Swords clashing together mixed with gunfire penetrated through the growing flames on deck singing a symphony of chaos to the onlooking officers and marines. They stood near the helm, shielding their eyes from the growing heat as fire engulfed the deck and began climbing the mast.
“The ship is lost.” Will shouted over the roar of noise, “Make for the longboats, abandon ship.”
“But Sir!” Lieutenant Shelton began to object.
“Now lad. I’ll not waste another soul to this struggle; the ship is lost. We couldn’t hope to sail her now even if we had the manpower. There’s no time to quibble.” Will said as the smoke rolled over the decks, they stood on engulfing them into the deathly orange glow that promised to soon devour the Endurance. They quickly made their way to the longboat Will had taken on sortie the previous afternoon, waiting for them in suspension over the water.
“Someone is going to have to stay aboard and lower it down, likely two with all our weight.” Shelton said while he climbed into the small boat.
“I’ll stay Sir,” a marine offered through stone expression. Will felt his heart leap, after all he had been through, the utter selfishness and treachery he’d witnessed in the last few months, the man before him redeemed his faith in honor. Valor is not dead, Will thought as his eyes darted over the decks, looking for another solution.
“Unacceptable marine. That won’t do.” Will uttered.
“Sir?” his confused reply was lost on the Lieutenant.
“Shelton, get out.” Will snapped. Lieutenant Shelton shot a bewildered look back and climbed from the longboat in haste. Will swung his cutlass into the aft rope, severing stands with each swing until the line snapped dropping the longboat to swing from the bow line. Wasting no time as the flames grew drawing nearer with each heartbeat, Will ran along the rail with reckless abandon swinging his saber into the bowline with every bit of force he could muster. With a single blow the line parted in a violent snap dropping the longboat into a free fall to the sea. “Follow Me!” Will screamed over his shoulder as he jumped from the rail, his limbs flailed wild as he slashed into the inky dark sea.
Drowned Maiden
26 Sept 1808
17 Degrees 32 minutes N, 76 Degrees 12’ W
Lilith clung for her life to the rope webbing, watching in in sheer horror as a silhouette appeared along the rail above. For a moment that shadow was the reaper signaling her sure death as an arm extended with a pistol in its clasp. She grimaced against the hot bolt of pain she knew was coming and pressed herself as hard as she could to the wooden surface of the hull. A thunderclap reverberated through the thick night between ships and Lilith squeezed her hands harder onto the rope, drawing an ooze of blood from where her grip had been bitten by the course line. For a moment she shuddered, waiting for the searing pain to register. She could feel the shadow above wobble from the rail and felt the air flutter as her would be reaper dropped through swirling smoke and screams into the water’s grasp. Lilith looked over her shoulder, half in panic and half in delight to see the stern face of Omibwe behind a smoking musket barrel. His precarious balance did nothing to slow him rapidly handing off the spent musket to the waiting hands of Doctor Lemeux at his side. The French Doctor reloaded as best he could to keep up with the fury of Omibwe who leveled accurate fire as quickly as he was handed a ready piece.
Hand over hand, Lilith resumed her climb toward the deck as the smoke and noise from above intensified. Finally reaching the rail with her forearms groaning in a dull ache of exertion, she peered through a scupper to witness fury and chaos aboard. Captain James had been among the first to set foot aboard and was engaging a group of several sailors by wielding a sword in each hand. Behind him a pair of pirates let fly with pistol shot and took up swords from the fallen on deck. When Lilith’s bare foot made fall onto the deck of the big warship, it was already slick with blood. She looked about frantically for any sign of Trina, but with no success.
A sailor ran toward Lilith from her right side screaming as he swung a tomahawk in a sharp downward arc. She drew her sword and made a lunging dive onto the deck, causing the swing to slice harmlessly through the space she vacated. With her sword in hand Lilith rolled to her feet and turned just in time to parry a following swing from the screaming sailor. The forceful impact almost wrenched her backward but with a flash of speed the sailor could not anticipate she slid her blade out of contact with the tomahawk and plunged it hard into the man’s throat. He dropped to his knees with a pleading look of fear spread across his face as blood surged from the wound in his neck. Lilith grabbed his tomahawk with her free hand and while driving her knee into his chest, freed her blade from its burrow of flesh. A moment later she buried the tomahawk firmly between the shoulder blades of another sailor who lunged at her. In a swift motion she parried his sword and side stepped while swinging the other blade deep into his back, dropping him to the deck in
