Captain's Rest

His head shatters the water’s surface.

The water is unfathomably cold, and it seeps into his body like the fangs of death scraping at his bones.  The fall from the ship was too quick for him to take in a proper breath.  Ben gasps for air to quell his screaming lungs and the rising panic in his heart.

Waves sweep over him as he struggles to right himself and gain his bearings.  He orients himself with The Kraken’s Revenge to his back and faces his destination.

The island is almost too far for a man to swim, and Ben knows this was purposefully done.  He can almost hear his crew’s jeers over the roar of the sea, gloating over the farce of a trial they performed.  He can almost hear the bets they make for or against his survival, his odds diminishing with each breath spent in the water.

Ben lets himself rest briefly, bobbing in the waves and calming the slam of his heartbeat. He must be sure of limb and lung before attempting the swim to shore.  He swims purposefully, conserving his strength, and he does not look back, does not give them the pleasure of seeing his anguish.

Captain’s Rest, he thinks, as he aims towards the speck of land that will soon be either his home or his final resting place.  A parting joke from his mutinous crew.  The tiny island that has seen more than its fair share of marooned pirates, Ben is sure, and now he is unlucky enough to count himself among that number.

How many bones of abandoned men will greet him?  Will his bones ultimately lie in wait for the next soul to discover?

His feet touch sand under the waves, and he surges forward until he can feel the ground beneath his hands as well.  The slow crawl towards the dry shore is agonizing.  He did not drown, at least, thought that is only a small comfort.

His limbs cry for mercy, but he forces himself to stand.  The sea stole all but his breeches, and he knows he must seek shelter from the sun’s unforgiving rays by morning.  The taste of salt and sand overwhelms him, and he spits in disgust.

Ben looks back out over the ocean, allowing himself one last glance of his ship, but the sails of The Kraken’s Revenge have vanished beyond his view.  The sun sinks slowly into the sea, taking the light with it.

First, shelter.  Then, fresh water.  Then, perhaps, a way off this island, though he holds little hope of rescue.

His treacherous quartermaster’s mocking voice sings in his head, proclaiming Ben the new governor of Captain’s Rest. The quartermaster had cackled as his foot connected with Ben’s back, sending him over the port side of his own ship.  In his mind, Ben recalls how the waves rushed up to meet him, icy and unforgiving.

His belief that a captain should never suffer the betrayal of his crew sends a surge of anger roiling within him, and Ben clenches his fists against the injustice.  He shakes free of the memory and continues his search for shelter.

Captain’s Rest is a small island dotted with withered palms, but Ben finds ample materials necessary to quickly build a shelter.  He considers attempting a fire, but the evening is warm and his shelter protects him well enough from the sea breeze.  

His search for fresh water yields nothing.  His tongue is sandpaper in his mouth. Exhaustion takes his strength finally, and Ben sinks into the fine sand under his makeshift tent of palm branches and fronds.  He falls into a fitful sleep with visions of his crew’s betrayal haunting his dreams.

Ben rises with the sun.  His body screams for water.

In the full light of day, he feels his prospects for survival darken.  Captain’s Rest holds no natural source for water fit to drink.  The sea’s endless bounty calls to him, but like any sailor, he knows to drink this water will lead to certain death.

Ben looks up at the cloudless sky and prays for rain or rescue.  He isn’t sure if anyone or anything is listening.  He hasn’t been sure for a long time.

The sun beats down into his skin, and he can feel his dry flesh beginning to crack.  He has no tools for fishing nor does he have the expertise to fashion them from the sparse palms at his disposal.  Ben has little to occupy his time on the island.  For the first time, he truly understands the death sentence he has been given.

Ben paces, irritable and desperate with thirst, until his legs cramp and buckle.

His mind races with fruitless rehashing of his last days upon The Kraken’s Revenge.  How had he missed the signs of mutiny?  Hindsight offers clarity, and now he can hear the whisperings of his crew, bitter and malcontent.  He relives the casually brutal lashing he doled to the boatswain for an offense he can no longer recall.  The memory of his quartermaster confronting him with the loot Ben had hidden from the crew sends an intense current of shame rippling through his body.

The multitude of sins of his life races through Ben’s mind, highlights of a life filled with cruelty and dishonor.  A neglected wife, a string of mistresses.  Abandoned children and summarily shirked duties.  Fists that left their mark in ports throughout the Caribbean on men and women alike.  A name synonymous with debt at all reputable merchants.  A mutinous crew, the blame for whose actions, he now realizes, lay solely with him.

He begins to accept his fate and the knowledge that he has no chance for redemption.  His frame is wracked with the force of his weeping, but his body has no water to spare for tears.

Dark and wretched thoughts accompany him as he fades into sleep.

Ben wakes with a jolt to an unfamiliar noise.  A stranger’s sun-browned face stares down at him.  As Ben’s eyes focus, he can see a ship in the water and a rowboat on the shore.

The stranger gives him a cheeky grin and speaks.  “Need a rescue, mate?”

Ben looks up at the clear night sky studded with stars, stunned that, perhaps, someone was listening to his prayers after all.