When Waters Collide

Chapter 1: Margarete White

Sealife has never been for the weak. The ocean surrounds you for as far as the eye can see, the sun harshly glaring off its sharp waves, daring you to challenge it, to rip through its currents and pick your destination, before it eats you whole. Many choose this life for the freedom it brings, the feeling of soaring high like an albatross, choosing your destiny, not letting anyone or anything stand their way.

Others are forced into this life. Harshly ripped from their mothers breast, handed to another, being raised in suffering, pain, bruises. Transported to a “new word”, one where they mean nothing, and they are no one, just something to be used, and eventually thrown away.

I live in the between. Bastard daughter of a British Naval Officer, daughter of a slave. Not wanted by the New World, not fully accepted by those who will never be accepted. Yet, still I was sold.

The air tasted thick of salt, the wind harshly pushing itself through the wooden boards of the ship. Sunlight broke through the cracks, too high to reach, but the beams not small enough to reach for, to feel their warmth, to combat the crisp, damp air of the Atlantic.

My cell was small, custom made, as the ’tween decks weren’t typically dedicated to prisoners. Yet I was glad that I was on my own. I couldn’t imagine what life in the ship’s brig was like. Such a small room, for so many to live. Disease and death often grab hold of those located in the brig. If they didn’t get you, someone else would…

My life on The Perseverance was complex, some days I was left alone. No food, water, social interaction came my way for days. Starvation was a friend. But on the days I was needed to “complete my job” of servicing the men of the ship, I was “rewarded” with stale bread, and questionable water. But beggars can be choosers, especially, when you’re a slave, and you’re sold to the Captain. Then you literally cannot choose.

Even before life on the ocean, I was not treated well. The life of a West Indies slave, similar to life on the ocean, is not for the weak. The bruises were old friends, the beatings as normal as a mother’s hug, nothing about my treatment was questionable. Yet all of us knew it was wrong. But a mixed-slave woman could only go so far in this world, especially, when you’re not paid, and cannot buy your freedom. For who would risk their life for a slave’s?

I learned my head back against my cell, trying to ease some tension in my back. The caning I had gotten days earlier burned against my skin. I couldn’t count the amount of lashes I’d gotten, I doubt the Captain could either. His rage consumed him when I denied him what was his right, by payment. Punishments weren’t uncommon, but I tried to avoid them as often as I could.

I should’ve known better than to fight him, but I was done with this lifestyle, and no longer wished to be used and called upon when it best benefitted someone else. So I fought, I scratched, I bit, I kicked, hoping to prevent them from touching me again, from taking another part of me, but it failed. He got what he wanted, and he showed me what happens when people like me challenge him. I failed, and I wouldn’t soon forget it.

An audible sigh left my broken, chapped, bloodied lips. The pain wasn’t leaving any time soon, regardless of how much I’d shift my position. I could feel beads of blood dripping against my tanned complexion. The complexion that ostracized me from both communities which I belonged. Too dark to be white, but to white to be dark. A complication no one wanted to claim, so I was sold.

Closing my eyes I tried to get some sleep. I doubted that much would come, between the pain and the terrors that visited me, my mind couldn’t shut off. Above me, on the upper deck I could hear the men’s shuffling become faster paced. Either a storm was coming, or another ship was. It wouldn’t be my first pirate fight, but each time I noted how it could be my last. Through the open door I could see the crew, coming down to collect the gun powder they needed to prepare the cannons. A fight it was, a storm it was not. Regardless, both meant death, hopefully, this one would come quicker.

I guess the men of The Perseverance weren’t fast enough, because the first cannon blast that could be heard was the one that struck the ship. The wall adjacent to me was blown, a large, garish hole was the only remainder of what was once the wall to the cargo hold. Adrenaline quickly coursed through my body. The first blow often depicted who would win the fight, and it looked like this time, it wouldn’t be us.

Quickly scanning my cell I searched for something I could use for protection, but I came up short. Of course the men wouldn’t be foolish enough to leave a weapon with me, especially after I threatened their Captain. I brought my knees to my chest, my flaming hair framing my face, sheltering me from what’s to come. If death was knocking, I might as well let Him take me.

As the fighting became louder I could hear the men in the brig. Long, whooping, yelps. They were calling for their freedom, calling the invaders to let them free. Pirates often worked in exchange. Freedom from one often meant working for the other, but if you were unlucky, you’d often be met with the business end of a pistol.

Soon, their yells turned to screams. I guess this Captain wasn’t interested in new recruits. Maybe they’d kill me too? I was ready for the embrace of death, He’d followed me around for so long, might as well give him what was his. Yet, I don’t think I would be given such a gift. I was a woman. I had attributes that made me more valuable than the men in the brig.

Suddenly, the wooden door crashed open. A tall man, whose brown hair and beard were covered in sprays of blood, one can only assume came from the crew of The Perseverance walked into my cell. Terror spread through my body. I refused to move, eye contact would only make things worse, and my back was forbidding me from trying to protect myself any further. The man didn’t move, his silhouette was stuck in the frame that once held the door. I could feel his piercing gaze on my body, daring me to challenge him, to look up, and beg for my life like the others in the brig did. Their screams echoed in my mind. But unlike them, I wouldn’t be weak to death, I wouldn’t beg for life, I’d take it, take it with a smile.

He turned harshly, grabbed someone by the arm, fiercely stopping them in their path. His gruff voice spoke, “Get Ghost.”. The man he held by the arm simply nodded and ran off. This did little to calm my fear. Ghost, the name was familiar. The elusive pirate captain who hunted people for sport, his ship The Ghost Ship was famous for its speed and ability to evade capture from both the Naval army, and the mercenaries that hunted the Atlantic. Ghost… the man who’d introduce me to Death. How tragically poetic.

Minutes passed, yet it felt like hours, the thumping of my heart was all I could hear, echoing in my head, over and over again. I didn’t realize it, but when the man entered my cell, I pushed myself up against the wall. Upon this discovery I could feel the pain in my back ten-fold. What felt like hot, molten metal was being poured down my back, but in reality, it was blood. Pouring fast, and pooling underneath me. Humorously, I thought to myself, if Ghost didn’t get me, blood loss would.

More voices appeared by my door, they were hushed and quick. Clearly, they were discussing something, but what, I wasn’t too sure. As the conversation continued I could feel myself grow weary. Suddenly, I began to care less about the men, invading my space. My heartbeat grew louder, was it possible it sounded slower? I could catch a few words, transportation… Doc… captain… Nothing seemed as appealing as sleep’s siren song.

Movement caused me to open my eyes again. This time a new man had appeared in front of me, his piercing green eyes stared deeply into mine. His rosie lips moved, but I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, or the man who hadn’t moved from the doorframe. Either way, I doubted it mattered much, so I closed my eyes again. Clearly, that was the wrong reaction, because the next thing I knew, a rough, calloused hand was touching my face, causing me to harshly pull back, straining my injury once more. Shooting my eyes open, the stranger was talking again, but the pain was all-encompassing, and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I wanted his hand off my skin, space to let me breathe, peace in a moment before darkness.

Suddenly, I couldn’t feel the ground. Panic ripped through me once more, squirming, I tried to get out of the man’s grip, however, I was unsuccessful. Trying to tame my movements he held me tighter to him, causing my head to become flush with his chest. I had a clear view of the entire ship as we left. Holds littered the walls, and bodies littered the floors. Blood painted the empty areas, showing what had occurred on this momentous day. Instead of giving into the exhaustion, I kept my eyes open, wanting to see if any of my abusers experienced this tragic fate.

Grimacing as he climbed upwards to the daylight I tried to get my eyes quickly adjusted to the harsh sunlight. I hardly ever left my cell below deck, and it had been months since I’d seen the sunlight. A punishment from the Captain from a prior meeting when I hadn’t adequately satisfied him. I welcomed the heat of the sun and the humidity of the air. Maybe it was some kind of mercy he was providing me. A death beneath the blazing orb, one last moment to seek redemption above ground before meeting an old friend. But he didn’t stop, he kept walking towards the plank, his leather boots squeaking from the moisture that stained the wooden upper-deck.

But before he could complete his walk the man from before stopped him. “Ghost, wadda we doing with ’em?”, a gnarled finger pointed towards Captain and his first mate. Both were bloodied and bruised, their hands tied harshly with rope, bound by their stomachs. I could hear their shouts as they were begging for mercy. Turns out whether you’re in the brig, or if you steer the ship, when death comes, all act weak. Sighing audibly, the man, Ghost, passed me over to the original stranger. As he turned to walk away I noticed how his thick noire hair glistened with moisture, the blood of those he’s already slain.

“Lass,” the man’s chest rumbled as he spoke, “you may wanna turn yous head ’ere. While Ghost paints a pretty sight of us, it may be too much ’or yous.” I understood immediately what he meant. Ghost unsheathed a sword I hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. I dared not to turn my head. If my abusers got to meet death before I did, I’d gleefully watch. They should suffer as I did, to experience the Hell they put me through.

Ghost didn’t hesitate, the screams and begs meant nothing to him. Swiftly he slit each man’s throat, letting them fall into a pool of their own blood and tears. Turning again, he didn’t bother to clean off his blade before he placed it back in his sheath. Harshly grabbing me back from the unknown stranger, he continued his way back to The Ghost Ship, clearly he’d gotten everything he needed from The Perseverance.

Once situated back on his boat he turned before giving one last clear instruction to his men. “Sink it.”. The glint in his eye was that of pure malice. With that he turned and headed towards the captain’s chambers, and I finally answered sleep’s call, going limp in his arms, not realizing the bloody trail I was leaving with every step he took.

Hello Everyone, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of When Waters Collide. Lets continue this journey together! Leave me a like and drop a comment if you have any questions or you have predictions about the story.