An error in log keeping, uncharacteristic of the navigator, raises questions about his chronology. According to some of his notes, brewfest is fast approaching, which is the fall festival but this volume of his journals begin in planting, or early spring. In this entry he reverts back to a fall date. It is speculated that he was using pseudo-chronology to disguise the timing of events should his logs fall into enemy hands much the same way we know now that Sodorburgh Grove (fictitious name) is in fact the Kaska’s Penn Orchard, currently the site of the Karl Steelborne library and youth gymnasium.
Moonday, 24th Harvester
The morning crept up on me; I awoke to a calm silence refreshed and at peace, a world away from any worldly concerns. I looked out the window to see the land wrapped in a soft blanket of wispy fog. The sky was clear and bright, a soft muted blue that portended the Storm Lords eye upon me, the fog he sent to conceal me from danger. I unpacked my blue cloak as my coat was in shambles and began to carefully transfer my few magic ingredients remaining to my shirt pockets. I fastened the cloak with extra care using the scrimshawed trident cloak pin he made for me, I prayed for his soul in the care of the sea now and gave thanks to the Storm Lord for his blessings and guidance before unpacking my books to study this morning.
I decided to take a short constitutional and find something to eat first. I was becoming aware of the smell of sausages and bread baking. I fastened the captured sword to my waist and cut a line through the fog, to the far end of the farm and there I sat to enjoy my pipe. The smoke mingled with the fog, and the two became one as lovers embraced on the eve of battle.
The fog began to recede and to the north the vision returned.
I stood at the helm, listening to the calls from the bowsprit, 6 fathoms the boys called, then 5 and 4. We limped through the fog badly damaged by a storm the night before. He came up beside me wished me a happy birthday casually and began to scan the horizon with his glass. Three fathoms was sounded and it was time then to stop and weigh anchor the sailing master advised. He would not hear of it. He quipped “Mr. Greely, there are two kinds of sailors I know, those who have run aground and those who have lied” everyone chuckled. He had a way of breaking the tension no matter the circumstances; you could see how he had risen to the rank of captain in Keoland’s Navy so quickly with no family title or land.
The fog suddenly fell away, cut by his wit along with the tension. And then we saw her, there on her side and beached the pirate ship Guillotine and the prize she took the sloop Swallow at anchor. The captain put the men to quarters and the marines formed up on deck dazzling in their full dress blood red uniforms with the Lion rampant in black on their chests. The battle Ensign was run up and the long boats were put over the rail; the captain would lead the assault leaving me in command. His lieutenant balked and was ordered to take command of the second boat load of marines.
I ordered more sail – we had to close before they could see us and prepare to repulse our landing. The captain smiled approvingly of my insanely bold move and ducked into his cabin to retrieve his hat and cutlass. He emerged with a tiny wooden box and pressed it into my hand telling me that he would return shortly to see me open it and not to peak until then. The ship surged forward catching more wind "5 fathoms" came the call – we were over the sandbar – into the natural harbor the pirates used as a hide out. Fortune smiled upon us again. I watched them all board their boats, you never would have know that last night, just a few hours ago they were disabled; green with sea sickness in the hold below praying for death to escape the agony of the storm.
I ordered a turn to launch the first boats in our lee and to bleed off speed, the boat was reported away and I brought her back over on herself. I have never known a ship to respond as she did; the Seraphim had come about almost before I could catch her, she tugged at her reigns and charged headlong as if sensing the battle and thirsting for action. The second boat was away in our lee and the captain and his marines were already making good progress to the beach. I made for the Swallow, meaning to board her with the four marines left me and ships company to take her back.
I watched my captain through my own glass from the quarterdeck leaving the wheel in the hands of Bosun Allen who was a better sailor than I and he deftly brought us alongside the sloop. We grappled her and I led the assault – there was no one aboard her save two pirates drunk on rum. They were taken into custody and I found what remained of the ship’s crew and passengers on the mess decks. The captain’s daughter had survived (it not uncommon for captains to bring family with them occasionally) but was in a terrible state. Her testimony would later doom the pirates to the most gruesome means of execution I have ever witnessed…
“Huuzah!” went the call from my men “the ship is ours!” I cried out only then realizing I had made the boarding without a weapon, holding only my spyglass so I raised it and repeated the cheer while my men raised their swords “Huuzah!” That was the proudest moment of my life.
Back on deck we detailed men to crew Swallow, Bosun Allen would handle Seraphim and I would command Swallow, a ship more to my liking in being a smart, small, compliant vessel. We raised her anchor and made for the channel where we would remain on station awaiting the captain’s return. I searched the beach with my glass to find him.
The marines were making quick work of the pirates. Weeks in pursuit having to endure rough winter seas and squalls that punished them in the hold with no outlet for their frustration had made them animals. They tore through the foe and poured onto the decks of the beached Guillotine. I caught a glimpse of him as he went over the rail – as was his way he went first and I watched him fall. He was caught with a harpoon in the neck and fell back over the rail into his marines. I dropped my glass into the sea and suddenly wept with a shudder.
My captain! My friend. I could not see very well thereafter what had happened but I know the pirates must have fought like cornered animals having heard the marines shouting “the killed the skipper!” and the lieutenant’s orders “TAKE NO MORE PRISONERS LADS” before he too fell to an archer in the crow’s nest I was later told. I could watch no more I ordered a signal to Allen in Seraphim “I assume command, take the beach” and pointed Swallow at the shore meaning to make landing and see if he could be saved.
It would not be. Only a handful of prisoners survived the trip home. I kept the logs as midshipman Redding, noting that I was in command but not taking the title of captain, I was midshipman commanding only. When we returned to the pier at home, it was still winter, cold and lonely.
I resigned my post and bartered with the owners of Swallow for passage home to Dyvers to rejoin my father and never wore a uniform again. Father was disappointed I know but happy to see me alive too. When I returned home I found that little box in my bridge coat and the cloak pin inside with the last known writings of my captain, a private note that I kept in my coat until last night when my own blood ruined it.
I remember this today because it is the first time I can recall waking and wearing a sword since then, curiously the last time I can remember wearing a weapon. I can’t recall where it got to in the afternoon – why it wasn’t on me when I went aboard Swallow... My glass remains there near the sea barons in the bay. There too we buried my captain.
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