Lowlands Away
Welcome to the sixth episode of my free serial adventure! This is the very last episode of this season. If you don’t wish to receive these weekly (though this is it for season one!) you can choose to only receive monthly updates in your subscription settings. Thanks, friends!
Thank you so much for coming along for season one. I appreciate all of you and want to send out a special thanks to those who’ve said such kind things. Season two is halfway drafted. I’ll continue working on it in between my novels and of course, I’ll let you know in my regular newsletter when season two will be published. Also…there may be audio versions!
I dreamed a dream the other night,
Lowlands, Lowlands, away, my John.
My love she came dressed all in white,
Lowlands away
The shantyman was alive, though faint, when they hauled him aboard the Dawnswyr on a stretcher and two men carried him down to the surgery, one of the larger cabins temporarily set up for the doctor to work.
On deck, Captain Morris narrated their successful recovery of another tablet. Then, Mr. Weaver retold the events of the marooning.
Captain Morris peered at the little islet through the low evening light as if he saw the villain basking in the darkness his evil deed cast over the crew.
Morris spoke as if in a reverie. “May your works repay you in full. May Jack’s life be saved in lieu of yours. And may this isle ever be a land where evil men rest in peace. An isle to hoard death away from the rest of the world.”
“We’ll weigh anchor in the morning to give the doctor time to finish up with Jack.” The Captain said as if he hadn’t just pronounced such a beautiful curse on the dot of land before them. The place has been an Isle of the Dead ever since.
“Aye, Sir,” Weaver answered.
During the night watch, Weaver checked on Gruffyd who was filling fire buckets.
“Your ribs must be feeling alright.”
“Just a little sore, sir. Nothing I can’t–”
Weaver turned to see what arrested Gruffyd’s attention. Jack Hudson hobbled up the steep steps from below.
“What’re you doing outta yer berth?”
“The bullet lodged in me collarbone. He plucked it right out and cleaned me up good. I’m mighty sore. But the doc said I could come up for some fresh air if I promised to recline like a nobleman.” Jack chuckled, but piercing pain from shoulder to neck cut it short.
“Well, please…” Mr. Weaver motioned to a spot on the weatherdeck where Jack could lean against the hull.
As they helped him set, Mac Gruffyd thanked him most ardently. Surely either Mac or Clement would have died without his quick action.
“Of course, young Gruffyd. I only did as many would do for any shipmate, but especially…” His words trailed off as he realized he truly felt the weightiness of Morris’s mission in the depths of his heart. It’s why he’d thrown himself at Mac when, in all likelihood, the bullet was heading for Clement at the tiller.
The shantyman in him knew better than all his reasoning against Morris’ claim. To do some good, great or small, in the world was the ultimate purpose. What would he not give to stop evil men, if they truly conspired with the fallen to consume, ruin and replace man?
Clement Weaver shook his head, indicating that Hudson shouldn’t go on.
Gruffyd leaned over and gently laid a hand on Hudson’s good shoulder. He seemed like he would continue his thanks but something over the hull caught his gaze. His eyes widened.
“Sail ho!” Gruffyd yelled. “Sail to starboard!”
The bosun piped all hands, but it wasn’t necessary. It was as if a switch flipped and the energy on board immediately roused every man above and below into action. Even those with very little knowledge of their full mission knew that no other ships would be in this part of the world unless the Dawnswyr was their aim.
“Run out the guns! All hands prepare to fire!” Mr. Weaver, Mr. Rhys and the gunner shouted orders that seemed to work almost as much magic as Jack’s music.
“What’s she flying?” Captain Morris hollered to a sailor aloft with a glass.
“I can’t see what's on it, but it’s definitely black.”
“Guns?”
Despite the scurrying madness aboard, the air felt painfully silent as the officers aboard waited for the answer.
“Sixty-four.” The sailor’s first attempt to answer stuck in his throat. They had no chance. “SIXTY-FOUR!”
“Heaven help us.” Mr. Weaver said, ceasing to prepare for battle.
The Captain moved to his first and second mate. Leave the guns. Prepare to be boarded. If they’re not well-manned, maybe we can take them that way. They’ll never blow this ship to bits if they can take her instead. If things aren’t looking good, I’ll surrender in hopes of saving as many lives as possible.” He placed his hands solemnly on their shoulders and then turned forward. “Jack, can you make it below with me?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Gruffyd! Get below and haul Hudson’s duffle to my quarters. Be sure to get his fiddle!”
The three met in the captain's cabin where the ruler of the Dawnswyr emptied his trunk with all the seriousness of a man abdicating his throne. He placed the newly found tablet with the other two under the false bottom. Then, he dumped the contents of Jack’s woolen sack into his sea chest and added a letter.
“This is a letter to my wife. If you get a chance to get it to her. She’ll be either in Barbados or the colonies. Mac, shove my things in there.” Captain Morris pointed to Jack’s duffel.
“Aye, sir.” The young man obeyed but questions filled his face.
“Jack, he doesn’t know much more than the tablets.”
“You mean he doesn’t know–”
“It’s safest that way!” Morris interrupted.
Mac stopped and examined their faces for answers.
“Look son, you musn’t go trying to be hero this time.”
“Sir, I’ve only ever done what I felt bound by honor to do.” Mac replied with an offended air.
“I know that, my boy.”
Jack found amusement amidst the intensity of the moment that the Captain called Gruffyd by the same patronizing term he’d lectured Jack for.
“But now honor binds you to stay alive. More than likely the officers of this ship will not live to see the morning. The crew have varying levels of intelligence regarding the purpose of our voyage. But none before the mast know the whole plan. Except Jack.”
Jack felt guilty for knowing more about Mac’s destiny than the young man did.
“There’s a chance we can still get the tablets and Mac back home if you can remain inconspicuous. If not, there’s still the one in Northumberland. One is better than none. Mac, you’re going to keep you and Jack alive at all costs, do you hear me? Even at the cost of the lives of your shipmates.”
The captain held Mac’s gaze, awaiting confirmation. But the scrambling on deck reminded them all there wasn’t much time to think about it. Mac nodded solemnly, accepting the difficult charge and Morris continued.
“You’ll need to carry this sea chest for Jack. From here on, it’s his sea chest. Unless by some miracle from God we take their 64-gunner home with us.”
Captain Morris opened the trunk and dropped a sack of gold inside.
“Let’s hope they leave it alone after they find the gold and attribute the weight to that.”
“Shantyman, you must know some prayer for such a time.”
“Aye,” the shantyman searched the depths of his memory. “Let’s pray St. Mark’s for strength and let God determine our fates.”
“O mightiest King…” The three men recited the ancient prayer together. The power of the rhythmic petition surrounded them. It was a shanty of its own kind and filled them with courage like wind in a billowing sail.
“….send forth Thy invisible right hand, which is full of blessing, and bless us all.
Pity us, O Lord, and strengthen us by Thy divine power.
Take away from us the sinful and wicked influence of carnal desire.
Let the light shine into our souls, and dispel the surrounding darkness.
Unite us to the all-blessed assembly that is well-pleasing unto Thee; for through Thee and with Thee, all praise, honor, power, adoration, and thanksgiving are due unto the Father and the Holy Spirit, now, henceforth, and for evermore. Amen.”
“Take that trunk away from my cabin, but stow it somewhere handy. If they take you into their crew, they may let you grab your sea chests. Or they may let you stay on the Dawnswyr. Wherever you end up, don’t trust anyone who wasn’t in that dingy with you this morning.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Hudson and Gruffyd answered in unison.
“The likelihood of everything working together is very small. But I told you to take a gamble on me, Hudson. And I’m going to ask you to take another with Mac.”
“With honor, sir.”
“Now, on deck with us. To our fates.”
With nods and deep breaths, they exited the captain's cabin. Hudson, though he would have loved to have served his crew, knew he would only be in the way. He tucked himself in a corner of the deck. Mac stationed himself strategically nearby. Captain Morris climbed onto the poop deck where Weaver updated him on the situation at hand.
The ship was the La Belle Recompense, known by Captain Burn’s black flag with a crossed white rose and dagger and a flame hovering above them. The gun deck revealed the barrels of cannons that dwarfed their own pounders. The pirates fired a massive gun, likely a sixty-eight-pounder from their top deck, to ensure the Dawnswyr’s crew knew they could decimate her.
“Run up the white flag.” Captain Morris commanded. “There’s no need to sink a beautiful ship like this. Fate may yet have a better future for her than piracy.”
The white flag raised and the crew somber, they waited to see what the boarding party would look like. On the small chance that the crew consisted of the minimum required to sail such a ship, they were prepared to fight and perhaps overtake the goliath. Jack, like most on board, pushed thoughts for his own life aside and focused on his ship and crew.
The seconds took an eternity to pass, and yet the thoughts of the men flashed like lightning. They Strategized, prepared, or just worked themselves up for whatever was about to pass.
Nothing could prepare them, however, for thirteen twenty-four pound guns and fourteen twelve pound guns firing as they bore on the Dawnswyrs broadside. Few of the little crew remaining below survived the ambush. After making one pass, the Recompense turned around to make another.
“He’s mad! I’d hand him the helm!” Captain Morris cried.
“Perhaps it’s not the ship he’s after.” Weaver answered.
The two men looked to Gruffyd, then to Jack.
“Prepare to launch every boat we have. Even if we could man the guns again to fight back, one more pass and we’re sunk.”
The Recompense didn’t just make one more pass. She made two. The Dawnswyr was dismasted, and very nearly carved into pieces. Of the crew that survived the cannon fire, about half fit on the boats with supplies.
There is no refiner’s fire that reveals the mettle of a man like the moment when he has to choose whether he will vie for his place in a lifeboat or give his place willingly to another. There were many brave and generous men who would have willingly given up his seat. Because of this very sense of honor, Captain Morris demanded they go with Mac and Jack to help their cause in any way they could. Every man who looked overly eager to save himself, Captain Morris claimed for his own crew. In minutes, Hudson, Gruffyd and those assigned to the boats were off.
Captain Morris thought he might attempt to repair the Dawnswyr or else go down with her and the rest of the men ashore. There was a small chance of success. And no one could cling to a slim hope like the Captain of a ship at sea. It’s one of the traits that separated them from the rest and occasionally earned a captain the reputation of a madman who took unnecessary risks. Risk and hope are essentially the same thing; only the result determines which label the storytellers assign.
When the ship took canonfire, Captain Morris told himself the men could float to Van Diemen’s Island on the wreckage. As things turned from bad to worse, he constantly searched for a silver lining. Until finally, the Recompense anchored alongside the Dawnswyr and Captain Burn boarded. He was slightly short and very stocky, but had a commanding presence. Morris thought nothing of the mass of wavy, light brown hair tied back or the cocked hat that covered most of the pirate’s face. Until he spoke.
“Sack the cabins. Quickly before this heap sinks.” The voice was gruff and powerful. But it was also clearly feminine; Captain Burn was a woman. “And take these men aboard. Shoot anyone who resists.”
Even when Captain Morris found himself staring down the barrel of Captain Burn’s pistol, her ragged pirates sneering at him, he thought how grateful he was that at least Jack and Mac had gotten away with a few good men.
But as if the devil had read his mind, Captain Burn tilted her head casually to the side to gaze over Morris’s shoulder. Her ice-blue eyes flashed with malicious glee.
“Don’t worry. We’ll catch them too. And when we lash your body to the foremast so your enemies can see your rotting carcass and pay their fees, your crew will know who is the Empress of the Seas. And she who rules the sea, rules the world.”
“You can kill me. And you can kill my crew. But you’ll never stop us because there is no way to catch light. The sun will rise every morning and mercy with it. There is no trap that can restrain goodness. There is no abuse that will suffocate honor; you will only refine it.”
“Then consider it a mercy you won’t live to see what I do to your crew to prove you wrong.”
Captain Burn pulled the trigger. Blood streamed down the bridge of Morris’ nose and then down his cheek like a tear. He fell to the deck, dead.
Captain Burn returned to her ship while her crew scavenged the Dawnswyr for loot and crew. Two pirates dragged Morris’ body to the Recompense and dropped it on the weather deck. The Recompense’s crew stood fidgeting with excitement awaiting Burn’s orders.
“After them.”
