Owned by the Ocean (9 page)

Brant tossed
and turned, true to his prediction, and drifted in and out of
sleep. Any sleep he managed to get was full of nightmares, dreams
of LaFleur bleeding out on the deck, dreams of him begging Brant to
step forward and speak up on his behalf, to fight for him, to show
his loyalty.

Brant hadn’t
slept well since the night of the mutiny. He’d been haunted by
dreams and guilt. He knew LaFleur wasn’t speaking to him from
beyond the grave, blaming him for not speaking up, but he still
felt the guilt weighing down on him.

He’d been
voluntarily taking the second watch every night, usually tired
enough by the end to catch a few hours of sleep before the day
began. Today was different though. Perhaps it was the rising
discontent among the crew that had the air electrified and
dangerous—keeping Brant’s mind too busy to consider sleep.

He rolled out
of his bunk a half hour early and pulled on his boots, walking up
on deck. Curly was seated by the mast smoking, giving Brant a nod
but not bothering to approach. Brant gave a nod back, and took the
stairs to the upper deck where he found Karl, standing and staring
at their wake.

Without a word
Brant started lowering the rope to measure how many knots they were
traveling at. He did this three times a day; once first thing in
the morning, once mid-day, and once in the evening.

“
Curly approached me this morning,” said Brant.

Karl nodded.
“Things are deteriorating fast.”

“
We won’t make it to the island.”

Karl shook his
head.

“
I think we need to move, soon.”

Karl nodded.
He didn’t seem to have many words this morning; he was somber, deep
in thought. But Brant wished he would offer some kind of advice,
the next step in their plan, because he was feeling a little lost
and alone right now.

“
Mayhaps we should just let things play out and find a new
billet next port,” offered Karl. It wasn’t what Brant wanted to
hear.

Brant wanted
to yell at the man, scream at him that he was giving up, that
LaFleur had charged them with making sure his ship kept sailing
strong and proud, but he didn’t. Maybe a part of him had been
expecting Karl to back down. He wasn’t young anymore; he didn’t
have the energy for politics and intrigue.

“
You do what you feel is right,” said Brant, finished
measuring the knots. The rope lay coiled neatly at his feet, and he
turned away to go make note of the time and speed in the ship’s
log.

Brant’s ship’s
log was different from the captain’s, and he kept it below deck in
a small desk with his tools. When he went down to make his notes,
the sleeping quarters were slowly stirring to life as men were
getting up, stretching and pulling on their breeches and boots, but
the good natured joking that should have been happening among the
more lively bunch was missing. The crew was quiet, somber,
reflective of Karl’s own disposition, but there was a hum of danger
in the air; like the rising humidity just before a storm.

Fine, if Karl
wasn’t going to give him guidance, if he wasn’t going to fulfill
LaFleur’s dying wish, then Brant would have to take matters into
his own hands. He filled in his log, then strode over to his bunk,
grabbing his brace of pistols off his hook and strapping them on.
He knew men were staring at him, but he didn’t care. He drew one of
his pistols, checked that it was loaded, and ran up on deck.

Bursting into
the captain’s cabin without so much as a knock, he was met with the
sight of Jacob still asleep in bed.

It seemed
fitting, that Brant drag this supplanter from his bed like he had
done to the rightful captain.

Jacob slowly
stirred, and looked at Brant in confusion. “What is the meaning of
this?”

Brant said
nothing, strode forward and grabbed the man by his shirt and
forcefully yanked him from bed. He was deaf to Jacob’s shouts of
protests as he pulled him from the cabin and onto the deck, where a
group of men had already gathered around.

“
Prepare a boat,” growled Brant to Curly, who was the closest.
The man nodded, eyes wide.

“
What are you doing? You can’t do this! I’m your captain!”
shouted Jacob, but Brant ignored him.

“
Listen up!” shouted Brant, calling attention from the angry
captain he had clutched in his free hand. “A few weeks ago you all
rose up against your rightful captain and allowed this man to kill
him in cold blood.

“
You had it good. LaFleur looked after us; always made sure we
had food in our bellies and gold in our coffers. But that wasn’t
enough for you. You ungrateful dogs wanted more, and you got this
man.

“
The ship has fallen apart quickly since he took over. I hear
your whispers. I feel the discontent. You men would turn so quickly
on a man
you
set
in place? That
you
chose? Fine. You can’t make up your mind, you would rather
whisper treason and mutiny until it exploded in more blood, blood
that still stains this deck from the deaths of our mates and
captain? Then I will act for you.”

Brant paused
in his speech, looking around the faces of the men around him and
seeing shock unanimously registered in everyone’s eyes.

“
You all disgust me. You would see this ship torn apart on the
reefs rather than sailing strong like she has for years. I can’t
allow that. I promised LaFleur I’d keep her sailing strong and
proud, and I intend to do that.

“
I won’t kill this man you named
captain,”
he spit out the title,
dragging Jacob to the boat that was now extended beside the ship’s
rail, ready to be lowered. He pushed Jacob forward and pointed his
pistol at him. “Climb in,” he ground out through gritted
teeth.

Jacob was pale
and climbed in without a word. His protests had grown silent during
Brant’s speech, and fear was in his eyes.

“
Someone collect his breeches and boots!”

Moments later
a pair of breeches and boots joined Jacob in the small rowboat.

“
Collect some water and food.”

Brant held his
gun steadily on the man, waiting for someone to bring what he had
commanded. It didn’t take long for a barrel of water to be rolled
up and tossed into the boat as well as a sack of various foods.

“
Lower the boat,” commanded Brant, his voice losing some of
its anger.

Slowly the
boat was lowered into the water below and Brant watched as the man
who had killed his captain was sent away without even the slightest
hint of protest from any member of the crew, even his mates.

Once Brant
heard the tell-tale splosh of the boat hitting water, he holstered
his pistol and then unbuckled the brace, holding it for everyone to
see before tossing it over the rail to land in the boat with
Jacob.

“
I’ve done your dirty work for you to save this ship, but his
blood, if he doesn’t survive is on your heads. Jacob is paying for
his sins of mutiny against LaFleur, but don’t any one of you forget
that you all put him in that position and you are all to blame.
Your malcontent and selfishness is to blame.”

The crew was
silent for a while, and then murmurs began to rise up. “Who be
captain now?” seemed to be the resounding question.

“
We vote,” said Karl, walking down from the upper deck where
he had stood back through it all.

Brant looked
at his friend, and the most respected man on this ship. “Karl is
right. No more blood will be shed because of leadership. Today, we
continue on the course set. You talk amongst yourselves and at
dinner we will nominate men for captain, then the crew will
vote.”

Nods of
approval rippled through the crowd.

“
Why wait for dinner?” shouted a crew member. “I nominate
Brant.”

Brant held up
his hand and shook his head in protest. “No, it is only fair that
we take time to think of nominations and then vote.”

Ripples of
Brant’s name went through the crowd until it was picked up by the
entire crew. Brant’s heart pounded. He didn’t want this, he hadn’t
prepared for this. He had intended to nominate Karl, a much better
choice for captain than himself. He was too young and
inexperienced. But he couldn’t deny the thrill that was coursing
through him; the idea that the crew wanted him as captain. His
fingers were touching what he’d always wanted and all he had to do
was grasp it and it would be his.

A hand rested
on Brant’s shoulder and he turned to see Karl at his side. He held
up his other hand and slowly the crew quieted. “If it is unanimous
that Brant Foxton be captain, then so be it, otherwise we take
nominations and vote at dinner,” shouted Karl, gaining everyone’s
attention.

The men all
nodded and said their approval.

“
Those who want Brant as captain, raise yer hand,” said
Karl.

Brant watched, his breath caught in his throat as slowly arms
were raised. He looked around at each man in the crowd. Everyone’s
hands were held high. Brant looked to his right, where Karl stood
with his hand still rested on Brant’s shoulder, his other arm held
high in the sky. There was no mistaking it; it was unanimous. He
was captain of the
BlackFox.

Brant looked
nervously at the approaching ship. They had made port briefly after
he had been elected captain—just long enough to stock up and empty
their hold. Since then they had been out to sea for a month. Brant
had taken this time to establish himself in his new role as captain
and had passed by most ships without even considering a raid. The
men seemed understanding, allowing their new leader to learn the
ropes, but they were starting to get restless and Karl had urged
him that now was the time to make a raid.

“
Run up the colors!” Brant called.

A cheer
erupted from the men and feet stomped in approval.

The crew had
given Brant respect, and seemed happy to help when he had
questions, but he could tell they were beginning to doubt he had
the metal to be captain. Waiting an entire month to raid a ship was
pushing it, and he knew it.

Brant called
Karl over and nervously clutched the railing. “Karl, I need you to
lead this raid. Casper isn’t ready to man the helm during a raid.”
What he really meant was he wasn’t ready to lead his men into
battle.

“
You just do what you must and let me worry about the
rest.”

Brant nodded,
relieved that he could stand back at a position he was more
comfortable at while Karl led the charge. Walking towards the
wheel, he snapped his fingers and motioned Casper over.

“
You aren’t ready for this yet, Casper. You go take part in
the raid.”

“
Yessir.”

“
Casper.”

“
Yes?”

“
We’ve both had positions put upon us that we weren’t ready
for, but you’re doing well and you’ll make a fine Sailing
Master.”

“
Thank you, Cap’n.”

Casper left
the helm and Brant took over. He would need all his strength and
concentration to navigate his ship through the raid—his ship; it
was only just beginning to sink in that this was his ship, he was
captain, and Brant found a smile inching up his lips.

Karl shouted
orders while Brant carefully steered his ship towards the other
one, circling it and lining it up for a volley from the cannons. It
was French by appearance and it looked like they were going to
stand and fight instead of try to outrun them.

The guns were
rolled out and Brant shuddered in anticipation. He loved the sound
of the first cannon blast breaking the still that seemed to come
over both crews just before a battle.

And then it came. The shouts of “Fire!” were screamed from
both ships and the loud booms thundered through the air. Brant
laughed and kept the
BlackFox
in line with the opposing ship, bracing himself
for the impact of the heavy iron balls. As the ships drew closer
and closer together Brant could see the enemy ship beginning the
flounder. Karl gave the orders to board and then all hell broke
loose. There was shouting and shooting and the clanging of metal on
metal all mixed with screams of death. Brant itched to join in but
his job was to control the ship. He missed the rush that came with
the chaos of a raid.

From where Brant was at the helm the whole thing seemed to go
by quickly. Every once in a while he had to pull out his sword and
fight off a sailor who had jumped over to the
BlackFox
but it wasn’t very often
and he made quick work of it.

Karl came up
to Brant when it was all over and they dropped anchor while they
took care of the ship, cleaning up and making any quick patches
they needed to before sailing away.

“
Should we give them quarter, sir?”

“
Yes. There is no need to spill unnecessary blood. The ship is
floundering anyway. Someone will hopefully come to aid them but
they won’t be going anywhere in a hurry. Relieve them of their
valuables and we’ll be on our way.”

Karl nodded
and went to give instructions to the crew. Brant walked one of the
planks that spanned the distance between the two ships and
approached the prisoners that had been clustered in a group.

“
Who’s the captain?”

A man stepped
forward and Brant sized him up; a typical French man who enjoyed
frivolity a little too much. “We will leave you and your men alive
and with enough provisions for you to either make a port or get
help.”