Pirates of Atlantis

Pirates of Atlantis

Published by Mark Whitney at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Mark Whitney

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CHAPTER ONE

Captain, they’re striking their colors.

Vast firing! William Roberts shouted over the blast of musketry and the clash of steel on steel. He stood in the waist of a Spanish galleon, wreathed in acrid gun smoke, gripping a loaded pistol in his left hand and a bloodstained cutlass in his right. The terrified sailor cringing before him dropped his sword and backed away back with his hands held out from his body, palms open. He had a look of naked fear on his grimy face. Up on the quarterdeck, another Spaniard was hauling down the bullet-ripped white banner marked with a red Burgundy Cross that hung from his ship’s ruined mizzen rigging.

Cease fire, Roberts’ quartermaster roared, his bull-like voice cutting through the din.

Gunfire came to a ragged end as dense clouds of gray smoke slowly drifted away. All around the ship, Spanish sailors dropped their weapons to the deck and raised their hands in surrender. In the sudden silence, all that would be heard were the groans of the wounded and the creaking of the hull and rigging as the galleon wallowed drunkenly in the swells. Her fore and main masts had been shot away and floated off the port side, still snarled in the ruins of the their rigging. The battered mizzen mast loomed over the quarterdeck, but what remained of its rigging was a fouled mess. The lateen sail hanging from its long spar had been shot to ribbons. Only the small, Bonaventure mizzen mast, set farther aft, remained relatively unscathed, though its sail was also ripped and torn. The ship’s decks littered with fallen blocks and ropes, broken spars, and the bodies of her dead and wounded.

Roberts’ twenty-eight gun pirate ship, Tempest, was lashed to her victim’s starboard side in a death grip of grappling hooks and strong ropes. Her rakish bow sprit and jib boom thrust across the galleon’s main deck, forming the bridge that the brigands had swarmed across. The swift, black frigate had suffered very little damage in the battle and her partly furled sails hung loosely from their yards, ready to be cast free at a moment’s notice. Several pirates stood along her rails, aiming swivel guns at clusters of survivors huddling here and there on the galleon’s blood stained decks.

Roberts turned to his quartermaster. Mr. Providence, I’ll have the surviving hands in the fo’c’sle and the officers and sea artists up on the quarterdeck, if you please. Put Winters and Label in charge of interrogating the crew. We’ll deal with the rest of these blighters ourselves.

Aye, Captain, Providence replied. He looked around and spotted the two men he wanted. Tempest’s bosun and carpenter were standing guard over several Spaniards. Winters, he yelled, you and Frenchy get these popish buggers under the fo’c’sle and find a way to make ‘em talk.

Aye, a wiry buccaneer with long, blond hair called back. Come on, Label, he said, turning to the swarthy looking fellow with a thick, black beard who was standing near by. You heard Mr. Providence. Round ‘em up, sharp now!

"Oui, Label replied. You lot, he shouted at a group of buccaneers in his thickly accented English. Get yourselves over here."

Several pirates stopped whatever they were doing and joined in with Winters and Label. They were all heavily armed with pistols, cutlasses, daggers, and a even couple of blunderbusses. They quickly gathered up the surviving Spanish crewmen and herded them into the dark and stuffy fo’c’sle, up in the very bows of the galleon. The pirates paid scant heed to their captives protests as they shoved them through a narrow door set on the starboard side of the forward bulkhead. The Spaniards cowered in the gloom, their eyes glowing wide and white. Many of them were trembling in terror but a few glared angrily at their captors, as if some fight still remained in them. Label pulled the door shut behind himself as he pushed the last two prisoners into the small compartment. The air was stale and reeked of sweat and fear. The only light in the space was what little managed to filter in through a hatch grating set in the fo’c’sle deck above them. Thick beams crowded down from the overhead, making the darkened space feel even more claustrophobic.

Alright, you worm meat, Winters said, pointing his blunderbuss pistol at the nearest captive, what be the name of this here ship?

**********

Outside, Captain Roberts and Mr. Providence climbed a set of steeply inclined steps to the raised quarterdeck. They were followed by several well-armed brigands. The deck’s planks were ripped and torn by gunfire and the ship’s wheel had been smashed to kindling. One of the cannons mounted on the starboard side had taken a direct hit and lay next to its battered carriage. The gun had a large dent punched into its side and would likely never fire again. Several dismembered bodies lay scattered about and a wounded man was propped up against the port side gunnels with a bloody rag wrapped around his head. Five survivors stood in the middle of the destruction, three dressed in smoke and blood stained naval uniforms.

Who’s in command here? Roberts demanded.

"I am, Senior. I am Capitan Amilcar Benito Lopez Ramos, of His Most Catholic Majesty’s galleon, San Pedro. And you are?" Ramos looked Roberts up and down with an expression of utter contempt on his narrow, hawk-like face.

"Captain William Roberts, of the Tempest, Roberts replied in a polite manner as he gave a slight bow. And now that the pleasantries are completed, Capitan, let’s get down to business. Where were you bound and what cargo are you carrying?"

You’ll get nothing from me, Pirate, Ramos said sharply. He lifted his head and looked down his nose at Roberts and Providence, his dark eyes blazing. I do not treat with common scum.

Roberts gave a grim chuckle. "There’s nothing left for you to treat about, Senior. You struck your colors and now your ship is mine and you and your crew are my prisoners. So I am going to ask once again, politely, and for the last time, where were you bound, and what is your cargo?"

I have nothing to say.

We’ll see about that, Providence rumbled threateningly.

Ramos glanced at the quartermaster. He was a huge man with a dark complexion and shaved head. His eyes were coal black and a vivid scar ran from his right temple, and down along his jaw, almost to his chin. A gold ring hung from his left ear.

Roberts ignored the Spanish captain and turned his attention to the four remaining men. By the cut of their uniforms, two were junior lieutenants. He spied the body of the ship’s first lieutenant sprawled on the deck near the remains of the wheel. His head had been ripped off by a cannon ball and blood soaked the planks around him. The last two men were dressed in torn, sweat stained white shirts and black pants tucked into knee-high boots.

Do either of you speak English? Roberts asked. One of them nodded slowly. What’s your name? he demanded.

Hector Cristian Garza Pena, the man replied. I am, how you say…? the navigator. His English was so heavily accented that Roberts could barely understand him.

Who’s that standing next to you? Providence asked.

Pena rattled off a line of broken English mixed with a healthy portion of Spanish, but all that Roberts and Providence caught was something that sounded like purser.

This man is the purser? Roberts asked.

"Si."

Does he speak English? Providence demanded.

The navigator shook his head.

Captain Ramos suddenly started yelling angrily in Spanish and making threatening gestures at his men. They cowed under his harsh verbal assault and fell silent looking almost more terrified of him than of Roberts and his men.

Avast! Providence snarled. Keep yer stinkin’ word hold shut unless yer spoken to.

Ramos fell silent, but he glared at his men, his black eyes burning with fury. They shrank from him and looked down at the deck planks, shifting nervously from side to side.

Roberts turned to one of his crew. If that bastard breaths another word that isn’t in English, shoot him.

Aye, aye, Captain, the pirate replied. He leveled his musketoon at Ramos and thumbed the hammer back, its loud double click driving home Roberts’ point.

"Now, Senior Ramos, Roberts said, I’ll have an answer, or I’ll set my men loose on this ship and tear her apart."

Ramos fixed a steady gaze on Roberts. You picked a poor target, Pirate Roberts, he sneered. We are outbound from Madrid, loaded with mundane products for our colonies in New Spain. We have nothing but furniture, clothing, wine, cloth, and other sundry items that our colonists need. This is no treasure galleon loaded with gold and silver for the coffers of His Most Catholic Majesty.

Your cargo will sell just as well in Port Royal as it would have in Veracruz, Roberts countered. He glanced at one of his men. Hawke, take a party down below and see what this Don is carrying. If you find anyone hiding down there, haul them topside and hand ‘em over to Winters and Label. If they resist, kill them.

Aye, Captain, Hawke replied. He turned and headed down into the ship’s waist, where he quickly gathered several men. A minute later they disappeared down the main hatch.

Roberts turned and settled a cool gaze on Ramos. "If you are lying to me, Capitan, it will not go well for you. I detest a dishonest man."

That is a rather odd trait for a pirate, is it not? Ramos asked. He tried to appear aloof, but sweat trickled down from under his cocked hat and he seemed more than a little tense. Roberts pulled out his gold pocket watch and flipped it open, checked the time, then closed it and put it back into his coat.

Several minutes passed. They could hear Hawke and his men banging around down below. It was easy to track the party’s movement through the ship by the slamming of hatches and the rumble of overturned fixtures. Finally, the pirates came back on deck.

Looks like this princock’s telling it square, Captain, Hawke said. Didn’t see nothing down below but common junk.

Are you sure? Providence asked.

From what we saw, aye, Hawke replied. But I’m thinking there could be lots of places to hide valuables, if you know what I mean. We didn’t have time to poke into every cubby down below.

True enough, Providence said. These buggers had plenty of time to stash anything they wanted to keep secret while we was chasing after ‘em.

Roberts nodded and turned to Ramos. "Well, Senior? Did you hide anything valuable when you saw us closing on you?"

Most assuredly not, the captain huffed. I already told you, you picked a poor target.

We’ll see, Roberts said. He looked over at Hawke. Mr. Hawke, I’ll have a hatch grating up here; now, if you please.

Aye, aye, Captain, Hawke replied. He turned and led his men back down onto the main deck.

**********

In the stuffy confines of the fo’c’sle, Winters and Label stood facing several frightened sailors. More pirates pushed their way into the small compartment, forcing the Spaniards to crowd together in the center. They were packed in so tightly, some were beginning to find it hard to breath.

Anyone in this lot speak English? Winters demanded.

No one spoke word.

Well, I’m guessing that at least some of you understand what I’m saying well enough, Winters continued. I want to know what this ship is carrying and where it was going. I want to know if there’s any treasure aboard. And I’m willing to kill each and every one of you to find out. He saw a few faces blanch and guessed he knew well enough who he was getting through to. Pierre, he said, addressing Label. Remember that Don bastard from the last ship we caught?

Which one? Label asked. There have been so many.

The first one who talked.

"Oh, oui, Label said. Zee fellow we used zee slow match on. Oui, I remember him, poor fellow."

Winters turned back to his captives. We pulled that bugger’s boots off and tied his feet together. Then we wove a slow match between his toes and lit it. It burned three of them right off before we could understand a thing he said between his screams. In the end, he told us everything. Someone always does. It just takes time to find the first songbird in a crew. Being a brave bucko ain’t gonna change a thing, but it might get you killed, or worse. Now, you lot better be finding your tongues before I start hauling you out on deck, one by one, for the same treatment, Savvy?

We can tell you many worse things, Label added with an evil smile. Just give us time to think them up.

The sailors murmured among themselves, several shaking their heads. The consternation in their voices was plain to hear.

Belay that noise, one of the pirates shouted.

Bosun, you want me to shoot one of these gallows crows, just to make a point? another asked.

Aye, Winters replied. Pick one.

Please, no, someone said in halting English. "The capitan, he will kill us if we talk."

He can’t hurt you now, Winters countered. But, by the powers, we can.

"Senior, you do not understand, the man pleaded. Capitan Lopez Ramos, he is a very bad man. He treats us like dogs. He starves us. He keeps us on half rations. He flogs us for no reason. If we talk, he will find a way. He will kill us."

The others nodded their heads emphatically and muttered in agreement.

We can kill you just as easily, Label warned.

"Si, this is true, the sailor answered. But these men, they fear the capitan more… even more than you. They know what he will do to them if they talk."

Seems we’re at an impasse, Winters said.

A what? one of the pirates asked.

A dead end; a road block, Winters snapped back. Ain’t you got any learning at all?

Look here, Mr. Winters, the pirate growled, what learning you got ain’t helping us none now, is it?

Pierre, take that talkative swab out on the main deck, Winters ordered. He knows enough English to talk if he don’t want his guts cut out.

Label grabbed the hapless sailor and shoved him out onto the main deck, letting the door slam closed behind them. The man stood, blinking in the sun’s glare, half blinded after the darkness of the fo’c’sle. He was trembling as Label grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

You can talk now, no? Label asked. Your mates will not hear you.

The sailor looked confused. You… you are not going to cut out my guts?

No, Label replied with a devious glint in his black eye. Unless you want me to; or unless you do not talk. He pulled a dagger from his belt, letting the sailor get a good, long look at its razor-sharp blade.

Please, the sailor stammered. "Si. I talk. I talk. I tell you something. I tell you everything."

Scream a couple of times for me, Label said. Make a good show for your mates in there.

The Spaniard looked confused for a moment, then nodded. He threw his head back and gave out a bloodcurdling screech that made Label jump in spite of himself.

Inside the fo’c’sle the prisoners wailed and covered their ears in terror as Winters and the rest of the pirates broke out laughing.

**********

Hawke and three others pried the cover off a portion of the San Pedro’s main hatch and hauled it up onto the quarterdeck. They propped it up against the port side mizzen shrouds and tied it in place.

The color drained from the Spanish officers faces as they watched. They all knew what it meant; the only question was who was going to be tied to that grating and flogged.

Roberts looked them over carefully, letting their fear build. Take Mr. Purser there and lash him to the grating, he ordered after a minute. We’ll see if the cat can get anything out of him.

I must protest! Ramos exclaimed. The man does not speak English.

No, but you do, Roberts said. And so does your navigator. You will translate for him.

I will not.

Then you’ll be shot dead, Providence warned.

Pena and Ramos looked at each other. The navigator’s face was pale and stricken, but the captain glared at him, silently demanding that he keep his mouth shut.

Hawke and his men grabbed hold of the purser and dragged him, kicking, shouting, and pleading, over to the grating. They stretched out his arms and lashed his wrists in place, leaving his feet untied.

"Capitan Ramos, I’m at the end of my patience, Roberts said. I don’t believe for a minute that this ship is carrying nothing more than common freight."

"Believe what you want, Senior, Ramos snapped. I care not."

That is unfortunate, Roberts said. He turned to the other Spaniards standing on the quarterdeck. You, he said, pointing to one of the lieutenants. Come here. You’re going to flog this man until someone talks.

The dazed looking officer stepped forward as a pirate pressed a cat o’ nine tails into his hands. I… I cannot flog this man, he stammered.

Roberts pulled his pistol, aimed it at the officer’s head, and thumbed the hammer back. I believe you can.

"Capitan, wait," Label called from the main deck.

Roberts turned and looked down at the Frenchman. Label picked his way through the debris and bodies littering the deck and stopped at the foot of the steps. He motioned for Roberts and Providence to come down.

What is it, Mr. Label? Roberts asked as made his way down to the main deck.

"One of zee crew talked, Label said in a low voice. He told us that zee capitan of this ship is a brute who uses his men very badly. He says that this capitan is not an honest man. He has a stash of gold and silver coins somewhere in zee ship."

Saint’s blood, Providence swore. I knew it.

"Zee sailor says that this capitan is planning on jumping ship when they reach New Spain, Label continued. He says he plans to buy a house and set himself up as someone important. He thinks he has enough gold and silver to buy himself a place among zee wealthy and zee powerful. He has big dreams, this one does."

And just how does that darling know all that? Roberts demanded.

"This man, his name is Domingo, he was zee capitan’s servant, Label replied. He says that zee capitan bragged this to him when he had drank too much wine. Domingo hates his capitan for what he has done to him and zee crew. This is why he talked. He wants revenge for the way he has been treated."

Roberts rubbed his chin for a moment, then turned and climbed back up onto the quarterdeck. Mr. Hawke, cut the purser loose.

Aye, Captain, Hawke replied.

And put Captain Ramos in his place, Roberts ordered.

What? Ramos cried. You cannot….

Belay that noise, Providence snapped. You will remove your coat, Captain.

Ramos shrugged his heavy blue coat off his shoulders, letting it fall to the deck. He glared at Roberts as two men stepped forward and grabbed hold of him. He began to fight and struggle in their grasp as they hauled him over to the gratings, tied him up, and left him hanging by his wrists.

Roberts took the cat from the Spanish lieutenant and handed it to Providence. He stepped up beside Lopez Ramos and spoke into his ear, Have you ever been flogged, Ramos?

The captain swallowed hard, but set his jaw and refused to speak.

I’m guessing you’ve been rather free with the lash when it comes to your crew, haven’t you, Roberts continued. You know what it does to a man. Twelve lashes and your flesh looks like raw meat. Twenty-four and the white of your backbone shows through the blood and muscle. Three dozen can kill you. How many strokes do you order for your men? Has anyone died under the lash on your orders? Maybe after this, you’ll be a little less inclined to order floggings.

Sweat trickled down Ramos’ face and he licked his dry lips with a dry tongue.

Mr. Providence knows how to use a cat, Captain, Roberts pressed. I’m betting he’ll have bone showing in six lashes.

Ramos’ arms started to tremble and he screwed his eyes up tight.

Mr. Providence, you may proceed, Roberts ordered, stepping back out of the way.

How many strokes, Captain? Providence asked.

That depends on when Ramos starts talking.

Alright, Providence replied. He stepped up beside Ramos and drew his arm back, ready to strike.

No! Wait! Ramos cried out. I’ll tell you anything. Please, don’t hit me with that thing. Tears ran down his cheeks and his voice broke. I’ll tell you what you want to know!

And what is it I want to know? Roberts asked.

I have a strong box. It’s in a small compartment right aft, in the hold. It’s in a space below the deck. The planks can be lifted out. Gold and silver. It’s yours for the taking. Just let me go. It’s yours. Just let me go.

Roberts glanced up at Hawke.

On it, Captain, Hawke said. He turned and raced below.

If you’re lying again…, Roberts warned.

I’m not, Ramos sobbed. It’s there. Gold and silver. Enough to buy an estate and set yourself up for life. I was going to buy a plantation with it. It’s yours. Just don’t flog me.

And just where did you get your hands on that kind of coin? Roberts asked.

I made deals, Ramos sighed. I made promises. I carried cargos I should not have carried.

And you’re a liar and a thief as well? Roberts asked.

Ramos nodded, his chin sinking to his chest. "Si, he whispered. I stole much of it from merchants in Seville."

I thought as much, Roberts said. I told you I hate a dishonest man. He stepped over to stand beside Providence. A little more gold to go with the rest of our haul?

Seems that way, Providence replied. It’s been a right profitable voyage.

Roberts nodded. His ship and crew had been out for three months. In that time they had captured six Spanish ships and raided two towns on the Main. But he had lost several good men, including his navigator, who had died of a nasty fever caught ashore in a mosquito-infested swamp. His stores of powder and shot were running low, as was his supply of food and water. But Tempest’s hold was full of swag and his men were looking forward to returning to Port Royal to spend their shares.

We found it, Captain, Hawke called as he came back on deck. Two men followed behind him, lugging a small, iron box between them. Roberts and Providence could tell that it was very heavy for its size. The crewmen carried it up to the quarterdeck and set it down with a heavy thump. The box was sealed with a padlock, but a single shot from Hawke’s pistol blew it off and he threw the lid back. The box was filled with stacks of silver and gold coins.

Bless me soul, he gasped. Would you look at that.

"Start transferring their cargo to the Tempest, Roberts added. It’ll fetch a fair price in Port Royal."

**********

It took several hours to move everything of value from San Pedro into Tempest, even after forcing the surviving Spanish sailors to help. When the last of it had been struck below, Roberts and his men re-boarded the galleon. The sun was getting far into the west, casting long shadows across the decks.

Ramos was still lashed to the grating on the quarterdeck. He hung limply by his wrists with his head bowed so low his chin rested in his chest.

Cut him down, Roberts ordered, and assemble the prisoners.

Winters stepped up and cut the cords. Ramos collapsed onto the deck and lay there trembling, his face pale, and his hair wet with sweat. His wrists were bloody and raw from rope burns.

Providence and several pirates rounded up the Spanish sailors and had them stand in the ship’s waist, looking up at the quarterdeck. They huddled under the guns of several rough looking buccaneers. Roberts called the navigator over and said, Tell them what I say. Make sure they understand.

"Si," Pena replied.

Listen to me, Roberts called out to the sailors below him. Your captain has been relieved of his command. He waited as Pena repeated his words in Spanish. The men shifted around in their places, but remained cowed and silent. I am going to make you an offer, Roberts continued. Any man jack of you who wants a place in my crew can have it. Life in any pirate ship is far better than serving under a dog like Ramos, and life in our ship is even better yet. If you join in with us, you will be given a quarter share of our haul from this ship. Later, when you’ve signed our articles and been made members of our crew, you’ll be entitled to full shares of any plunder we take. What do you say? Who will join us in a life on the account?

Pena translated everything he said, word for word. The crew looked up at Roberts, obviously considering his offer, but no one moved or spoke.

I don’t have all day, Roberts pressed. Speak up now or loose your chance for riches, freedom, and adventure.

Four men stepped out of the ranks, followed a minute later by three more. One of them was Domingo, the servant who had given up Ramos’ gold.

Is that all? Roberts asked.

"Si," Pena said.

What’s the matter with them? Providence demanded. How can they stay loyal to that scupper lout, Ramos?

"Most of them still fear the capitan, Pena replied. They are afraid of what he will do to them if they join you. He will see them hanged."

That’s ridiculous, Roberts scoffed. Ramos is no threat to any man in my crew.

That is not all, Pena added. He struggled to find and say the right words. The rest… they are good Catholics. They will not sail with you.

Because we’re pirates? Providence asked.

Not only that, Pena replied. You are mostly protestants; heretics. They will not be damned along with you. Better to die now, as good Catholics, than burn in hell like you.

Roberts chuckled. It’s their choice, he said. You, however, are coming with us, whether you want to or not.

Pena’s eyes grew wide. What? Why?

Because my navigator is dead and I need a replacement. You’re a navigator. You’ll do.

But… but I…

Mr. Pena, you’re a pirate, like it or not, Providence said. He looked around and spotted Label standing on the main deck. "Frenchy, take this man over to the Tempest and make him feel at home. He’s coming with us."

"Oui," Label replied. He climbed up onto the quarterdeck and guided the stunned Pena away.

Now, as for the rest of you, Roberts said, addressing the men who remained loyal to Ramos, I hope some of you understand English. A couple of men nodded slowly. You’re going to take to your boats, Roberts continued. The Keys are away to the north and Cuba is off to the south. We’ll give you water and biscuits enough to make it.

You’re not taking my ship, Ramos growled from his place on the deck.

You’re right, Roberts said, turning to face the captain. I’m going to sink it. I don’t need it and I’ll damned sure not leaving it to you so that you can make a report to your authorities before we’ve gotten safe home.

I won’t let you take my ship, Ramos cried, staggering to his feet. "You’ve plundered my cargo. You took my gold. You’ve stolen my future and robbed me of my very dreams. You took my honor. You brought shame upon me in front of my men. You will not have my ship. You’ve taken everything else in the world from me!"

I let you live, Roberts countered, turning away. Be thankful for that.

No! Ramos cried. He leaped forward, knocking a pirate aside and snatching a dagger from the man’s belt. He hurled himself at Roberts’ back, blade raised high, his face twisted in rage.

Captain! Hawke shouted.

Roberts spun on the ball of his foot, whipping his pistol from his belt.