Cutlass

"There's t' be no killin,' an' any man wot does will answer t' me, by Gawd! Ye'll lay 'em out in any way ye can, make 'em fast t' summat, an' ye'll leave 'erself t' me!" The fire in Morgan Corbye's eyes glittered with reflection of stars. The winds had borne us to a chance encounter with the Captain's oldest rival, neatly berthed on the opposite side of a small island. The keen eyes of the dog watch had caught the flicker of a lantern in the dark, too high above the water to be coming from a shack or other habitation, and by maneuvering the Winged Adventure so that the faint moonlight favoured us, the Captain picked out the definitive silhouette of a ketch drawn close to shore. We were near enough to her to know that we had not been seen, for had her crew been alert to our presence, a hue and cry would have arisen immediately as the ship so berthed was none other than the Grey Raven and the foe the Captain's own sister Katherine, known also as Kat.

We dropped anchor in the protection of a small bay, lowered the jollyboats alongside and the men slid silently into them, the Captain in the foremost. Neither splash of water nor clatter of arms broke the crystalline bowl of night as the oars slipped into the waves and moved us forward. We hugged the shadows until we were nearly upon her, trusting luck to cover us as we crossed through exposed water. Our agile bo'sun clambered aboard the ketch by the stern, and dropped lines for the remaining men who followed, but before our party had got themselves all up, the shifting of weight brought us unwanted attention. As the crews laid about with whatever weaponry they had to hand, Morgan Corbye cleaved a swath through the melee to face her sister at the helm. Kat Corbye met her twin's dagger with a cutlass, but was taken down by our Captain's nimble swiftness and skill with the knife and was assured a sound sleep of a few hours by a belaying pin applied with force against the side of her head.

Demoralized by the fall of their captain, the Grey Raven's crew surrendered and were bound according to plan. In the light of day, Morgan Corbye stripped to her shirt and leapt overboard, and not an eye failed to follow her lithe form. She swam thrice around the ketch and climbed back aboard, the sea-washed muslin transparent and clinging to her skin. When I questioned her later in regard to the plunge, "T'was fer luck," she told me, adding, "Ed'ard Teach done it wi'out 'is 'ead, they says."

Morgan Corbye claimed nothing but her sister's cutlass from this raid, though blood was spilt on both sides, albeit without any serious injury. "Me prize is wot I done t' 'erself's dignity. Aye, she'll be smartin' frae that 'til we meets again."

Tortuga Bound!

"Heave! Heave, ye moulderin' codfish! H'ist them sails! Th' wind be in our favour an' we be Tortuga bound!" The bo'sun's cry in the night, harsh as the salt-weathered canvas, lifted the spirits of the Winged Adventure's crew as they hauled upon the lines and the sails filled. Morgan Corbye's hand was on the tiller, and not a man would dare to doubt her strength, for all her slightness of stature. The barque sprang forward in the dark, the captain taking her on a tack for speed. The ship pierced the swells like a porpoise, her crew barefoot to a man, the better to grip the deck as she leapt and dove. Your unfortunate biographer had come topside to observe, a decision I was coming to regret, bundled against cold and spray to which the sailors seemed to be impervious. This was no summer zepyhr bearing us along. It was a building storm and the captain was clearly in her element, sweat beading on her brow despite the chill.

By morning, the gale had subsided and the captain relinquished the tiller to her helmsman and went below for some much-needed sleep. I went to my bunk as well, with many thoughts to keep me wakeful, for moreso than the average mariner, the pirate must have exceptional skill at sailing if he is to stay ahead of those who would persecute him. He must be more cunning, more adaptable, stronger and quicker, and he must have greater endurance. Too, he must be a better swordsman than his foe if he is to survive and succeed. Yet what brings a person so gifted to the life of piracy instead of normal business? I turn to Captain Corbye for the answer: "I needs me adventure an' independence," says she, and none can claim she goes without either in any degree.