Young John, Adrift in a Pirate Ship: Finish the Story Contest #35

---

The ship shuddered. Smoke filled the dank chamber and water leaked through the ceiling. John guessed these were the last impressions he'd have before his death.

Wither had locked him in, had bound his hands and feet. A punishment, because the boy refused to join in killing during their last raid.

"I'll make a pirate of you yet, Young John," Wither had boasted. "Or I'll make a corpse of you."

The boy couldn't see the vessel that was sending cannon fire their way, but he welcomed the assault. His situation couldn't get worse. Either he'd fall once again into the hands of pirates, or he'd be rescued by pirate hunters.

A third possibility, that he would perish in a sinking ship, held no terror for him. Of all the ways he imagined he might die, drowning and resting at the bottom of the sea seemed most peaceful.

Footsteps overhead scrambled chaotically as a cannonball found its mark. Water gushed into his prison chamber and flooded the compartment. A devastating blow must have been inflicted on the ship. Through the tumult, the captain remained steely. Her commanding voice rang over agonized screams of the wounded.

"To your posts. Meet your fate like pirates or meet you fate as cowards at my hand. Either way you fight till the breath is gone from you. And if I hear a prayer to God, I will finish you on the spot."

The boy, known since his imprisonment as Young John, was all of 13. He'd been recruited as a seaman's servant. His career at sea was the result not of ambition, but of a gnawing in his belly. And a magistrate's warning.

John had been found guilty of petty theft, stealing muffins from a baker's shelf. The magistrate was quite clear. John's path would lead inevitably to the gallows, unless he chose another way. Commit to serve on a ship for several years.

And so John became a seaman.

The flyboat on which he served was fast, but lightweight, no match for pirates. They boarded and slaughtered all on board, except the young lad they thought might be pressed into their own service. It was in this way that he found himself prisoner on a sinking pirate ship.

Shouting up top grew frantic. A musket sounded close, and loud. Then the captain's voice. "Cowards. To your stations. By my musket, or in the sea, your lives end today."

The boy knew then with certainty that his end would be deep in the fathomless ocean. He thought upon his mother, who had been good to him, as much as her means allowed. He thought of the young brother and sister. What would they hear of his fate? Likely nothing.

His name would be erased, the memory of his brief life eclipsed by their own adventures.

Young John, in his watery chamber, relished the one liberty none of the pirates on deck would enjoy. Death, accepted calmly, with a prayer on his lips.

---

---

---

---

---

My brief story is a suggested conclusion to a lively pirate scene, Pirate Hunters, written by @theironfelix. His 'beginning' to my story may be found below. Young John is my entry in Week # 35 of @f3nix's Finish the Story Contest, sponsored by the @bananafish.

Drop in on other writers in this week's contest and you will discover more possibilities. This is the intrinsic charm of finish the story. One writer offers a beginning, throws down a sort of challenge. The rest of us have to come up with a creative conclusion. Sounds interesting? Join us next week! All you need is enthusiasm and imagination.

---

---

**A historical note about the inspiration behind the character, Young John. During the Seven Years War between England and France (1756-1763) it was the custom to recruit boys as young as 13 to serve on English ships. There was a shortage of seamen and 'recruiting' youth seemed a reasonable solution, at least to members of the Marine Society. They felt that poor youth who were without purpose would be removed from the streets and given direction, while at the same time essential crew members would be provided to the navy.

---

---

---

---

So, without further ado, here is the dynamic pirate scene that gave rise my Young John character:

Pirate Hunters

by @theironfelix

Boots calmly walked towards an open window-hatch, a bottle of rum is lowered down onto the sill. Upon the placement, the pirate places his scarred-induced hands on his wailing back and pushes.

“Argh! Me back be free of this wretched ache! Well, guess I learned a lesson: take a break when the Cap’n says so. Welp, time to rest...”

Taking his cue, the sill creaked in annoyance as the pirate’s body self-inquired the best resting position while perched on a sill. With a hairy arm supporting his night-colored beard, he spent his leisure-time mentally capturing the seas itself. There the familiar specs of white dots danced about the blue sky; he gasped before slowly releasing the captured air, he remembered how deep in the seven seas the ship was. With the mind returning to boredom, his eyes scanned under the blue sky.

“Ah poor ship, how these blue, blue, waves harass yah. I can hear yer wails, but I judge not. And even when the harassment be over, the aches only then take over; yet only can I respond with ‘such is life’... Huh, what be a ship in these waters be doing here? Where’s me spotting scope!”

The boots thus began a chaotic dance recital; the arms took the center stage as it flailed around to uncover the hidden telescope. As the telescope may have enjoyed the scene, it soon squeaked loud upon the firm clasp on its metallic skin. The pirate returned to the window-hatch and his arms stretched the telescope wide-wards. Eyeing in on the odd element, his eyes darted around to find any friendly symbol but soon froze.

“Oh me Flyin’ Dutchman! We’ve been tracked! Hey ho! Sound the alarm, pirate hunters come and in full-mast they set sail towards us!”

Whatever wail the ship can ever muster, the cacophonies of a hundred bodies darting around alone had easily drowned out such sorrows. The pirate unsheathed his sword, the sun’s naïve light touched and bounced off the sword. Sheathing his sword, he unholstered his flintlocks and his arms helped his eyes scan such. Cocking and holstering them, his body emerged from his room and joined in the traffic of the workplace as pirate bodies shuffled and kicked around to ready on their position. Albeit the humidity would’ve granted a hasty rest through stroke, the adrenalin surging about the bodies had protected them from unwanted advances of humidity.

Finally getting to the deck, he about-faced and attempted advancing towards the Captain’s spot. However, the Captain echoed:
“Brace!”

And the pirate mass dropped dead and clung hard to any support they could find; as soon the ship screeched thanks the holes formed from the steel cannon-shots who mercilessly ripped through her. With that, the pirate mass resumed its circuitry and soon he met with the Captain; he screamed:
“Madame! I’m here, let me take over the steering and yah the commandin’!”

“Finally yer here, Wither! Please, they be gainin’ too much ground. So steer us towards oure enemy! And when we get close, steer us parallel to their starboard side and avoid portside! Today, I must accept my bounty and let them hath none of it!”

“Cap’n oh Cap’n! Are yah mad?”

“Mad? No! Blimey, avoid their hull Wither!”