The Noble Pirates by Rima Jean

though I were, indeed, a lad, and smiled at me. The smile, however, left little doubt as to what he thought I was – and that most certainly wasn’t a lad. I was the one to blush this time, for a change.
    I did as I was told, sitting on the deck of the small sloop with some others of England’s crew. I wouldn’t pop a nausea pill yet – I had ten of them, so I needed to use them wisely. So long as I could see land, I was good. I wrapped myself in a wool blanket, watching the sun set and the sails of the Royal Navy frigate shimmer against a pink sky.
    “She’s turned into the wind and dropped anchor, just inside the harbor,” a voice said beside me. Tim was one of the young pirates I had saved with the quinine, and it was not an exaggeration to say that he worshipped me. He was lithe, tow-headed, and looked so much younger than his seventeen years. Whether he had been pressed into piracy or gone willingly, I didn’t know; he seemed so happy to be alive after suffering from “the ague” that little else mattered to him. Now, he sat cross-legged next to me, nursing a bottle of what smelled like rum. He offered some to me, and I shook my head.
    “What is Vane planning?” I asked.
    Tim shrugged and grinned. “To get piss drunk, for one,” he replied, taking a swig from his bottle. “And to welcome that whore-son Rogers proper.”
    “So he intends to fight?”
    “I don’t know. Rogers’ come early. Vane’s trying to figure a way to get the Ranger out of the harbor, but he don’t see how. I think he’s trying to buy some time, figure a way out.”
    I bit my lip. “The Ranger ’s big. Can’t she take that frigate?”
    “Mayhaps, she could,” Tim replied, squinting into the setting sun and gesturing with his hand. “But not with those ten-gun sloops-o-war and that twenty-gun ship guarding her.”
    I turned, squinting in the direction of the Royal Navy frigate. I saw them now, the heavily armed sloops and ship anchored just in front of the frigate. The butterflies in my stomach batted their wings furiously, and I swallowed. This was going to get ugly. I looked nervously at Tim. “He won’t be able to get that ship out. He’s trapped.”
    Tim nodded. “Aye, by the looks of it.” Then he grinned again, clearly tipsy. “Are you sure you’ll not have some rum?”
    I considered. These pirates might be on to something. I accepted the bottle and drank as Tim hummed a tune. I handed the bottle back to him and was about to speak when an explosion deafened me. I covered my head with my arms and then looked in the direction of the Ranger ’s stern cannon, which was enveloped in thick smoke. It fired twice more, and I braced myself for the Royal Navy ships to answer, but they never did.
    “Rogers raised the white flag of truce,” Tim told me after asking around. We sat together with some others of the crew, most of them excited and buzzed. Every pirate predicted Vane would tell Rogers to eat shit, and after what seemed like an eternity, we found we’d been right: Rogers sent a messenger to inquire as to why the pirates were being so hostile when Rogers brought a Royal pardon for them all. Vane replied that “he would use his utmost endeavor to burn them and all the vessels in the harbor” unless he could keep the Ranger and his loot.
    The pirates hooted and cheered, making obscene gestures and shouting curses at the Royal Navy ships in the distance. I cowered, wondering if we were all going to get blown to hell. Almost immediately, the men were called to the Ranger to begin unloading the ship, all but its cannons. I was left alone on the deck of the sloop, watching the lit lanterns of the various ships bob with the movement of the sea in the darkness, wondering what Vane was planning to do. I felt my eyelids droop in spite of everything, and I dozed for a while, my head lolling to the side.
    I was awakened suddenly, aware that we were moving. The sloop was quietly making its way behind Potters Cay to drop