Captain’s Log, April 22. In port at Tortuga. Bound for sea.
The Bonny Blood sets sail today, with all hands aboard. Most consider it ill luck to rechristen a ship after her first sail, but I hardly think Royal Pride a fitting name for a pirate vessel. Nor is such a name fitting, I think, for her former profession as a slaving vessel.
Despicable, the acts some men will stoop to. To steal innocent people and sell them as slaves - ah, but what won’t men do? You’ll not find a woman who agrees with this practice, not should you search the ocean wide!
I hear the crew coming aboard now, it won’t be long, and we’ll be off, off to find that traitorous crew of mine aboard the Silver Main. To think, after all I did for them - slaving, cleaning, fighting, navigating, avenging Captain’s death - they marooned me just because I dared show myself for what I was. A woman.
ME. They marooned ME. Annette Bonny, daughter of the famous Anne Bonny who fought like seven men, the only one of her crew to survive. Me, Annette Bonny, the terror of the seven oceans, the pirate captain who’s name will be legend, who will cause the monarchs of Europe to tremble when it’s uttered! Well, everyone’s entitled to one fatal mistake…and marooning me was their death sentence.
Every miserable mate on the godforsaken, worm ridden ship will ring the devil’s bell before this voyage ends. They will tremble and shake, those miserable misbegotten sons of maggots. I will see to that.
Yes, the crew is aboard now. My mate, young wot’s his name, he’s calling for me. A bright lad that one. He would have made a fine slave, brought a high price on the market. It makes me shiver all over when I think of it.
I’ll get more down later.
Such a fine crew! A woman could not ask for a better more willing crew. They’re all young and sturdy, hardy and ready for adventures. The only improvement I could have made in their selection was to find a few more who knew their way shipboard. But that shall all change in but a very short while. And as it was, I was lucky to find any who knew their way round, Women don’t typically sail.
That girl, Mira, she seems a bright one. She’d have to be, given that she dresses and talks like a man. Sailed as one, I don’t wonder. Navy, judging by the scars on her hands. They’re not light with their punishments, those dogs. Bah! Even so, I knew her as a woman the moment I clapped glims on her. She had the look of a woman - alert, relaxed but poised, listening without saying, knowing without being known. Yes, that one is more promising then I had hoped for. She’ll do nicely.
We pulled out to sea a short time ago. I had to set the sails myself, with the help of the lad - what is his name?! - and the other slaves. Sorry, ex-slaves. I can’t for the life of me recall all their names; such strange sounding names! Though the lad keeps telling me them over and over. He sings them out, and they sing them back, and it’s sort of become a chant as they do their work. They’ve learned fast, those blacks. A fine crew. I’ll be sad to loose them at the end of this voyage.
We’re sailing north by north east. We’re sailing at a broad reach now, about five or six knots. Not a bad speed! This will do for now. I intend to spend the next few days training the new crew. A week at most. Their women, of course they’ll learn fast.
The lad’s calling me again. WHAT IS HIS NAME?! AH!!
I’ll write later.
Bonny Blood, Captain.