Gene Wolfe - Pirate Freedom

We were under bare poles, but things kept breaking or blowing loose. Whenever a sail came loose, we had to try to furl it again before the storm tore it up. Sometimes we got it in, and sometimes we did not. All the standing rigging got soaked, which made it longer. That meant all the stays were loose, and we might lose one or both our masts when she rolled. We had to try to tighten everything up, working in the dark even when it was daytime, with the rain driving in our faces and breakers coming over the rail. I do not know how hard that wind blew, but when it got hold of anything you just saw it for an instant before it disappeared forever.

I did not pray then-I was too busy and too tired. I would have let the storm kill me, if it had not been for the other men in our crew. I did not like most of them, and those I liked I did not like much. But there was no time to think about that. We were us, and if our ship went down we would die.

When the storm finally ended in warm weather, blue skies, and sunshine, it was half a day before any of us had energy enough to bring out our hammocks and spare clothes so they could dry. We just slept on deck. That evening we got the first hot food we had seen in four days. It was the best the cook could do, a hash of fresh beef, salt pork, ship's bread, onions, and tomatoes, with a lot of garlic. There was wine, and I remember old Zavala grinning at me over his. He had lost about half his teeth.

A lot of things may have happened between then and the next time I remember, but they cannot be important things or I would be able to think of them. We worked on the ship all watch, every watch, trying to fix up as much of the damage as we could.

One night somebody shook me awake and yelled at me to get out on deck. There was another man with him who had a cutlass in one hand and a lantern in the other, and I did not know either of them. All I could think about was where they might have come from.

Outside, they made us line up. Like I said, I have forgotten a lot that happened between the storm and that night, but I remember that night as well as anything that has ever happened in my life. It was overcast, no moon and just one or two stars peeping though tears in the clouds. A little swell to the sea and the Santa Charita rolling to it just enough to feel alive. Five or six or maybe eight or ten lanterns lit, one run halfway up the mainmast and one on the quarterdeck railing and looking like it was going to slide off any minute. Pirates holding the rest, a lantern in one hand and a cutlass or a pistol in the other.

I had gotten into line and everything before I saw there were two bodies on the deck. One was old Zavala. I kept staring at the other one, trying to figure out who it was. His face was turned away from me, and he was not wearing anything but a long shirt.

Somebody-a voice I did not know-said, "Let's have another light over here," and I kind of jumped. That was because it seemed to me that I should know it, and because the words were in English.

"There's many a one would cut your throats," the man who spoke English said. Then another man said the same thing in Spanish and louder.

"You've been lucky. Very lucky. You've fallen into the compassionate hands of Captain Bram Burt. Any man who disobeys or lies to me will lose his life a damned sight quicker than a court would kill him. But the ones who obey and tell me the truth will live, and some of them will even get a chance to grow rich while they're still young enough to enjoy it."

When the Spanish translation came, all of us were looking at each other. Before that I had been looking at him, trying to remember where I had seen that round face and long blond mustache before. If you read this far, you will have gotten it a lot quicker than I did.

He pointed to the dead man in the long shirt. "This was your captain. I know that because he came out of the captain's cabin. What other officers are there on this ship? Watch-keeping officers."

Senor took a step forward. He looked scared enough to faint, but he sounded brave when he said, "Only I."

Capt. Burt unhooked a pistol from his belt, cocked it fast and easy, and leveled it at Senor. "You had better call me 'Captain.'"

Senor touched his forehead. "Si, Capitan."

"You can navigate?"

"Si, Capitan."

"Who else can?"

Senor's mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I raised my hand and said in English, "I can, a little bit, sir. Nobody else."

"En verdad, Capitan. Nadie."

Capt. Burt was looking at me and paid no attention to Senor. "You-put down your hand." He raised his voice. "Now I want every married man to raise his hand. Don't lie to me. Every married man."

After it was said in Spanish, most of the hands went up, including Senor's.

"I see. You married men stay where you are. Single men, over to the starboard rail and sit down."

We did as we had been told. There were only four of us. Two pirates watched us there for what seemed like an hour.

While we sat there, the other pirates were getting the boat into the water and getting the married men into it, with a keg of water and a string of onions. We could not see the boat until it pulled away. When it did, it was just a sort of darker shadow on the sea, but I knew it had to be jammed full of men and ready to sink the first time the sea got rough. There had been sixteen men in the starboard watch and eight in the larboard watch, plus the captain and Senor, so twenty-six men. Two had been killed that I knew about, and I think that was all. We four had stayed on board. So twenty men jammed into a boat I would have thought could not carry more than a dozen.

"Listen to me," Capt. Burt said when he got back to us, "and listen sharp. You may join my crew if you wish. If you do, each of you will take an oath, and your lives will be forfeit should you break it. When you've taken that oath, you'll share in our gains just as these men do. You'll eat and drink with us and be accounted a full member of our crew. If you don't, you'll be put ashore on the next deserted coast we reach. Now I want every man willin' to join us to stand."

He stared hard at me while the other man was repeating what he had said in Spanish, but I did not get up. The others did, but I did not.

After that they tied my hands, and I sat there for hours. I asked the guard if I could lie down. He said yes, and I was about asleep when they got me up and brought me to the captain's cabin.

Capt. Burt was in there. So was his sea chest and all his stuff, which was a lot. There were two chairs, and he told me to sit down in the empty one, which I did.

"You're the Jerseyman I talked to in Veracruz, ain't you?"

I mumbled that I was.

"Thought so." He took a silver snuffbox out of the blue, brass-buttoned coat I was to know so well, took a pinch, and said, "You know my name, but I've forgotten yours. What is it?"

I told him again, calling him Capt. Burt.

"Right. You speak good Spanish."

I nodded.

"French, too. Quite a bit of French."

I answered him in French, saying that I did, but that no one was likely to take me for a Frenchman.

"You can navigate?"

"A little. I never said I was an expert."

"I want you, Chris. I've got three already, but I'd be glad to trade 'em for you. What would it take to get you to join?"

I tried to think whether there was anything.

"Your own ship? You'd be captain, reporting to me. I'd claim a captain's share of anything you took on your own, but the rest would be yours."

I shook my head. "It's stealing, Captain. Stealing and murder. I won't do it."

Burt sighed. "You're a gentleman, Chris, whether you know it or not. Give me your parole, and I'll cut those ropes. Givin' your parole means you won't try to get away, 'pon your honor."

I nodded. "Cut me loose, and I won't try to get away, I swear it to God."