Pirate Hunters - Finish the Story Week #35

       Mighty thanks to @Theironfelix for providing the story for this the 35th Edition of Finish the Story over on the @Bananafish blog! Here's to hoping that I do Felix's pirate slang due justice and don't end up sounding like an extra in a Long John Silver's commercial...

_{Image via Wikimedia}

Pirate Hunters

story beginning 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!”

My Entry

The old seadog's wide eyes tarried for a moment on his Captain's back. She was slicker than any eel in black waters. Her insane schemes had kept them all from that final dance with good ol' Jack Ketch. But a part of him feared that her brassy tactics and her wits would fail them one day.

"Ye heard her lads! Move it! Coming about, starboard bow!" the old Sail Master's bellowed. Dozens of men set to the ropes, climbing the knotted windward shrouds and adjusting the sails.

Below them, he could see a row of buckets of what looked like scrap metals and ...spoons? being passed along to the Quartermaster Jagger. The broad shouldered bald man was ordering the loads to be lifted to those secured in the foremast.

The bow of the brigantine sliced an arc through the waves. From the spotter, another cry of, "Brace!" met their ears along with the whistle of incoming missiles. The ship rocked as shards of wood exploded from impact. The air wafted the brine of salt, black powder and blood past their faces.

Wither's aching back and arms howled at him as he steadied on. He wasn't sure if they'd be able to maintain course if they took another hit. It had taken him longer than he'd like to admit but the Captains' orders were beginning to make sense.

Running broadside to the hunters' guns was akin to standing on in a line on deck - bent over and bare arses presented! It was a foolish act of a desperation. Not unheard of and many a crew had abandoned their ship to live another day. From the small boats that were rapidly rowing away from the Griffon, some appeared to be seeking another sunrise.

"Load th' sixers! Let's introduce 'em to some of our beauties!" the Captain's voice rang out. Her dishwater braids flew and snapped behind her as she rushed about, barking her orders to the crew. Lengths of chain were loaded into the cannons as the Griffon approached the enemy's starboard side.

"Fire!" At the command, the ball and chain shots erupted the mouths of the cannons, tearing through the bodies of hunters that were too slow. Heads, torsos and legs flew in separate directions as the shots lay waste to the deck.

Simultaneously, pirates in the brigantine's foremast launched a volley of stinkpots down upon the enemy vessel. Filled with metal bits and bobs, carcasses of bilge rats and other unpleasantness, the improvised grenades provided the necessary cover that had been needed.

At the sound of the exploding stinkpots, the pirates from the 'fleeing' boats ascended portside. From his position at the helm, the old Sail Master wasn't able to see them through the smoke but he knew what the plan was about. The boarding team would be making short work of those left below deck. As for the captain of the hunters, if bits of him weren't decorating the ship, then he'd have a choice to be making soon.

To serve under his mad madame of a captain or to take his retirement in Davy Jones' locker.

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