The Caribbean Sea
November 12, 1724 A.D.
The horizon smouldered with the dying light of the setting sun, a merchant ship; the Imperial Majesty, ploughed through the swells of the crashing Caribbean waves; her sails swollen with the salt-laden breeze, they stretched like the wings of a darkened bird; her wooden hull glimmered with an ominous sheen; a reflection of the unspeakable trade that transpired aboard her.
Edward Barnhill. a figure more spectre than man, he had carved a name out for himself; he was known across the high seas for his often bloody encounters, he had once been a loyal to the Crown during War of the Spanish Succession, he had bore witness to the horrors of enslavement firsthand; the memories of shackled souls haunted him.
He had become a pirate, not for plunder, but for the act of vengeance, he had made much effort in his goal to dismantle the system that fuelled the Atlantic Slave Trade; with his ship; Anne’s Pity, he had sworn to free the oppressed while striking fear into those who would profit from human suffering.
As dusk draped it’s shroud across the ocean, Barnhill’s sharp eyes caught sight of the Imperial Majesty as she bobbed rhythmically upon the waves, it’s hold full of Human cargo bound for a fate worse than death; the stench of despair clung to her sails.
Gripping the wheel, the coarse wood splintering beneath his calloused hands; Barnhill steered his ship; his heart pounded with the adrenaline, a sense of purpose “Prepare the hooks!” he bellowed, his voice a low growl that cut through the evening air
His crew, a ragtag band of misfits and renegades, moved with practised precision; their eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and exhilaration, they had all tasted the bitterness of loss and cruelty, and they too shared Barnhill’s fevered resolve.
Anne’s Pity glided towards the Imperial Majesty, her ominous shadow creeping upon her; the Imperial’s Majesty unaware of the approaching threat.
As they neared, Barnhill could hear the muffled cries; echoes of despair of the enslaved souls trapped below, he thought of their haunted eyes and broken spirits, he would be their only hope.
With a swift motion the Anne’s Pity came upon the Imperial Majesty, leaving them with no time to react; the grappling hooks slashing through the air like deadly harpoons, the crew stormed the deck swords glinting ominously as they clashed with the surprised crew of the Slave-Traders a cacophony of metal rang out, a brutal symphony of steel and shouts mingled with the cries of those imprisoned below.
“Below!” Barnhill shouted “To the hold” he ordered as he fought, parrying blows with a ferocity that startled even his own crew; they would carve their way through the ranks of the Slavers, their singular goal pushing them; to liberate the lost and forgotten
As they broke through the hold, the sight before them was a grim tableau; men, women and children; sallow and gaunt, they were crammed into the dark space, bound by chains that rattled like the echoes of their suffering, Barnhill felt his breath hitch in his throat, this was a face of horror, the embodiment of humanity’s darkest depths “Free them!” he ordered; his crew sprang to action, slicing through bounds and whispering words of comfort to those who had lost hope.
The shackles fell, clattering like bones to the floor and the captives stumbled forth, blinking into the light as the reborn.
The celebration would be short lived; the Imperial Majesty’s captain, a vile man named Samuel Crowe, emerged from the shadows, his eyes glinting with malice “You think you can take what is mine” he snarled, brandishing a pistol “This cargo is worth a fortune”
Barnhill moved forwards, fury igniting “These are not your possessions; they are human beings!”
Samuel responded with a cruel mocking laugh that only infuriated Barnhill further, lunging forwards, the fight would erupt anew; the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood, swords clashed and men fell, within this swirling chaos Barnhill and Crowe found themselves locked in a desperate struggle, a deadly ballet of violence, Crowe’ eyes blazed with hatred while Barnhill fought with a fire born determination.
Barnhill would disarm Samuel, sending the pistol skittering across the deck, with a quick movement forwards he pressed his sword towards Samuel’s throat, his eyes ablaze with unyielding resolve “You will be punished for your crimes” he declared, his voice low but lethal in delivery
Samuel’s eyes widened with fear, before Barnhill could deliver the final blow, the sound of cannon fire erupted from the Imperial Majesty; the ship began to tilt, flames licking at the wood as Samuel’s crew, realising the futility of their fight attempted an escape
“Get them to safety!” Barnhill shouted to his own crew, quickly they would gather the liberated souls, ushering them to Anne’s Pity as the Imperial Majesty burned, sinking as its structure crumbled.
As the as of the captives clambered aboard the Anne’s Pity, Barnhill glanced back to see Samuel amidst the flames, his screams swallowed by the roar of destruction.
Written By: Westley H.
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