Whitecap BayThe waves lapped soothingly against the little weathered rowing boat, gently lulling the men on board to sleep with the maternal rocking motion of the sea. They had all one by one, all drifted off into oblivion, driven by constant labouring under the fear of Blackbeard’s wrath. His latest order was to capture a mermaid. Or rather, to be bait while he caught one. Many had balked at this command, having heard snatches of bone chilling stories, in smoky taverns by foreign ports, over several glasses of ale. They had quickly obeyed when subjected to the captain’s “special persuasion”.
One sailor still remained, eyelids drooping, half-heartedly mumbling the words of “My Jolly Sailor”. His own tired mind was closing down, shutting out the noise of the whispering sighing sea. He tailed off, giving into the urge to rest.