Within the Tempest
Author’s Note:
I wrote this story back in 2013 for a college class. Though I’ve done some light editing for clarity/grammar/etc., I wanted to keep it as close it its original form as possible. If I’m remembering correctly, the prompt required that the story take place in a different time than our own. Though I’ve written books since then and grown tremendously as a writer, I’m still proud of this pirate legend. Who knows—maybe someday I’ll continue the story of these characters’ journey to the Uncharted Isles…
“Within the Tempest”
The Captain
Legend looked favorably upon Captain Oliver Douglass. He had sailed to the New World as a merchant, where the British Empire hired him as a privateer to sabotage Spanish trade routes. He was an honorable man, offended by the term “pirate.” He would kill when the job required it of him, but all in all he thought of himself as civilized. Though England praised his heroics, any sensible ship would shudder at crossing his vindictive vessel at sea.
On a small island in the Caribbean, He and his top crew members stood on shore preparing for their next voyage. The ship swayed, anchored and docked not fifty feet away, and the midmorning bustle of the bayside village proceeded, unassuming and undisturbed.
“We will depart in an hour for the Uncharted Isles.”
“Captain, I must object,” said the First Mate. His facial hair was so bushy, one could say the beard did the talking.
“Last I checked, you are not the Captain. We’ve been through this before. The orders come straight from the crown. Untold riches await us; let us not lose focus.”
“Every man who sets course for the Uncharted Isles disappears to never be seen again. They are uncharted for a reason. Storms surround them, guarding the gateways of the sea. Captain Douglass, men who cannot resist can never return.”
The Captain glared at him. “Then we will take the plunder with no competition. We will be the first.”
“I saw the orders. We are not required to do this. This is suicide. Why can’t we continue our present business? Why risk everything?”
“We would be in good standing with the Queen. Besides, with the victory over the Spanish Armada, our job is of significantly less priority than before. They want us to establish contact and begin the process of starting a new trade route. Anything we find for the taking is ours! We’d be foolish not to go.”
“Think about your wife.”
The Captain often thought about his wife. As much as he loved her, and hated leaving her behind, the drawing of the sea always prevailed. Sailing was in his blood, and could not be denied.
After a pause, Douglass shouted, “Don’t talk to me about my wife!”
“I cannot go on this journey. It goes against all good conscience. I will even look after your wife, if you wa–”
“Nice try!” yelled Captain Douglass, as he drew his broadsword. Pointing it at his first mate, he continued, “You will not go near my wife, you hear! Stop complaining, or else!”
“Or else what? Can a man not live? This voyage will be the end of you!”
Zachary, a scrawny crew member, spoke up: “What are you doing? You disrespect the Captain, you disrespect us all!”
“Why do you always undermine my authority?” asked the Captain.
The First Mate sighed. “I’m tired of almost dying, Captain. We should’ve never let you act as both Captain and Quartermaster. You’ve let the power get to your head!”
“If you say it that way, let’s settle this the old fashioned way. Like men. That is, if you truly are tired of almost dying.”
At the Captain’s challenge, the First Mate drew his sword. Less than a minute into the duel, the weapon slipped from the First Mate’s hands, landing fifteen feet away.
“You wouldn’t kill an unarmed man, would you?” he said, raising his trembling hands to surrender.
“I would never. Here, take my sword.”
The First mate was puzzled by the offer, but still took it from his Captain’s hands.
“Go ahead,” said the Captain. “If you can lead this ship better than me, kill me and take my place.”
He still quaked, now pointing the sword at his foe.
The Captain turned and spoke, “Zachary, would you like to be First Mate? I think we have an opening.”
“It would be an honor, sir,” replied Zachary.
The First Mate slowly raised the sword above his head, preparing to strike. “Sorry, Captain,” he said, while moving the sword to an angle to slash his superior.
“So be it.” In one motion, the Captain withdrew his small four-inch knife from his coat pocket and sent it sailing into the chest of his opponent.
The First Mate dropped the sword and fell to the ground dead.
The Captain spoke as he retrieved his weapons. “Come with me Zachary. You start today.”
Zachary smiled, while the rest of the crew still stood in shock.
They began to walk towards the ship, when the Captain saw a young man, staring wide-eyed. He obviously watched the whole thing. He appeared to be a beggar, no older than eighteen.
“Hey, you!” yelled the Captain at the beggar. “Would you like to be my Cabin Boy? Normally I don’t hire Cabin Boys, but we are a little short handed.”
Trembling, he answered, “It would be an honor, Captain Douglass, sir. What would my job be?”
“Swab the poop deck thrice daily, and whatever chores I feel like giving you. Don’t worry; you will have your share of the treasure.”
The Cabin Boy smiled, and the ship departed within the hour.
The Cabin Boy
About three days into what was said to be a week-long journey, the Cabin Boy stared at the stars, taking in the breeze, breathing in the cool night air. His name was Lionel, but nobody called him that. To the rest of the crew, he was “Cabin Boy.” Most Cabin Boys in those days were far younger than Lionel, but he did not care what they called him. Every time he looked into the stars, he silently prayed. Minutes ago, he finished cleaning the poop deck, and was free for the rest of the night.
Peering over the starboard side, he could see the moon reflecting off the ocean. Both of Lionel’s parents had died years ago; his mother perished from disease, his father at the hands of a Spanish pirate. He could still hear the words of his mother. Trust in Him, Lionel. The one who made all things made you.
Though he smiled, a momentary pain echoed in his stomach at her haunting memory.
Then there was Mildred. He only talked to her on seven occasions, which Lionel counted. And she smiled each time. Yet seven is such a small number, when scattered across three years. Could a beggar like him find love? Marriage costed far too much money for a poor orphan like Lionel. Yet, even though he had not seen Mildred in ten months, for she moved to another island, being on the ship of the famed Oliver Douglass somehow gave him hope that his fortunes would turn. He was simply in the right place at the right time. He may have been low on the totem pole, but he still had a share of the coming riches.
He stood alone on the main deck, while the rest of the crew, a tight-knit brotherhood of sorts, drank and talked down below. Lionel glanced again at the stars—less were visible than in previous nights, for there were many dark clouds. At least the moon’s out from behind the clouds.
A black mass seemed to mark their destination; they were sailing directly into a storm. It did not seem wise to Lionel, but he dared not question the Captain. As he stood there, he felt the bitter pains of loneliness creeping into the hollows of his soul. His mother had warned against such feelings. “God is everywhere; let Him fill all,” she had told him. In her dying breath, she said, “Let His star be your guide in the shadows of life. . . even the darkest seas must be sailed by all men. . . who care. . . to end in light.”
The same pain of grief pierced him from his thoughts. He could see the flashes of lightning from the distant storm. Light drops of rain occasionally touched him, a reminder of the coming tempest. As Lionel turned around, intent on going to sleep, the sound of splashing disturbed his routine.
Fifty feet away from the ship, in the direction of the storm, the moonlight illuminated a woman in the water, struggling to stay alive. Faintly he heard her cry for help. Lionel slid below the deck in a scurry, and shouted the situation to the rest of the crew. The crew went each to their respective sailing positions, awaiting orders from the Captain.
Lionel returned to the edge of the ship, and pointed out the woman’s location.
The Captain approached him. “What’s the meaning of this, Cabin Boy?”
“Look! She’s in trouble!” Lionel exclaimed. “We have to help her!”
“We don’t have to do anything,” The captain barked.
Captain Douglass got out his spyglass, and looked at the girl. For a second, Lionel saw a smile on the Captain’s face, before returning to his normal, hard demeanor. He said, barely audible, “It might be wise to pick her up. She might know something about the Uncharted Isles.”
First Mate Zachary emerged from below deck. “What orders, Captain?”
“Get the lifeboat!”
“Where do we keep the lifeboat again?”
“You don’t know where the lifeboat is? What kind of First Mate are you, anyways? Fine! Man the helm! I’ll get it myself.”
Lionel looked out at the woman. She still struggled, but he knew she would not have much time left. In a moment of bravery, the Cabin Boy leapt overboard.
“Cabin Booyyyyyy!!!” the Captain screamed, as Lionel hit the water.
The water was ice, yet the Cabin Boy barely felt it. The ocean waves made swimming difficult, but he pressed through regardless. He arrived at the girl as she was sinking far below. Lionel dove down deep, reaching for her outstretched arms. She grabbed them and shoved him down, using him to reach the surface for another breath. His lungs burned within, longing for air. They both struggled and splashed for what felt like an eternity. He instinctively breathed in the chilly salt water. Both he and she flailed and choked, when hands from nowhere pulled them into a lifeboat. After catching his breath, Lionel looked up to see the Captain and other crew members rowing the lifeboat back to the ship.
“I’m glad you could make it,” said the Cabin Boy, smiling and shivering.
“Try that again, and I’ll leave you behind!” snarled Captain Douglass. The Captain put on his gentleman face as the woman stopped coughing, shivered, and faced the crew.
“Are you okay?” asked Lionel.
“Did. . . did you save me?” she asked. Only now did Lionel notice her beautiful shiny silver dress, form fitting and soaking wet.
“Yes,” the Captain answered quickly.
“I’m cold,” she said. She leaned against the Captain.
“We don’t have any vacant quarters,” said Douglass, “but I’ll make sure we can accommodate.” Lionel rolled his eyes at the Captain’s tender voice.
She smiled, and Lionel noticed her bright red lips. Her eyes were light green, and intoxicating. He was drawn deeply into her eyes. Even as she leaned against the Captain for warmth, Lionel was powerless to break her gaze. Is she looking at me? he wondered.
“What is your name?” the mysterious woman asked.
“Lionel. What is yo–”
“Pay him no mind,” said Captain Douglass. “He is only the Cabin Boy.”
She smiled at him, as if she approved of him, regardless of position.
“My name is Alana.” Her sweet grin began with Lionel, before peering up at the strong Captain.
He said, “I am Captain Douglass, but you may call me Oliver.”
As he spoke, the boat arrived at the ship, and they were hoisted aboard.
She appeared relieved to be on the ship. “It was nice to meet you, Lionel.”
“Cabin Boy!” yelled the Captain.
“Yes?”
“Swab the poop deck!”
“But I–”
“Now.”
The Captain walked away with Alana, and the rain began to fall. Lionel could hear thunderings, and knew the storm would be upon them soon.
The Captain
Oliver Douglass swore he had never seen a woman so beautiful as Alana. He knew not where she came from, but, deep down, he did not care. After all, his wife would never know. He led her below deck and gave her some food, as well as wine from his personal collection.
“Have you ever been to the Uncharted Isles?” he asked her.
“Yes, I was there before getting lost in the storm.”
“Really? What’s it like?”
She thought for a second. “Well, for starters, it is the most breathtaking scenery you will ever see.”
“Breathtaking indeed,” he whispered.
“There are some Indian tribes, but all are peaceful. They have no use for precious metals, but prefer to live more simple, rustic lifestyles.”
“Fascinating.”
She continued. “Very few make it to the Isles, and those who do rarely want to leave. A lot of shipwrecks wash up onshore. But the valiant men survive. Some, almost as valiant as you.” She smiled again.
“I’ve been thinking. . .”
“What is it, Oliver?”
“You deserve better than the quarters we have to provide. Our best crew bunks would never do for a girl like you.”
“Well, I’m sure I could manage. I can sleep wherever you want me to.”
The eyes drew him in ever deeper.
“Excellent! Well, I mean, I was just going to say: I might have some extra room in the Captain’s Quarters.”
She beamed brighter, an ear to ear smile. “That’s a perfect idea.”
What about your wife. . . his mind echoed. Alana, however, captivated his being. For a while, he said nothing. He took in the scene; her flawless form and captivating countenance made his heart fly.
They talked for a while longer, and the Captain noticed the ship rocking more than usual. He could also hear the rain and thunder above. The crew will take care of it, he thought. I need to be hospitable, after all.
After another hour of laughing and enjoying each other’s company, Oliver said, “Would you like to see my quarters?”
“I would be delighted,” she said. Her smile somehow was bigger than before.
To get to the Captain’s Quarters, they had to go through a door above deck near the back of the ship. Oliver and Alana ran through the rain to the door. He willfully ignored the storm raging around him, as well as his crew struggling to keep the ship afloat and on course. The winds were strong enough to knock them down, but they both arrived in his quarters rather quickly.
“Just when I got dry, I’m wet again,” said Alana. Even at that moment of complaint, she radiated an attitude of joy and content. The candles were already lit in the Captain’s room, as he commanded the First Mate to. She ran her hands over his bed. “This is so comfy.”
Captain Douglass walked towards the bed from the doorway, and took his cloak off.
She backed away from the bed. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m still too wet! I” She stopped, then walked up to him. “You are so hospitable. This is perfect.”
“You are perfect,” he said.
She slid her hands to his shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed his lips.
He kissed her back, only longer. Her arms wrapped around his body.
She stood on her toes and whispered in his ear, “Never let me go.” As Alana let her feet flatten, she kissed his face multiple times on her way down.
He caressed the part of her back the dress did not cover. Oliver leaned down and kissed her lips once more. As he pulled his head away, their lips did not separate. Their lips were stuck together, quite literally. She acted like everything was normal. For a second, he was scared, but Captain Oliver liked this position. It was uncharted territory, and horrifyingly romantic. She massaged his back some more and pressed her body against his. Their lips still would not part.
Then, on his back, he felt her fingers stretching, lengthening. Her fingers became flexible and slimy, as if tentacles replaced her digits. His heart beat faster. He never felt so terrified; he never felt so free. The fingers continued to grow and wrapped around his entire body on different parts in different directions.
His kiss pressed deeper and deeper, an ecstasy he never imagined possible. Her light green eyes slowly turned glossy red, and she started to squeeze. The sharp pain added to the excitement of the pleasure. His ribs began to crack. Breathing proved difficult. Yet he did not attempt to escape; he wanted her even closer.
Six new tentacles grew out of her back and flailed around the room. Standing still, she knocked everything off the walls, flipped the bed, and broke the windows. The Captain stared into the face of Alana while she tore apart his ship from the inside. Out the window, out the door, wooden beams splintered everywhere.
She clutched the Captain with a grip too strong for breath. In the arms of the temptress, he breathed his last.
The Cabin Boy
The storm rushed upon the ship sooner than expected. They were pummeled by wind and waves, and the Captain had not been seen in hours. Lionel heard he was with Alana in the Captain’s Quarters, and it made him furious. His ship is on the brink of sinking! What makes him think he can hide like this? Then the answer came like the rain of the storm. Alana. . . Ever since she walked away with the Captain, Lionel could not shake her image from his head.
He helped the crew in whatever ways he could. Not being an experienced seaman like most of the others, Lionel felt he was in the way most of the time. He was powerless to help the ship to weather the storm. The tempest grew stronger; even standing proved close to impossible.
“It’s the Kraken!” yelled First Mate Zachary. He stumbled from the direction of the Captain’s Quarters.
“What do you mean? The Kraken doesn’t exist!”
“I saw tentacles. Tentacles! The ship is breaking up. . . If it doesn’t stop soon, we’re all dead.”
“Have you seen the Captain?” asked the Cabin Boy.
“No, not for awhile now.”
Lionel ran towards the Captain’s Quarters, trying desperately to keep his footing. He burst into the room to see the Captain’s things spread everywhere. Broken boards, scattered papers, but no sign of the Captain or his lady. The ship was still shaking, and Lionel could hardly even process the sight before him.
At that moment, he noticed the puddle of blood, calmly vibrating beneath the chaos.
“Captain!” he yelled. No answer came.
The winds roared violently, and amidst the shaking, he heard a clattering in the wardrobe to his left. How is the wardrobe still standing? he wondered to himself, as he approached it.
He unlatched the lock on the door, and it crashed open, littering a skeleton to the floor, along with the clothes and weapons Lionel saw the Captain wearing just hours prior. The Cabin Boy stood there, overwhelmed by the sight. What could have done this?
Lionel had a strong stomach, but still had to fight his stomach to keep from regurgitating his half-digested supper. He picked up Oliver’s favorite knife, and remembered what happened when they met a few days prior.
He ran out and searched for the First Mate, absentmindedly slipping the knife into his pocket. The crew kept the ship afloat, but he knew not how much longer they would last. Just as he was about to abandon his searching, he heard a noise below deck. He went down to find Zachary sobbing.
“It’s too much! It’s too much! I can’t handle this!” the First Mate said underneath his tears.
“You need to lead the crew, before they lose heart. We have to get out of this storm alive!”
“The Captain will–”
“The Captain’s dead.” Lionel said it calmer than he felt possible.
“No! I can’t do this!” The First Mate melted further to the floor, deepening his uncontrollable weeping.
Lionel left Zachary, and returned above deck where the crew wrestled to keep the ship afloat. “Come on! We can’t give up now!” he encouraged his comrades. With one more gust of wind, the shredded sail tore from the mast. The sailors looked to have lost hope. The Boatswain approached Lionel.
“Listen, Cabin Boy. Enthusiasm won’t help us now. The ship is sinking. If the storm doesn’t quit, apart from a miracle, I don’t see how we’ll get through this alive.”
Water continued showering, and parts of the ship snapped into splinters. The entire crew went below deck to join Zachary, for their hearts were lost at sea. But Lionel remained. It seemed the ship would capsize at any second, when the waters around the ship began to level. Before Lionel could understand what was happening, the water the ship floated on seemed to sleep, while all around the ship the waves were higher than before. Even the rain and ocean water stopped spraying aboard. The storm still surrounded the ship, but the ship itself swayed as though no longer touched by it. Lionel looked up into the sky. The darkest clouds still filled the horizon.
Suddenly, he observed some of the clouds parting just enough for the moon to shine. Its light illuminated one spot on the deck where a woman now stood. Where did she come from?
Alana. . .
Her beauty radiated now more than ever before. Her eyes allured him, drew him in. They walked towards each other. Her dress was even brighter now, somewhat translucent, entirely enticing. Her dazzling red lips were strawberries, appetizing and hunger-inducing with just one look.
“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving me.”
“No, it’s quite alright,” he said nervously.
“Lionel, don’t be scared. I appreciate you. You obviously care for me, bravely jumping into the water like that. You’re the oldest Cabin Boy I’ve ever seen, yet the crew treats you like a child. I’ve heard them, Lionel. They probably don’t even know your name. They treat you a boy, but I see who you are. You’re a man, Lionel. More man than the legendary Captain Oliver.”
Even her sarcasm attracted him. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss.
“You’re the only man I want to thank. The only man I want to love.” She drew ever closer to him and grabbed his hands. “I need you, Lionel. You’re the only Captain I care about.”
He clung to her every word. He longed to love her, but a voice echoed in his head. The voice of his mother.
Trust in Him, Lionel. The one who made all things made you.
He tried to shake it. She’s not here right now, he thought.
What would Mildred think?
Again, he wished to press the thoughts from his mind, but he knew they were right: every thought, every voice. He still wanted to argue. Mildred barely knows me! We were never getting married anyways. . . Does God ever care about this? Alana cares about me! She just wants to thank me. I deserve this.
“I need you, Lionel.” She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed his back.
Let His star be your guide in the shadows of life. . .
He knew his mother was right. And, whether he wanted to believe it or not, God was the only anchor in his tumultuous life. But she’s so beautiful. . . Just this once? How can I ever part from those eyes. . .
“Kiss me. Please, kiss me,” she whispered in his ear.
He peered up to the sky and saw that apart from the moon a brilliant, gleaming star also shone through the clouds. His eyes returned to Alana, and his heart quickened.
She said, “Let me thank you. I’ll take you to the Uncharted Isles, just the two of us. If you like, we’ll be together forever. . .”
At the mention of the Uncharted Isles, he again thought back to the day he was hired. He remembered what the dead First Mate had said. Storms surround them, guarding the gateways of the sea. . . men who cannot resist can never return.
“Kiss me, Lionel.”
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. She pressed herself against him, and increased his ecstasy. She didn’t seem to notice him reaching into his pocket. His lips would not detach from hers.
He didn’t want the moment to end, but even so he lifted the Captain’s knife, and stabbed it into her back.
Their lips separated, and she fell dead to his feet, leaving a pool of black blood. The waters stilled, and the wind lightened to a breeze. Lionel gazed at the stars, shining bright in the open, clear sky.
