Prospect of Adventure
Introduction
It is aboard a ship on the Indian Ocean that that my tale takes place, but, that you might better understand my tale, let me tell you a bit about myself. My name is Alexander Conrad; I was born on October fifth of in the year of 1765, in Lancaster. I sailed in the king’s navy for years. I have traveled to the Indies and to the orient aboard whalers. I can honestly say that I know the sea, and I respect it. I have sailed on many ships, but of all of them, I truly remember one, the HMS Prospect, the last ship I ever boarded.
The captain, an older wealthy gentleman, sailed not for the earnings but for pleasure and was able to pay his crew well. We each were to receive a one hundred and fiftieth portion of the catch, but this king’s ransom, though I was grateful for it, was not what I most cherished receiving from that ship.
Our journey was to take us around the cape and into the Indian Ocean then down into the islands. We would stop at the ports along the way, selling what we could of our catch and buying supplies. We set sail on the twenty-first day of March, the winds were in our favor and we managed to make it around the cape in under one month’s time. All was well and the catch was plentiful, until the night of May third. When, while sailing off the coast of Java we spotted something floating in the water.
Chapter I
My Patient
It was the middle of the first dog watch when the bells began to ring, men scurried out of the berth onto the deck. A small drift wood raft had been spotted to the port bow. At first it was thought to be small fishing raft that had come untied from its moorings, but on further scrutiny it was established that this was not the case. What appeared to be the body of a young boy was lying motionless on it. As the ship neared, the rafts inhabitant sat up and started flailing their arms in the air. We pulled up and hauled the lad on board only to discover that it was not a lad at all.
A crowd began to gather around. Someone in the front spoke up.
“Aye! What kinda guff is this?”
“Shadap Thomas!”
“They say its bad luck to have one aboard ship”
“Aye, best just put it back where it came from”
Finally pushing my way to the front of the crowd, I found lying there on the deck, a young lady, not older than about 17. I could see that she was badly injured, and as I looked around me I realized that no one intended to do anything to help. So, I took it upon myself to carry her down to the ship’s surgeon. By the time I got her to the surgeon she was unconscious.
With help from the ships surgeon, I bandaged the bleeding gash on her arm. The surgeon administered smelling salts, and, upon this failing, claimed fatigue and headed off to bed, leaving me to care for the still unconscious lass.
I passed an hour replacing bandages. With my small amount of medical experience I was able stitch up the cut and stop the bleeding. After a while I retried the smelling salts. To my surprise she awoke in a violent fit of coughing, sat up, and fell back onto the bed in exhaustion.
“Ah, good, you’re awake.”
“What hit me?”
“If I didn’t know better I’d guess a cutlass.”
She attempted to sit up but was too weak from loss of blood.
“Easy, you’ve lost quite a bit of blood. Lie down; get some rest.”
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped back, “I’ve been through much worse”.
I inquired as to how long she had been afloat. She responded that she wasn’t sure, but she guessed it to be about two days. She said that she was aboard an Italian ship that had been blown off course and was heading for Fiji. I found this a bit hard to swallow owing to her French sounding accent, but I said nothing.
It was then that I noticed a strange medallion hanging around her neck.
“That’s a rather interesting piece.”
“It was my brothers,” the quickly snapped back and stuffed it into her blouse.
I was shocked and confused by her mannerisms. I had never met a lady that was quite so quick tempered and hash.
As she became more lucid, and less nervous, she told me about herself. She claimed to be the daughter of a wealthy Venetian spice trader and a French aristocrat. When her father had suddenly fallen ill she had taken his place aboard ship on a voyage to Fiji to secure a shipment of peppercorn.
I knew that she was lying, as the Fijian climate is not suitable for the growing of pepper, but I said nothing.
Aside from this I found no flaws or inconsistencies in her story. Yet I could never comprehend why the daughter of a high-class merchant was out in the middle of the Indian Ocean wearing trousers.
Chapter II
Pirates among Merchants
As I tended to her needs and wants over the next week and a half she began to become more comfortable with me, and began to open up. She told me more about the pendant that she wore constantly, guarding it with her life. Her brother had given it to her. He had broken away from the family as a lad of 15, and had become a privateer for France.
I personally had nothing against her for this, I disliked pirates and, being British, I was raised to hate the French; but I didn’t hold her brother’s actions as a mark against her character.
And as I became more comfortable with her my eyes were opened to her true beauty. Despite the rough, sea worn look that her clothing gave her, she was like a jewel. Her shining blue eyes were as pure and clear as the crystal waters of the West Indies, and her cherry blond hair would have sparkled, even in the darkest of day-long, polar nights. I admired her every feature, and yet, there was something out of place about her. It was as though she harbored some dark secret that would bring certain doom if it were ever uncovered.
As we stopped at ports along the way the captain and crew offered to pay her way back to Italy, yet she refused and remained onboard under my care.
It was around the seventeenth of May that I found out her true story, a tale that no matter how I tell it is hard to believe. It is true, yet I cannot make it seem such, so I shall tell it in her words.
“I have been hiding my true self from you, as you may have suspected. I am not, as I claimed, on my way to Fiji to get spices, my ship was not from Italy, it was from France, and my name is not Marie… its Elizabeth, Elizabeth Emilia Renoir.”
But why had she lied to me? What was it that she had to hide? I would soon find out.
We were below deck in the sick bay, where she had taken up lodgings. We were talking about the spice trade and shipping when, unexpectedly, she revealed to me her true purpose.
“I am, as you would say, a ‘pirate’, but I prefer the term ‘privateer’.”
I was in shock. A pirate? Aboard our ship? What was I to do?
Part of me knew that it was my duty to report her, but my heart would not let me.
