The captain vanished overboard in a swell of blood and brine, clutching the last of the gold to his chest. Mutinous buccaneers seethed and cursed from bow to stern, damning the forsaken vessel and their treacherous commander.
Then came cannon thunder, gun-smoke, the scent of burnt powder. Her Majesty’s sailors navigated the privateer ship, engaging the pirates in high seas battle.
Below deck I remained, a slave, manacled and chained. Unable to fight, for friend or for foe, salvation would still find me. An explosion, and splintering wood, I found myself free. Emancipated, and sinking, down to Davy Jones’ locker.