared below.

Merrick sauntered past the Spanish sailors, who had relinquished their weapons and were gathered in a small trembling group on the deck. He motioned their captain to step forward and spoke to him in fluent Castilian, informing him his crew would not be harmed. The man bowed, a wave of relief softening the fear that creased his face, and thanked Merrick for the assurance.

Masters in the art of pillage, the pirates scoured the ship searching for treasure in a much more orderly fashion than they did their fighting. The merchant sailors could do naught but watch as the thieves hoisted their precious cargo up from the hold and brought it on deck. Merrick soon realized why their captain had dared to attempt such a hopeless fight. The fortune stored below far exceeded his expectations: Spanish Doubloons, Pieces of Eight, spices, silver, and pearls.

Yet Merrick cared nothing for the treasurenot since he had realized there was more to life than wealth. Turning his attention to the wounded, he made sure they were tended to as quickly as possible while he searched for any of his own men in need of assistance, careful to avoid the slippery blood splattered across the deck.

A solemn shape lay near the helm, a dark red pool stained the deck beneath him. Merrick's heart sank as he slowly turned the body over. It was Reeves, his bosun, a pistol-shot through the head. The boy was only fifteen. Merrick bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. Stomach convulsing, he said a prayer for the boy's family.