Authors: Steve V Cypert
Gunner and Stephen watched as Admiral Flynn lunged toward Captain Garrison in his fall with his sword still extended. As Captain Garrison extended his cutlass in return, Admiral Flynn fell on the blade with his right shoulder. Unfortunately Captain Garrison was pierced directly through the heart.
Gunner ran to the quarterdeck and found Admiral Flynn face down, attempting to get up. But with only one leg and a wounded arm, it was near impossible. Gunner swiped the sword from Admiral Flynn. “Goodnight,” he said, as he clinched his fist and slammed it into Admiral Flynn’s face until he was no longer conscious. Gunner tied Admiral Flynn’s arms behind his back and a noose around his ankle. He then threw the other end of the rope over the closest yardarm and fixed it to a weighty barrel. He and Stephen heaved the barrel on to the gunwale. When Admiral Flynn opened his eyes, Gunner smiled and gave the barrel a quick shove. Speechless, his body was yanked upward. The yardarm was fractured slightly when he struck it, wedging his leg between it and the rope. Intense pressure from the rope weighed down by the barrel still hanging yards above the water, sliced through his naked skin. Gunner cut the rope, sending Admiral Flynn to the main deck, snapping his neck and killing him instantly.
Now losing the battle and without clear leadership, Admiral Flynn’s crew panicked as they dropped a few longboats into the water, straightway abandoning ship. Once they were clear of the ship, Captain Nokes, from aboard William’s Revenge, bombarded the Sentry with a few massive broadsides. Gunner took command of the Sentry and ordered his crew, “Ready the cannons and fire at will!”
Looking for more arms, Gunner busted through the captain’s chamber door. Surprisingly Dr. Rees had not abandoned ship and came out from a corner closet, without any hope of making it out alive. There was no time to react when Dr. Rees produced a small flintlock pistol and fired, tagging Gunner in the shoulder. It was just a scratch, but it bled profusely.
“I’m sorry,” said Dr. Rees, almost in tears. ‘I didn’t mean it.”
Gunner didn’t speak a word, but instead took Dr. Rees by the back of the neck and forced him face first through the closed door. “I’m a surgeon. Please don’t hurt me!” pleaded Dr. Rees, “I can help.”
“If this is how you
help
I don’t need it,” replied Gunner. “Now come with me.” Gunner threw Dr. Rees out into the middle of the main deck. “Tie him to the post,” he ordered. “Make it tight! I don’t want him to move a muscle.”
As the Rogue and the Crimson Reef squared off, the sound of grappling lines, complete with metal hooks, could be heard clanking against the gunwale and hull. As each man pulled mightily on his grappling line, grunting and groaning, the two ships came closer together. Soon they clashed port-to-port, creating large swells in the water below. Both frigates, being of equal size and height, required the men to jump across the small gap between ships to engage in hand-to-hand combat. Within minutes, both crews were intermingling violently.
Jumping from gunwale to gunwale, Black-Hearted raced toward Stirvin, who, in turn, charged back at Black-Hearted. The intensity of the adrenaline fueled moment caused each man to become blind to all else around them, plowing through the chaotic commotion in one seemingly fluid motion. Their reasons for battle this day were personal.
Coming to a stop within a few yards of one another, they stood face-to-face. Walking in circles as the battle about them raged on, they slowly approached one another with their blades extended. Their hearts swelled with rage, burning with an unmistakable hatred and everything around them became as silent as night.
Suddenly they erupted into a mad dash, shouting passionately in a vengeful burst of emotions. Only the two of them existed and only one was sure to come out alive, each feeling their cause was justified.
As Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted clashed in the center of the main deck, Gunner and his men had gained complete command over the Sentry and were unrelenting in their conflict with William’s Revenge. But Captain Nokes seemed to have the upper hand.
Scurvy staggered out of the bedchamber, persisting in taking command of Roger’s Jolly, which Red Jack promptly relinquished, struggling to gain advantage over William’s Revenge. The extra weight in taking on the Sentry’s abandoning crew gave William’s Revenge more drag and she could not sail with sufficient speed or agility for battle conditions.
As Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted continued to square off, their blades met overhead. With a grunting cry, both men pushed away vigorously against the other. Again and again they attacked with striking blows, blocking with skilled precision. With refined skill, Captain Stirvin stood proper in poise and position. While, on the other hand, Black-Hearted was inventive in his raw and unrefined talent. Neither man could penetrate the other’s boundary of defense nor indulge the other with the slightest chance to do so. The indignant hate was overwhelming and the will to win, all-consuming. Yelling louder, with more determination, the fight raged on.
Unexpectedly, a familiar voice penetrated the air, as Father Morgan flopped over the forward gunwale. Within feet of the Crimson Reef sat the Brier Sea, bow-to-bow, waving the white flag of neutrality about her mast. Yet a fair distance away from Black-Hearted and Captain Stirvin, Father Morgan greatly feared advancing through the throng of conflicting engagements. With such overwhelming anxiety brought on by the battle, Father Morgan could hardly speak, though he knew he must. “Stop this insanity,” he shouted, too quiet to be effective from such a distance.
Without a reaction from Captain Stirvin or Black-Hearted, Father Morgan looked back to his old disheveled crew wondering what else he might do. They simply smiled back for moral support as though nothing were wrong, nonchalantly encouraging him to confront the two angry and savagely engaged men. Father Morgan was petrified following decades without a single battle. But amid the violence demonstrated all around him, Father Morgan gathered whatever nerve he could muster and slowly advanced toward them. Being a sizeable fellow, it was near impossible for him to navigate through such a violent crowd.
“Your vengeance has made you blind!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, finally arriving before them. “You must listen to me!”
Still, there was no acknowledgement of his presence, as the slashing and dodging continued unrelentingly. Fed-up with the stubborn and prideful encounter, Father Morgan pulled out his sword and took a wild swipe between them to gain their attention. However, out of pure instinct, both Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted swung their swords outward to block the incoming strike.
“Father Morgan?” questioned Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted simultaneously, as they lifted their swords to continue in their struggle.
“Stop your fighting!” demanded Father Morgan. Determined to make them listen he took a second swipe between them, connecting with both of their swords as they met in the middle. “Listen to me! You must listen to me!”
A young naval officer and one of Black-Hearted’s men each misread Father Morgan’s attention-getting swipe as an attack upon their respective leaders. Both misled men then saw fit to aggressively confront Father Morgan from opposing sides. As they did so, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted blocked their corresponding assaults on the old priest, kicking them to the deck. Immediately reengaging one another, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted narrow-mindedly continued on with their skirmish. Rebounding from the defensive assault, both misled men once again attempted to kill Father Morgan, prompting the same consequence. And so it went on back and forth, while Father Morgan dodged, ducked and ran about like a chicken with its head cut off. Finally Black-Hearted and Captain Stirvin collaboratively took Father Morgan by his arms and swung him in between them and to the main mast on the other side. As Father Morgan was jerked away, the two misled men clumsily missed him, clanking their swords together and provoking a duel.
“Will you two please listen to me?” hollered Father Morgan. Closing his eyes in fear and faith, he stepped directly into their vengeful paths and stood stubbornly between them. Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted slightly gave in, tinkling their swords, tip to tip, over and around Father Morgan’s robust physique. “Will you stop and listen to me?”
Still trying to fight around Father Morgan like two bratty little children, Black-Hearted demanded to know, “How do you know this fiend?”
“
Davy
, how do I know you? I know Captain Stirvin by the exact same means. His birth name is
Joseph
and you know him well.”
Their hearts almost stopped as they temporarily lowered their weapons. “That is impossible,” said Captain Stirvin. “This man cannot be Davy!”
“This man can’t be Joseph!” said Black-Hearted in rebuttal. “That’s impossible!”
“I have heard many a story from you, Davy,” stated Father Morgan, as the two grown men recommenced in their childish taunting and teasing. “But the most relevant experience has left you both with a scare just as unique as the other.”
Discontinuing their obstinate behavior, as the battle going on all about them vanished to nothing. Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted begrudgingly revealed their once broken fingers. A glistening trifle of a tear formed in Captain Stirvin’s eye as he gave a small sigh.
“It doesn’t have to be like this!” said Father Morgan, as he pulled a familiar article from his pocket. “Do you recognize this?” he added, allowing the cross to dangle from the tattered twine it had long since been tied to.
Almost in unison, Captain Stirvin and Black-Hearted replied, “Charley’s cross.” Continuing on, Captain Stirvin stated, “He gave it to Davy before he died.”
“And I gave it to Father Morgan for Joseph to find,” confirmed Black-Hearted.
The next few seconds seemed like an eternity as they processed the information. Captain Stirvin’s heart just sank. “But how can this be?”
They couldn’t speak another word. However, Captain Stirvin pulled a tattered old rag from his inside vest pocket, which turned out to be the half piece that Davy had torn and given to him as an orphan in their heartfelt goodbye the day they were auctioned off. In turn, Black-Hearted reached into his own pocket and pulled out the other half. “I have never forgotten,” said Black-Hearted. Recognizing bitterly the outcome, he spoke the reality. “But how is this to end, but in death?”
They just stood there amid the conflict. Each silently wished to die, knowing the battle couldn’t simply end over such a reunion, meaningless to all others, including the Queen of England after so much had been placed at stake. Too many people had already died.
“You don’t have to do this,” reasoned Father Morgan.
Black-Hearted continued sadly, “I don’t understand. How has it come to this?”
Captain Stirvin replied in short, “I don’t know.”
Unable to withhold their sentiment, they each shed a tear, barely noticeable.
“I can’t do this,” said Black-Hearted, unwilling to raise his weapon. “It is too much to bear.”
“I am tied to a promise to bring you in. I dare not turn back now.”
“And neither dare I give in, Joseph. Too many count on my command.”
“Please Davy, don’t make me do this. I’ll it regret for the rest of my life. I promise to plead your case. I promise.”
“I cannot lead my men to certain death, Joseph.”
“This is not how this was supposed to be,” said Father Morgan. “God has much more in store. Do not throw this second chance away. I beg you!” But ignoring Father Morgan’s words, they felt there was no other choice.
“No matter what happens, that young boy I once knew will always be my brother!” said Captain Stirvin, as he unwillingly stretched his sword forth. “On your guard, Davy.”
“Aye, and no matter what comes,” replied Black-Hearted, taking a reluctant stance, “I promise to remember as well.”
With the tip of his own machete, Black-Hearted lightly touched the edge of Captain Stirvin’s sword. They circled each other continuously, yet reluctant to strike.
“This is foolishness!” shouted Father Morgan. “People are dying because you are unwilling to swallow your pride!”
Although they tried, their concentration was so corrupted by their emotional mind-set; they were not compelled to contend. Captain Stirvin took a deep breath, stepping forward with an unenthusiastic assault. Unconvincingly, he hollered and lashed out with a wild swing, giving Black-Hearted time to block the blow.
As a few bullets unexpectedly whistled by, Black-Hearted felt a funny sensation swelling in his lower back. His countenance turned almost theatrically sour. Dropping his weapon, he mumbled, “Looks as though you’ve done it. You’ve taken down Black-Hearted the Pirate.” With a melancholy smile, he chuckled, “At long last, you can have it your way.” Black-Hearted fell back against the post and slid slowly to the deck, leaving the mast stained with his blood.
Captain Stirvin didn’t know how to feel. “This is not my way,” he said. “This is anything but my way. I’d rather be sitting down there with you.”
“Well then,” Black-Hearted said, as he closed his eyes, “feel free to join me.” He felt relieved, as though a huge burden had been lifted.
“He’s down!” shouted an English sailor. “We have him! Hearted is down.” Soon the rest of Captain Stirvin’s crew took courage and, with greater force and zeal, began to repel the pirates back. But Captain Stirvin was the only officer without a smile on his face. As he stood over Black-Hearted with his blade at the ready, the Rogue quickly caught fire. Her sails thrashed about in the wind. With several more explosions, the Rogue was suddenly engulfed in flames. The crew was in chaos, running about in hysterics.
Directing a few men to escort Black-Hearted to the cells below, Captain Stirvin personally escorted Father Morgan to the Brier Sea, where Sterling and a few others joined in to help him across. Grudgingly, Father Morgan departed from the Crimson Reef, still determined and driven to come to a nobler resolve.