Captain Kirkland: How He Came To Be

Chapter III

This chapter'll be longer than usual.

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11th of June, 1499,

I am not a man who scares easy. In the very least, I do not consider myself one. But the scene that was seen today was most certainly enough to shake even the strongest man. Allow me to describe it to you. We had just had the fortune, or so we thought, of stumbling upon a trade ship straight from London, and she was loaded. We had gotten rid of anyone that could not be of assistance to the crew, and kept the rest. One would call it a victory.

What we had not realized was we were to be cursed with a certain lad. We have become poor souls for having had this misfortune, and I am not being melodramatic. To begin matter, he made a show of escaping, stunning many. I had decided that he had simply expertly stolen a dagger. 

Within seconds, he had slipped from our rights. I was the first to go out on deck to scour it for this mysterious lad. As I approached the cabin, I heard a dull thud. One hand on my pistol, I opened the door to the Captain's, bless him, cabin, where it's owner now lay with his throat slit, and this lad standing over him, unarmed and innocent-like. 

Of course, only an absolute fool would believe that. He had murdered the Cap, with not a regret in mind. More of my fellow crew crowded there, and as they did, the lad smirked the smile of the Devil. He finally spoke, confirming his British heritage, saying; "Well, looks as though your Captain has conveniently died. Oh well. Oh, and I forgot to mention, at my hands. If I am not mistaken, which I know I am not, that allows me to take the ever desired position."

At his words, Marcus stepped forward challengingly. "And just who are you?" He asked, and the ever prideful response came; "Arthur Kirkland." The lad made his own name sound powerful enough to go up against a country alone and win. Marcus is a man with a generally large build, yet all it took for him to fall was a sharp retort, a cleverly placed and timed hit, and he dropped like a stone.

Somehow this 'Arthur Kirkland' had acquired a pistol and had used it's butt to very efficiently knock Marcus out with it one blow. Quite funny under different circumstances, seeing as they had at least a foot difference in height. A silence took over the lot of us

Then another fool stepped forward, John, and with a pistol of his own this time. We all knew he was quite close to Marcus. Notice how I say 'was' and not 'is'. This is because I'm quite certain he had died, at least mentally. He had aimed the pistol right at Kirkland, his glare enough to make a man falter alone. But no, not this lad. He only stepped forward, his own pistol raised and cocked, then said; "I can use the other end as well."

Then his eyes gleamed with such fanatical madness that John actually flinched. To my knowledge, John's father was rather off in the head, and John was terrified of him. It's more than likely he had gotten at lest some recollections of the matter. Just so, it is more than likely that the crew thought Kirkland mad.

Might be so, but he is intelligent as well in a way few men are, let alone mad ones. I can practically smell it off him. He only proved it when he took notice of John's reaction, and advanced in that manner, his mouth set in a grin I am likely to see in my night terrors tonight, and said in a lower, yet more dangerous tone; "And I could make it hurt oh so much, just like him  

He spoke the last word in a near whisper, yet it was the most terrifying one. It probably scared the living daylights out of John, as he froze, dropped the pistol, and actually was about to make a run for it. Then, as though he hadn't been the personification of the Devil mere moments ago, his smile turned sweet and he looked around, then asked; "Anyone else? Pray tell, does anyone else have any objections?" 

A silence took over the room. No one dared speak a word. And quite frankly, could anyone really put the blame on us? After all, we were dealing with a mysterious young lad who knocked out the physically strongest man in our crew with one blow, and who was also possibly mad. It's with great sadness that I say that I must stop writing now. Arthur Kirkland is nagging on me. Why must I obey him? Well, because he is somehow now my Captain. Such fortune.

Stay sane,

Jonathan Williams

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please ignore the numerous glitches and punctuation issues that had happened here. I hope it's acceptable, I couldn't fix it