Brave or Fool Enough

Felicity Walker was born on a lonely, cold night in January.

John Walker, a young man, sat on a hard, oak chair outside the room as she was brought into the world. The ship swayed back and forth, back and forth, like a massive cradle for the entire crew. John hardly felt it now, not after being on board The Dutchess for so long.

He had grown into a man on the water, hardly ever stepping foot on land. The last time he had set foot on solid ground was to empty his cargo destined for the Americas – and while he was in Boston, he had treated himself to as much rum as he could find, and promptly visited the women that no one spoke about. It was three months later, as he was about to depart back to Britain, that one of the women approached him, begging for his forgiveness, but that she was with child. His child.

Having been raised in a Catholic household, John was unwilling to turn his back on her. He brought her aboard, with the permission of his captain and first mate, and kept her at his side at all times. He cared for her, stayed with her. Eventually, he began to fall in love with the strawberry-blonde girl who had grown up in Boston. She was sweet, generous, and caring, but had fallen on hard times back home. She cared for him and he for her in a way that he never thought was possible – and, once the child arrived, he fully intended to marry her and start a proper family with her. On land. The thought made him nervous, but his feelings for her made up for any loss he might incur.

John jumped as the ship’s first mate charged down the steps to his left. He tottered in from the deck, soaked to the bone from the rain that could be heard pouring above. Paul was a tall, lanky man with an unshaven face and a wooden leg he had lost in a skirmish before he had met John. He had an affinity for gold, something that all merchants of the time shared, but was a noble man from a noble background.

“Sir,” John said rigidly, launching himself up from the chair to stand at attention.

Paul chuckled. “Ease up, kid,” the older man laughed, patting his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I hear you’re a father now. Congratulations are in order, I s’pose.” Paul smiled a warm smile that he was famous for – the only kind merchant the world had ever seen, John suspected. The corners of his eyes wrinkled, so full and genuine was his smile.

John nodded shyly. “Yes, I suppose. I do regret to admit, however, that I haven’t gone in to see her yet.” He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t seem to muster up the courage.”

Paul let out a true laugh this time, shaking his head. “Boy, you’re going to have a hard time being a second mate if you don’t get them nerves in check.”

John froze, the older man’s words beginning to process in his mind. He didn’t currently hold a position of leadership on board, surely it must be a mistake. Though he wished he might, someday, he knew that he was far too young and inexperienced to be taken seriously by the crew. They were all seasoned sailors, and they would not fail to inform him of just how long they had been sailing. Many for more than 20 years, as long as he had been alive.

John blushed. “Sir, I believe you’re mistaken, I am not in command aboard this ship.”

“That’s not what the captain told me when I talked to ‘im ten minutes ago.”

John’s face lit up. “You mean it, sir? Did he say that?”

Paul shook his head, laughing to himself, before he patted the younger man heartily on the shoulder. John stumbled forward, unprepared. “Sure did. Said you’ve got potential to make a name for yourself in the business – something ‘bout having an education.” He smiled, revealing a row of discolored, crooked teeth. “I agree with ‘im, too.”

John smiled widely, grasping one of Paul’s hands and shaking it vigorously. “Thank you, Sir, thank you very much,” he gushed, excitedly, pumping his hand.

“Call me Paul,” the older man muttered, taking his hand back.

Just as the men finished their exchange, they heard yelling from the deck above them. John felt his stomach churn as men began to scream, the footsteps overhead sounding more and more frantic by the second. The two men could make out the voice of the captain, shouting out commands from his post at the helm.

“What the hell…” Paul cursed under his breath and began the shaky ascent up the stairs, leaving John standing in surprise.

BOOM.

John jumped as the blast echoed through the air. It was a sharp crack that vibrated deep in his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He reached out to the wall to steady himself as the ship lurched, making Paul let out a string of curses from the deck. John’s heart slammed against the inside of his chest as he tried to steady himself, and simultaneously tried to calm his nerves.

He heard a cry from inside the room. It was an infant cry, loud and without reservation. He couldn’t fight back the smile that spread out on his face.

Despite his excitement for the arrival of his child, John realized that he must attend the chaos on deck first. He buried is anxiety deep in his chest as he rushed up the stairs into the storm above, shutting his eyes against the assault.

On the deck, men ran every direction. The captain stood at the helm, shouting out orders to the crew, as the rain pelted the men like ice from the sky. Clouds loomed overhead as lightning struck every now and then, followed by a crippling clap of thunder. The waves underneath the hull shifted the ship back and forth, back and forth, as the sails billowed and folded in the strong gusts of wind, flimsy and paper-like against the mass of grey clouds looming in the distance.

But it wasn’t the storm that made John begin to panic. He had faced storms before. It was the other ship, sailing parallel to them, which made him concerned.

The other ship’s canon fired again, slamming into the starboard side of the vessel. John quickly grabbed onto the rail next to him as the ground lurched beneath him suddenly. He could feel his stomach churn as he heard the wood crunch beneath the steel cannon ball. More shouts echoed from various parts of the deck as the panic began to grow.

John hurriedly flew up to the captain, who was out of breath and grave in his face.

The captain was an older man, with greying hair and deep wrinkles of concern. He greeted John with a deep scowl, his face clearly in turmoil.

“Blast it!” the older man spat, spinning the wheel vigorously.

“They’ve begun attacking out of nowhere!”

John whirled around to the other ship. It seemed vaguely familiar to him, like he had seen it before, but he couldn’t place it exactly. There were three masts, each with sails waving in the wind due to being drawn in from the storm, decorated with something that John couldn’t make out.

The two men gasped in surprise as the ship lurched, knocking John off his feet. The captain grasped feebly onto the wheel as he fell, turning the ship itself violently to the side. He cursed again under his breath as he tried to right himself, squinting into the pouring rain.

John, startled, pulled himself off the deck by the railing, trying to find purchase on the drenched, slippery wood. He suddenly regretted his height – it made him all the more awkward. He squinted in the direction of the ship attacking them, bobbing harmlessly on the treacherous sea, taunting them.

Suddenly, two things happened that would mark the course of his life forever.

The first was a massive bolt of lightning that tore across the sky. It lit up everything as far as the eye could see, bright as day. The light illuminated the darkest parts of both ships, as well as the sea itself roiling beneath. John could practically feel the electricity in the air for long after it hit, and the thunder that followed was earth-shattering.

But the second, and more important of the two, was that the sails on the opposing ship caught wind, at that moment. They billowed out to their full extent, just long enough for John to see what was painted on them. He recognized the symbol instantly, with it so plain and lit up like that. The recognition made him freeze in his tracks, petrified. It could only mean one thing.

“Sir,” John breathed, barely audible to the captain over the roaring wind, “I believe the Royal Navy is attacking us!”



Commander William was never fond of assaults.

William Davenport had grown up wealthy in the richest parts of London, surrounded by the society that so many drooled over in their youth and fell short of ever actually reaching. He wanted for nothing in life except a little adventure, an itch he fulfilled by enlisting in the Navy as a young boy. After years of dedication, the well-bred man rose his way through the ranks, earning him his title that he had worked toward for so long.

Though he was handsome in his youth, the overweight man had become tired in recent years. His face, which on other men his age would be youthful, was showing signs of stress. The man’s signature chestnut brown hair was beginning to recede. He hardly recognized the man that stared back in the mirror anymore. Gone was the young society boy that he used to be, and in his place was someone he wasn’t sure he wanted to see.

He sat passively in his office as the ship rocked back and forth, back and forth, over the angry water on which he had set out on his mission. It had been good to him so far, luck had been on his side. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his forehead angrily. Obviously that luck had fallen short.

“Commander Davenport,” a young lieutenant called from behind the door hastily, pounding his fist on it. “Sir, the ship is beginning to drift out of sight. It seems severely damaged, sir. Perhaps we should retreat.”

William cradled his head in his hands, exhausted. Couldn’t that idiot see that he had a headache?

“Very well,” he replied, an undertone of annoyance in his voice, “Hold fire. I believe our point has been proven.”

The Commander heard footsteps retreating from his door a moment later. He breathed a heavy sight of relief, glad to be nearly done with this debacle. He was one of the highest ranking-officials in the entire British Royal Navy, and yet even he wasn’t above serving petty orders from the king to rough up a merchant ship belonging to a man whom had lost big in a game of cards and had yet to pay up.

Though he was being paid handsomely for it, he certainly would have preferred less futile pursuits.

William sat down at his desk, draping his weary body across the cushioned chair that sat behind the mahogany marvel. He eyed a small picture that rested on the corner of it, a beautifully painted portrait of a small boy with the same dark brown hair that was so characteristic of the family. His old, tired face smiled as he looked at the picture with fondness, a painting of his son completed only a month ago, a few weeks after his son had been born. William was a proud father, regretting only that his post required him to be absent for so long. He had hardly been home since he had arrived.

At least, with the news of his completed task, he could send the ship back to London in one piece. And not a moment too soon – he had a wife and a son to return to.