Wilder Kirkland

Wilder gripped the stern taffrail and stood firm in his decision. A stray wind caught the few strands of his black hair that had fallen free of the sailors braid, which tightly shackled the rest above the loose linen shirt that billowed over his bare chest. His knuckles were white and unyielding against the timber that rumbled under his grip; the railing undulating with every wave that cut around the impressive ship. Across the rising and falling seascape, he could still make out the shadowed line on the horizon that was his homeland. He had watched it slowly shrink and fade away since their departure. It was his first voyage. Yet, despite the creaking of the deck beneath his feet and the violent snapping of the sails, he was not concerned for the ships worthiness. No flutter of any kind boiled in his belly, only steady resolve. The Skylight was built with his families timber and he knew it would soundly see him into a new life.

Wilder was immovable in his vigil of the distant shore. He looked back, regretting his discordant departure. Only his mother had waved from the docks, tears flowing so freely that he could hear her sniffles from the deck. Handshakes had been offered from each of his six brothers, all of which quickly retreated, hoping not to be caught wishing him well. His father had not appeared. Wilder lamented the broken bond between them, but could not bring himself to admit any failing of his own character. As seventh in line to the family fortune, could his kin truly expect him to accept a lifetime of irrelevance? He had been baffled by his fathers inability to understand that toiling away his years in service of a lumber dynasty that he would take no share in, would make him no better than a common worker. He could never be content living as the least of his brothers, the butt of their jibes and always last to the table. When the offer of passage to the new world had come, it had seemed a great opportunity. The rare chance to be something other than a forgotten footnote in history.

A promise of land and holdings to any hard working man willing to make the migration had sealed the deal. Wilder had embraced the call and stepped up to claim a legacy of his own. His courage had secured passage aboard the Skylight and she would bear him to a future of his own making. He dared say that when his family heard of him next, it would be as a wealthy forester in his own right. The landing at New England would catapult him into the untamed forests of Maine, which he would rapidly fashion into his own monopoly. He would secure the most lucrative forests in the known world and become greater than even his father in the domain of wood. It would be simple enough to entice an equally ambitious woman to his side and establish a succession. He vowed to himself, it would be a family where no lesser son would ever be forgotten, and all his children would prosper. He intended to be a man whose name meant something.

*****

The chill of the northern Atlantic brought a crisp end to an enjoyable month at sea. Wilder had discovered quite the aptitude for seamanship, spending much of his time assisting and learning from the crew. Many noted his instinctive form on the shifting boards of the Skylight and praised his willingness as something foreign among his class. Forlorn at reaching his destination so quickly, Wilder retired to his bunk after another wearing day of hauling lines, for what he assumed would be one of his final nights upon the ocean.

Yelping in dismay, Wilder was unceremoniously and violently dragged from both heavy sleep and his bunk. Foggy and dazed amid the darkness, he could not grasp what was happening, until his face hit the deck of the ship. Pain spiked through his skull and the impact brought him to full awareness. Only that he might witness completely the horror, lit by moon light and muted lanterns. The blood streaming from his nose suddenly meant nothing when compared to the pools that were drowning the deck. He stared wide eyed at the pierced and gutted bodies of men he had come to know and respect during the bracing weeks of the voyage. Still unable to comprehend what had occurred, his mouth worked without words and watery tears streaked his cheeks.

Wilder was pulled up high by a rough hand on the collar of his nightshirt. It’s release cracked his knees back down against the stained boards. He found his shoulders held firmly in place beside the Skylight’s captain, who swayed in a stupor, his clothes showing crimson and telling of an imminent end.

“Well then laddie. Give us ye’ name and ye’ station. If either prove to be worth somethin’, they may yet see ye’ safely into port.” A rough, bearded, beast of a man bellowed at him. With his eyes still bleary, Wilder’s impression of his captor came mostly through the stench of spirits and filth upon his person.

“What is this? How dare you apprehend me and my transport this way? I should have your name sir, as is proper, and you should expect it to become known to the authorities for this, this…piracy” It was not until he uttered the word that Wilder fully understood what had become of his plans. The raucous laughter that erupted all around at his protests, alongside the realisation of who these men were, forced him to comprehend the foolishness of his response.

“Oh my boy. There are no authorities here…” The ruffian said, with a sympathy reserved for children, “But ye’ shall have me name. As is proper! Mwaha! Drake Rippon at ye’ service, ma lord! Cap’n Rip as you like, of the fastest ship in these waters, the Locket. Now. Your name and station.”

“Well met Captain Rippon,” Wilder forced out, upon a far shakier voice, “I am Wilder Kirkland, of the Kirkland Logging Company. The largest exporter of timber in England and all of Europe. You shall find my name worth much.” He said, dropping his head in shame as he gave up his family quickly, in exchange for his life.

“Aye, I am sure it is so. Ye’ll be joining us on the Locket then, Mr Kirkland. Looks like we’re headed East boys! Got us a ransom needs collectin’!”

Black smoke billowed high into the air throughout the next day, until the scuttling of the Skylight was complete, or it fell over the horizon. Wilder was not sure which. He was told that the Locket did not tolerate idle hands, so he found himself busied in a similar fashion to his outward voyage. Disgracefully, he found the labour equally satisfying. The kinship of the crew was not so different, only their temperament was harsher. He had to keep reminding himself that these were animalistic killers, that their goals were selfish and anarchistic. He forgot often, and smothered smiles at their lively banter. They seemed unopposed to treating him as one of their own, despite their intentions toward his ransom. Yet the eyes that fell on him when he moved too close to either captain or launch boat were a stark reminder of the threat that simmered just the below the surface of every man’s friendliness. Their loyalty was clearly, not to him. Regardless, the entire crew seemed to find little unusual with their captive having free reign, though perhaps it was well understood amongst the hardy men that he was no match for either them or the sea.

Wilder’s musings over the attitudes of his unexpected peers were proven true a week into his capture and journey home. Arriving at the breakfast pot last, as was expected, he took up the final bowl of sludge porridge only to turn and be met with a late and hungry pirate, whose name he had not yet learned. The man was muscled, tattooed and missing several teeth. He wasted no words or challenge of a duel, as would be dignified, and instead launched immediately into an attack. Wilder took several blows, lost his meal to the deck and ended up on his knees. It was then, staring into the wood grain, peppered with his blood, sweat and congealed oats that Wilder Kirkland snapped. He gritted his teeth, caught the boot that was flung at his gut and toppled the man onto his back. Like an animal he leaped upon him and begin laying his fists into the pirate, releasing every frustration that had built since his enterprise had so resolutely failed. Far too soon, he was dragged off and the brute raised and held opposite, both of them panting and bloodied. Rather than the spite he braced for, the pirate grinned and broke into hearty laughter. Wilder flinched when he stepped forward, but was rewarded with a clasp of his arm and an approving nod. Cheers from the onlookers and the pride in the eyes of the captain, glimpsed beyond the men, were equally confusing. To his relief and bewilderment, there were no repercussions. Almost immediately his strange imprisonment returned to business as usual.

*****

“You’ve a knack for the sea, Wilder. How many days you got aboard ship?” Alcott said over their dice. The young rigger had spent the day guiding him though the release and furling of the sails. Every muscle in Wilder’s legs and back screamed from the day's effort, but in the way of achievement. With no call for any course change, they rested in the lowering light of the Atlantic sun with a casual game between them.

“This is my first voyage, but by my reckoning…fifty-five days? I never did set a foot in the America’s.”

The pirate's hands stilled, the rattle of the dice silencing slowly.

“That’s all!? Well, I’ll be! Ye’ must be a natural then. One o’ them…watcha call em’s?”

“Prodigy?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. One o’ them prodigy’s, like ye’ were made for the deck. Never did I see a man so quick or stable on the ropes.”

“Well, Alcott. Unfortunately, my family’s business is in the deck itself. I had planned to begin my own forestry venture in Maine, however it seems as though that is on hold for now. Assuming your Captain Rippon is good to his word, I hope to have another chance. So my course points elsewhere.”

Alcott jumped to his feet, dice still grasped in his fist as he sloppily saluted over Wilder’s head. For a sparse moment, he thought it was only Rippon’s name that had elicited the reaction in the pirate, until the deep voice washed over both of them.

“Ye’ will find my word as honourable as the next mans, Kirkland. If ye’ loved ones cough up the silver, ye’ will get the chance ye’ seek. Alcott, main sail, she needs readying for some speed on the dawn. Go.”

It took only a gesture of the captains head to send the rigger scarpering to the mast. Once he had fled upward, Rippon lowered himself with a sigh down into the mans empty spot and removed his wide brimmed hat.

“He’s a simple man, Alcott. But he is wise enough to see what we all know. Yer made for this Kirkland. Don’t ye’ feel it? The pull of the sea?”

“I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t. I haven’t ever known a peace in my work until these past months. Alas, it is not my destiny.”

“Why not lad!? Do ye’ think any man aboard this ship was born a privateer? No. Even old Cap’n Rip found his way into this life from another. There are some aboard that are higher born that ye’ would presume, ma’ lord.” He said, with the familiar sarcastic title he had chosen for Wilder.

“Well, even so,” He replied, “My plans do not include criminality. Even if were to take up a life on a ship, it would be a reputable one.”

“Hmm. No money, no glory, no title on those tubs. Ye’ would be resigning yerself to a working man's toil there. Hard work for pennies. As talented as ye’ are, I can’t see ye’ adjusting to that life,” He explained, shaking his head as if it were the grandest waste ever imagined, “Now. A life on the Locket. That be a different beast entirely. The work is much the same, as ye’ have seen and repeatedly proven ye’ mettle. Even with those soft fists! HAR! But the spoils. Oh, the spoils! Do not let our ways deceive ye’, these be rich men on these decks.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Wilder said.

“So ye’ might. So ye’ might. Somethin’ ye’ can know for sure though Kirkland,” he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “the Locket is known in every household that has a business knowin’. On both sides of the water. Every man upon her is respected in every port. Ye’ would not need to ask far to hear tales of this ship, I can tell ye’ that for free.”

“Fame, glory and riches. Are these the only things you seek Captain Rippon?”

“No, of course not! Women too! Mwaharhar!” He said, roaring a belly full of laughter. Wilder could not help but smile along, “Look lad. My meaning here be plain. No ransom ye’ win would be enough to buy the loyalty of a crewman with half ye’ skill. Ye’ value is higher by stayin’ on. I offer this because I think ye’ want what I can give ye’…silver, reputation and a name to thunder through the ages as one o’ the Lockets best. Let me tell ye’, notoriety as we will have…it’ll be far remembered over some name in a financial ledger or painted on a warehouse. Who knows, prayhaps ye’ get yerself a ship of yer own and make 'Cap’n Wilder Kirkland' famous in the new world! Land will be in sight by mornin’, but tell me ye’ wish it, and I’ll set us back on course for the islands.”

Wilder did not answer, not straight away. He merely looked up at the open night sky, took a deep breath of the fresh salted air and considered his unexpected option.

The next morning, Wilder Kirkland gripped the stern taffrail and stood firm in his decision. Across the rising and falling seascape, he could make out the shadowed line on the horizon that was his homeland. As it retreated once again into the distance, he turned, donned a wide brimmed hat and saw to his duties aboard the fastest ship on the sea. After all, there were more ways than one to be influential in the new world, other ways to secure a legacy and far more interesting ways to be remembered.

Authors note: Apologies for any butchery of American history - I have zero knowledge on this subject. As far as I am aware, 1650-1730 was the golden age of piracy, during which timber made tall ships were still in use. My pirates lean toward the caricature intentionally. Around this time only the eastern states of the USA had been colonised. As much as I would have liked Wilder to set his eyes on Idaho or Oregon under the homesteading act of 1862, shipping and the world had moved onto more modern transport by then.