Clark of the Future Sea

4. Birth of the Phoenix

Kirkland opened his eyes, he blinked away the sleep a few times before they finally focused. The sky above him was dark and starless. Alarmed he sat up quickly. 'A storm must have rolled in while they were sleeping,' he had almost finished the thought when the smell of smoke hit his nostrils. 'It's not a storm,' he realized 'It's a fire.'

He turned to look over at Silas who was still passed out beside him. He kicked Silas's boot hard and the fool awoke from his alcohol-induced coma.

"What's going on?" Silas asked him startled.

Kirkland leaned over the edge of the crow's nest and found that the deck of the ship was coated in a golden blaze. He looked for the rest of the fleet and saw all around him nothing but smoke and flames. 'What happened' Kirkland wonder.

"Get up we've got a fire to put out!" He yelled at Silas and sprain into action. The pair looked down to see the rope ladder of the crow's nest was on fire. Most of it was still intact but it wouldn't be for long.

"Kirkland!" He heard his name over the crackle of burning wood below. He looked out and amongst the burning ships, he could see a small boat, on which was his admiral and most of the crew, shackled and bound by their Dutch captors. "Kirkland! You bastard! You were supposed to be on watch duty!" Admiral Edward Montagu barked at him from the small vessel. He sighed 'I'm about to be roasted alive and this asshole is still yowling at me.'

"Hurry up!" Kirkland looked down below to see Silas had safely made it to the bottom. He crawled over the ledge and climbed down the very unstable ladder until he reached the floor. Silas was already pulling down the mainsail so Kirkland joined in and the two brought the largest sail down onto the smoking deck. Kirkland and Silas quickly dropped the sail into the ocean and yanked at the attached ropes. The two struggled to pull it onto the deck. They lost their grip on the rope several times, burning their fingers and drawing blood from their palms. The sail was much heavier now that it was wet, and the smell of smoke mixed with his hangover was almost enough to bring Kirkland to his knees so he could vomit.

They each grabbed a corner and brought it down onto a section of the burning deck. The pair stomped on the sail to ensure it had been put out before moving onto another section. Repeating this twice more before it needed to be dropped into the ocean again. As they pulled it out this time they could hear the disturbing sound of breaking wood. The two looked up to see one of the smaller masts had been damaged and was coming down on top of their heads. The two had seconds to react and managed to make it out of the way in time.

Silas sat up ok but Kirkland did not make it unscathed. A chunk from the mast had left a fairly deep cut on his face, starting from the center of his forehead, barely missing the inner corner of his eye and ending midway through his cheek. Blood rushed from his wound running down the bridge of his nose and continued on by the corner of his mouth. Kirkland grasped his face while he waited for his friend to come help him.

Silas helped him to his feet and after a moment he was able to regain his balance. Silas and Kirkland retrieved the sail from the water and began to dowse out the now flaming mast.

By the time they had finished the faint glow of the other burning ships had faded into the distance. The current had carried them a long way out to sea and the morning sun had begun to crown. Kirkland leaned over the side of the ship and finally allowed himself to vomit. His face stung, his head hurt and his limbs ached. Silas approached him with a look that told him that his friend was not in much better condition.

"We need to get back to the British coast so we can report what happened," Kirkland told Silas.

"We won't be sailing anywhere but where the ocean takes us. The rudder is broken and even if it wasn't we can't go back to Britain after what happened today. They'll hang us for the disaster we just caused or did you forget how we got into his situation." Silas made his point. Kirkland had forgotten about his earlier offense, something that normally wouldn't have gotten a man hung but in this situation where a whole fleet had been lost it would earn him the death penalty for sure. He was now a man without a country and was unsure how he should feel about that.

"So then what should we do?" he asked his friend.

"My advice, drop anchor. Sleep this off and then we can try to repair this giant thing but I'm not doing anything until I get some of this out of my system." Silas told Kirkland his plan before he released the anchor and headed off to the bunks.

Kirkland was as tired as he had ever been but he wasn't about to return to those rat-infested sleeping quarters. He walked the deck of the ship, all the while watching the sunrise in the east. Until he came up to the admirals quarters. He stared at the door as if it were the admiral himself and then scratched the back of his head. 'He's not coming back anyway' he thought and threw the door open. For the first time, he stepped inside the captain's cabin and noticed right away that it had not been affected by the fire. He couldn't believe how much nicer it was when the men's sleeping quarters. It was unfair really to make the men sleep with the rats when the admiral had this nice room.

He walked across the floor going right up to the admiral's desk, which was cluttered with paperwork, letters, and maps of the area. He picked up a map of the Dutch territory. Up until today, it had been one of the most valuable tools that they possessed but now it just seemed useless. He sat the map back down on the desk and moved over to the admiral's locker he opened the wooden doors and was amazed by everything he saw. He reached out his rope burned fingers, touching the fine fabric of the admiral's red coat. He examined the fine material and ran his hand along the soft fur that lined the shoulders. 'Any man would cherish a coat like this' he thought.

He continued to rummage threw the admiral's things coming across several unopened bottles of gin and other expensive trinkets. His attention was drawn to a chest sitting at the bottom of the locker. He knelt down beside it and opened the lid. He sucked in a deep breath when he found it was full of money and other expensive treasures. Enough to sustain a whole crew for years maybe. He picked up the chest, setting it back down on top of the desk, scattering the papers onto the floor.

He looked around the room, thinking to himself how easy it would be to go pirate with this ship. They'd be unstoppable, he thought.

His eyes then landed on a fine leather hat, sitting on the knob of the admiral's chair. He had seen the admiral wearing it many times before but now when he was looking at it he noticed the red feather coming up from one side. He swiped it off the chair. Once in his hands, he could feel the quality of the soft leather and couldn't resist trying it on.

He walked towards the admiral mirror, to examine himself in the hat. He expected to look like a captain wearing it and the thought crossed his mind. 'I have more money then I've ever had in my life. I have the finest ship to ever set sail in my position. And Silas hated being in charge of anyone. So that would make him captain of this ship now,' he realized.

He reached the mirror and examined himself. The moment his eyes landed on his face he remembered the wound he had gotten earlier. He would need stitches but it wasn't going to get done this morning. He moved to the locker and grabbed a bottle of unopened gin, popping off the top as he made his way back over to the mirror. He closed his eyes and started splashing his face with the gin. It stung terribly and he hissed.

When the bottle was empty he opened his eyes once again staring at his wet likeness in the mirror. In the reflection, he saw the bed in the back corner of the room. Turning to face it, he noticed it was an oversized built-in bunk that had been covered with a beautiful crimson blanket. He walked over to it, feeling the soft blanket and the matching goose feather pillow before plopping down ontop. He sighed at how comfortable and soft it felt. This was just the thing he needed to drift off into a deep and peaceful sleep. As sleep took hold of him, two words continually repeated in his mind 'Captian Kirkland.'