The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,40

Blackthorne muttered, both mystified and amused. He closed his eyes and gave his head a sharp shake. “For all our renown, a pirate ship is first and foremost a ship, and must be run as such.”

“You’re saying there is no difference between this and…say, the Constancy?”

He wagged an admonishing finger. “Nay. We are a ship, but we run things considerable different. Captains are elected, as are quartermaster, bosun, and such.”

“I thought pirates were free spirits, freedom of the seas, where the wind blows and such.”

“Oh, aye, we’re that to be sure, but one must have rules. Otherwise, ’tis all ahoo, from the f’c’stlemen to the boomtricers, or from the bracemen to captain of the crosstrees. Foredeck crew wouldn’t know what the afterguard is up to. Gun crews would be firing all willy-nilly without a master…” A flutter of hands and rings flashing in the sunlight embellished the chaotic picture he painted. “Nay, a chain of command is necessary, which Morgan and Bartholomew discovered directly.”

“I’ve heard of them,” Cate said slowly, struggling to recall the details from the conversations overheard on the Constancy.

“Code of the Brethren. The Pirate’s Code. Code of the Coast. As I said, without rules there’s havoc, and in that they did abound. So, the two old walruses called a truce, sat down across from each other and wrote it out, a pistol in one hand and a bottle o’ rum in the other.”

“Rather civilized.”

He laughed grudgingly. “For an uncivilized lot, eh? Bear in mind, many of these men have lived under tyranny in the Royal Navy; they’ve seen the hell of the wrong person being the only one under God, and have assured it shan’t be suffered again. Matters of piracy—raids, ambushes, boardings and such—are a company decision. Piracy, however, requires stealth, and stealth requires a plan. The execution of said plan requires discipline on the part of everyone.”

“Other than electing the captain, what else does it include?”

“Bunch o’ things. You’ve heard most of it.”

She winced at recalling the induction of the Constancies overheard the day before. “I was distracted.” An understatement, to say the least; terrified was more the word.

Her excuse was met with skepticism, but Blackthorne didn’t press. “Each ship has its own terms; a man’s mark is his pledge to abide. I shipped on one what—other than the milk goat and a couple of chickens—no animals were allowed. The captain had a morbid fear of anything furred or feathered; thought they would suck the life from him as he slept.”

“And if they don’t abide?”

“On some ships, discipline is the quartermaster or bosun’s concern. As you just saw, we call a ship’s Company, the unfortunates meeting a court of their peers, and not the most forgiving lot they are.”

“Then where do the stories come from of the captain flogging and keelhauling?”

“Oh, aye, ’tis reserved for the merchants and Navy.” He chuckled dryly. “You’ll find no ropes, nor three sisters starting a man. Any pirate captain what orders such things on his own accord would stand a good chance of facing the same himself or worse.”

“There’s worse?”

“There’s no such thing as an ex-captain on board.” He paused, allowing the implications of that to sink in. “There’s but two choices: death or marooning.”

“Marooning?”

He nodded grimly, looking away. “Cast adrift or left on an island to die. In the spirit of human kindness, the soul is customarily given a water gourd and a pistol.” He held up a beringed index finger. “One shot.”

“One shot,” she echoed dully. Cate gulped at the implications of that: a slow death, suffering from heat, starvation, thirst, exposure, and loneliness, or use the pistol and end the misery. Mercy was provided, but by only one’s own hand. “You’ve…seen…this…?”

His mouth pressed in a grave line. “First hand.”

She braced against the binnacle. The move would have appeared to the idle bystander as a reaction to the pitching deck. The reality was her knees threatened to give way.

“What other rules are there?” she asked, desperate for a change of subject.

“In the Code or the Articles?”

“Articles, I suppose. I shouldn’t desire to inadvertently violate something.” Of greater importance, she thought, was the existence of rules regarding hostages.

Idly scratching an arm, he recited a list, many of what she had heard the day before. Most rules were based in common sense and efficiency. She found it difficult to concentrate on his words, distracted as she was at the sight of him handling his ship. With an unexpected pang of envy, she watched the long fingers skimming the wheel’s