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PART IV
OCTOBER 9, 1780
ORANJESTAD, SINT EUSTATIUS
CARIBBEAN
ELLIOTT JERKED AWAKE at the pounding on his cabin door. “What?!” he groaned. It felt as though he had only been asleep for a few minutes.
“It’s Bull.”
“Aye, come.”
Elliott didn’t bother to open his eyes as the captain of the Black Demon walked into his cabin and stood over Elliott’s bunk. “There’s a hurricane coming.”
“I know,” he croaked.
“Let me elaborate,” Bull drawled. “Jack trained my navigator. Though she considers Li Chen still an apprentice, by everyone else’s standards, he’s a master. He says ’twill be worse than anything he has ever heard of. Some of the island natives agree.”
“You mean your vodoun woman agrees.”
“You trust your witch. I trust mine.”
Elliott heaved a sigh and mumbled, “Has he spoken with my navigator?”
“Your navigator refuses to converse with either a Chinaman or a Negro, which is why I am standing here rousting your lazy arse out of bed. Whether you heed me or not, we—Hollander and I—are leaving, and we’re taking as many islanders as we can.”
Elliott opened one eye and looked up at one of the partners he had acquired when he’d wed Celia and cast his lot in with the Americans.
“I am not lazy. I’m exhausted.”
“You will be dead do you not get out of the path of this storm.”
“Landfall?”
“Tomorrow.”
That would explain the utterly beautiful weather they had been enjoying whilst his men whored and gamed this past week away, which Elliott had spent purchasing goods willy nilly, scribbling lists and plans, and studying books on agriculture—so caught up in his vision he had worked two sunrises through.
“Noted. Where are you bound, then?”
“Venezuela for the nonce. We weigh anchor in four hours.”
“Many thanks,” he muttered, his eyes drifting closed yet again. “Have Yeardley wake me in an hour. Now begone.”
• • •
IT WAS THE ROUSING disagreement that awoke him not a half hour later. Still groggy, he nevertheless must get on with the business of getting his men, his ship, and everything he had purchased to supply the Continental Army out of harm’s way.
After pouring a pitcher of cold water over his head, he strode out of his cabin to see his lieutenant and his navigator nearly to fisticuffs.
Already at the end of his patience with the navigator, Elliott grasped him by the back of his neck and jerked him to. “Listen to me, old man,” he gritted in the gurgling man’s ear. “I hired you to point the way and prognosticate. If your pride is such you will not listen to one whose skill is superior, then you can find another berth. Do you ken?”
“Aye, I ken,” he snarled, “Lord Tavendish.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Elliott grumbled, pulling his pistol out of his breeches. The man never had a chance to show any fear before his brains were splattered all over the quarterdeck. With a resigned sigh, Elliott tossed the pistol aside and dragged the body to the rail to pitch it overboard.
“And a good morn to you, too, Cap’n,” Yeardley drawled, even as he barked at a seaman to clean up the mess Elliott had made.
Elliott grunted. “I am a bit out of sorts.”
He turned then and stopped abruptly at the sight of half of Oranjestad standing on the wharf, staring at him with mixed expressions of horror and fascination and glee. He grabbed the speaking trumpet.
“Those of you wishing asylum from the approaching storm will be borne to Venezuela to wait it out, then returned when it has abated. Gather your loved ones and possessions. You have five hours.”
They scattered.
With that, he bellowed, “All hands on deck!”
A third of his one-hundred-sixty-eight-man crew appeared on deck. The rest were in Oranjestad. All thirty-two women now amongst his crew were accounted for, as well. They were packed like sardines on the main deck, and he studied them.
The women did not know him nor, as far as he was aware, know his identity—and they were, to a one, terrified of him. He was sure he inspired no confidence now, soaked in blood as he was, but if they did know his identity, they now knew the consequences of letting it be known.
But there were very few men who did not know him, who had not sailed with him for fewer than ten years.
“Cookie,” Elliott began, “purchase whatever animals and foodstuffs you need—hire more cooks if necessary—to feed a full contingent. Quartermaster, purchase extra blankets and barrels of fresh water and rum.” The next half hour, Elliott wore his voice raw giving orders, attempting to think of everything in the small space of time Mother Nature had given them. “You women—stay aboard and prepare the decks for occupancy or otherwise go about your normal duties. The rest of you—go round up our mates and their women. Dismissed.”
“Do you want a new navigator?” Yeardley asked.
Elliott grunted. “Nay. I dare say I’m not quite as incompetent as the one whose brains adorn me.”
Yeardley laughed and headed off to make sure Elliott’s orders were carried out in an efficient manner.
As the day wore on, Elliott stood at his chart table with his instruments painstakingly charting their course and feeling the ship rock with the hurried loading of supplies, the running of feet. He heard the cries of frightened children, the squalls of hungry and tired infants, the soft weeping of women likely forced to leave behind their meager precious possessions that, did the storm hit, would not be there upon their return. There were jests and laughter, too, but the humor was forced.
BOOM!
He jumped and whirled at the sound of cannon and strode to his stern windows to see the faint flash of cannon fire far out into the Caribbean Sea. The Silver Shilling swayed and creaked with increased activity and shouts. Elliott fetched his spyglass and watched as four British men o’ war and two Dutch men o’ war battled.
“Goddammit,” Elliott whispered, even as he heard feet pounding toward his cabin door.
It slammed open.
“Cap’n,” gasped a breathless boy. “We ain’t finished loading people and supplies. Hollander and Bull are weighing anchor now and will engage the British. A French frigate was spotted rounding the corner of the island.”
“Aye,” Elliott muttered vaguely, still watching the battle raging nigh two miles out. “More British, mayhap?”
“Not that we can see. They want to take Sint Eustatius.”
“We must be under full sail before the British take the bay. Whoever and whatever is not on board in half an hour will be left behind. Once we’re past the British, we’ll let their arrogance and the storm battle for supremacy.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Elliott barely managed to batten his cabin down before bolting out to the quarterdeck. There were still men rowing to and from shore, but the glass had not yet run out. The last longboat left the wharf, his men rowing with a haste he had not seen before, just as the last of the sand fell through. The bell was rung and the glass turned.
“WEIGH ANCHOR! BATTLE STATIONS!”
If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!
I hate when Grumpy Boss does his Monday morning, stern-seat quarterdecking. As for the rivaling ladies, which witch will ditch the bitch? Fun setup, Mo.
I’ll also say this, I don’t wanna be a pirate! (Far too troublesome.)
I don’t want to be a pirate.
Water. Boats. Bad weather. Drowning. Small quarters. Bad food. Sodomy and the lash.
Not my idea of a good time.
And the smells. Saltwater and a lack of bathing.
Well… yeah. Rum’s good, though.
I like the salt air.
From the beach.
Yeah, so hindsight and all that.
AND
It’s totally a coincidence my pirates were in Sint Eustasius on October 9, 1780. Totally.
Totally. 😉
Ha! That’s crafty, Mo. Well done. Oct 10-16? That’s a long.. series of storms. Obviously brought to you by climate change caused by the North American slave trade and its effects on prevailing and trade winds.
It’s a shame Vice-Admiral Peter Parker lost the HMS Sandwich. I wonder if his woman made it.
You’d think his Spidey-Sense would have felt the hurricane coming.
I wanna go back in time to when SyFy was a legit network.
😒
I see “The Ark” is back. I caught some of S01. It was cheesy low-budget fun which I never expected to make it past that so I never followed up.
I was gonna ask which Sharknado was on tonight.
Completely agree. Bring back Farscape!
https://www.pennlive.com/entertainment/2026/09/cause-of-death-revealed-after-rock-singer-duncan-sheik-dies-at-56.html
That’s too young.
Apparently he was barely breathing.
*tasteless comment deleted*
I had no clue that “Spring Awakening” was his, I guess I didn’t read that Playbill very well
That’s sad. Way too young.
I got my next sub in. I wrote about my ’17 Kazakhstan trip in 2019(!!), and this is a much tighter re-tell of my 14-hour overnight trip on a Soviet train out of Astana. Gold-grilled Kazakh /Russian(?) who tried to rob me is featured.
Excited to see the oldest nephew run and finish in Lucas Oil. I’ve done everything I can with the work delay, so I won’t fret over it now.
Hope everyone has a great time at the Honey Fest. I anticipate much debauchery of the attractive attendees to be depicted. Failing said resources, I know Q can help a brotha out.
https://x.com/realdonaldtrump/status/2101101979808493780
Oh lord… cue endless outrage.
Probably a good idea, frankly. If cost-free and Denmark /Greenland is cool with it? Sure. I love the fucking pettiness on display when this was talked about earlier. ‘We woulda said yes if only he asked nicely! He wasn’t asking anything unusual! Just a big meanie!’
Trump: “BREAKING NEWS: I am pleased to announce that the United States of America has entered into an Agreement with The Kingdom of Denmark, and Greenland, that gives the United States permanent control over security, and all other needs, in Greenland, completely addressing ALL of our many U.S. concerns. There will be NO COST to the United States! At my direction, we worked with representatives of Denmark and Greenland to guarantee that the United States will FOREVER have the complete ability to do what is necessary in Greenland in order to secure and defend the security of Greenland, and the United States of America.”
Fuck and double fuck. Cue up additional welfare, “educations”, health care, and probably SS payouts. OMB can be a special kind stupid chasing yuge ideas like laser pointer dots by a cat.
“NO COST”
BULLSHIT
https://tile.loc.gov/storage-services/master/pnp/cph/3b40000/3b48000/3b48900/3b48925u.tif
https://tile.loc.gov/storage-services/service/pnp/ppmsca/25400/25453v.jpg
https://x.com/axeman4ty/status/2101156250952122421
😂
Still impressive
https://youtu.be/fHxO0UdpoxM
The cognitive difference is fun, and can you blame anybody who doesn’t believe a word the county is saying?
You know, they’ve successfully used those pneumatic pressure tubes to count vehciles passing my particular locations for decades. No reason to switch to creepy techno-surveillence to get usage numbers.
Makes me think the spokesperson is lying about the data being collected, even if it’s by a company other than the most famous privacy invader on the block.
(Social media is a different block, etc, etc)
Central time is terrible. The clocks here claim it’s only 4:21 AM, when it is clearly after 5am.
What is the AI limb in the photo accompanying the article?
The complainants aren’t named in the article, and dollars to donuts the “Republican” is someone the Democrats got to change affiliation for the lawsuit.
That’s just an ill-fitting jacket.
So you have a book titled “THE LAW”?
You don’t?
He who breaks The Law shall be punished!
I don’t have an extremely long thumb or thin wrist either.
Neither does the hand in the Picture Ted. Pull up the sleeve to the base of the thumb and see where it is wrapped around the spine of the book by the fingers behind the book and it’s anatomically correct.
You can argue that it’s AI, but it’s not the sort of jank you’ve become sensitive to. It could also be a prop book on an old stock photo.