"The Legend of John Thorpe" by HardRockLikeLancelot

The story I want to tell you began the first day I stepped on a ship – a real ship. It was a British frigate that had been docked in the harbour a couple of days before and, on that sunny Sunday morning, stood there in all her splendour, floating gently on the water, with her gilded lion heads shining under the sun. A nice seaman spotted me while I was looking bewildered at the lion figurehead and let me see the deck. That moment, I fell in love. But it would've been many years before I could step on such a majestic ship again – twelve years, to be specific. That means I was already twenty-one when I finally met him. 

It was the day I joined Captain Hawley's crew, in 1776. She was a beautiful two-masted schooner, fifty feet long, called Royal Savage.

"Gentlemen," I greeted.

"A novice, huh?" a man in a long dark coat eyed me with a scornful look. "You must be Seth Murray, the kid Samuel recommended. I'm Ephraim Hawley, Lieutenant. Keep your eyes open, follow my orders, don't do anything stupid and you might survive."

"Y-yes sir!"

"Good. Now go below, Samuel will show you around." His serious countenance never faltered; at the time I didn't know it, but I'd soon learn that no one had ever seen him smile.

The hold was extremely dark but my eyes got used by it in a minute and I moved as quietly as I could to find my friend. I finally located him on a bunk bed, surrounded by maps.

"Hey Sam." I threw my bag on the upper bed.

He put the papers aside and smiled broadly at me. "Ahoy my fellow sailor, are you ready to loot and burn some British ship?"

"Are you serious?" I held back a laugh.

"Deadly serious. That's the right spirit to get on a ship with, privateers are still pirates after all. Come on, we have some time before we set sail."

I followed him around while he explained me everything I needed to know. He was a seventeen-year-old freckled boy with long brown hair, tied together into a low ponytail, and green eyes. He was the youngest member of the crew but knew everything about sailing cause he was the Captain's nephew and had been living on boats and ships of every kind since he was three. By the time we set sail, I knew all I needed to about our daily routine, plus some information on every member of the crew. There was Dave 'the Seafox' Jones, who was said to be the best smuggler and counterfeiter at sea; Connor Walker, a black-haired man who was particularly keen to get drunk and got into fights almost every week; Will 'bones' Carter, who was blind in one eye, but could shot a moving bird from sixty feet away; James Turner, who read the Bible aloud every night and had apparently decided to save Connor from his alcohol addiction; 'Silent' Pete, who'd been tortured by the British and had had his tongue cut, and many more.

However, the man this story is all about was the only one Sam hadn't introduced yet. That night, I eventually discovered why. His name was Jim Thorne, but he was known by the name of 'Stormchaser'.

"He's the Stormchaser? Like, The Stormchaser?" I whispered to Dave, looking around to be sure Thorne wasn't anywhere around me.

"He is. Born on a ship. Pirate from the first day of his life," he replied.

"Bullshit! He was found in a basket on the Mississippi River – born from water itself!" Will disagreed.

"That's the first time I hear of it," Dave frowned, "but I believe it could be the case."

"I heard he's made a deal with the Devil."

"No way!"

"Yes! And some say he's the Devil himself – once, he's been seen on a British vessel, laughing while the flames were burning the whole thing down."

"I know for a fact he cannot be burned by fire."

"That's because he's the Devil!" – James suddenly kissed the Bible and made the sign of the cross.

"Anyway," Sam added, feeling braver after the others had introduced the topic, "he's so powerful he could swipe away an entire British fleet all by himself."

"Then why doesn't he do it?"

"What fun would it be?" Sam shrugged. "He's not even mortal, he doesn't think the same as we do. He's not here to fight the revolution – " he suddenly fell silent.

"Why is he here then?" I urged him to go on.

Sam didn't answer but looked up, above my head, his eyes wide with fear and respect. I already knew who was standing right behind me, but I shivered while slowly turning around.

"Because I'm a haunted man, and I won't rest until I'll have my revenge," a low voice answered my lingering question. "Until The Hammer is dead."

That was the first time I saw him. He was tall and solidly built, he wore a long dirty coat and his brown hair and long beard seemed to be too untamed to be tied or even combed. His right eye was greyish, while the other was covered by a black patch. His face was torn by several white scars and his nose was crooked, as if it'd been broken many times. He was looking down at me with a fiery, somehow wild, look.

"The Hammer?" I repeated stupidly – it was the name for the most dreaded British admiral ever, everyone knew it.

"William Shotbolt." We held our breath as Thorne called the admiral by his name – it was a common belief that The Hammer could hear the wind whisper his name every time it was said out loud, finding his way to the poor soul who'd pronounced it. But that was not Thorne's fear – in fact, he wanted to be found. "He's called The Hammer because he smashes everything and everyone that's unlucky enough to be under his fist. Well, I fought against him many times and I'm still alive – he left me some scars, that's true, but I took his left hand," he smiled a devilish grin.

"Mr Thorne," Ephraim suddenly interrupted, appearing at the door, "the captain wants to talk to you."

He nodded with a grave look. "It's been a pleasure, gents," he offered before walking away.

I spent the rest of the night wondering – what had Shotbolt done to provoke Thorne's thirst for revenge? And how could Thorne be alive after having been caught by The Hammer? No one had ever come back to tell.

We sailed up the Hudston and took the Champlain Canal. The navigation was slow and we all heaved a sigh of relief when the curvy riverbed of the Huston was replaced by the straighter Canal. The night before the battle, I laid in bed as long as I could and eventually got dressed to take a breath of fresh air – the gentle swinging of the ship, that usually lulled me to sleep, was making me so sick that I had to rush to the balustrade to throw up my dinner.

"Worried about the battle?" A voice came out of nowhere and I startled violently, turning around to find myself in front of The Stormchaser.

"Er – I've never fought before."

"There's always a first time. I was about Samuel's age when I first killed a man."

"What's it like?"

"It's never nice. But it's either him or you. There's something inside us that pushes us to survive by any means, even if it takes to kill someone."

"I don't know if I can do it."

"What's your name?"

"Seth Murray."

"Well, Seth, you'll have to. You'll do it. And you'll move on or you'll die."

His grey iris was burning with the same rage his voice tried so hard to conceal and, for a moment, I really believed I could do it. He had that outstanding ability only few people have to pour their own feelings on others – he gave me courage.

"Is it real that you hide your left eye cause it's the eye of the Devil?"

"What do you think?" he sounded amused.

"I don't want the Devil to be mad at me – so I prefer not to answer, just in case."

He laughed, breaking the perfect stillness of the night. "I like you, kid. I really hope you don't die," he said before fading away in the darkness.

The first light of the morning found me there, trembling like a leaf out of fear and the chill morning air. We sailed toward North together with fifteen more vessels and, when the other fourteen stopped, the Royal Savage and the Congress moved on. The British fleet was there, oblivious to our presence, and it was large – at least thirty ships. We drew closer and the Captain shouted his orders from above deck.

"Fire!"

We lit the fuses and waited; a couple of seconds later, the cannons roared and the cannonballs hit one of the ships, the Carleton. Our flagship fired as well and we rotated back to head South once more. As expected, the British fleet followed us towards our trap. But something went wrong.

"The headwind is too strong!"

"We're heading towards the coast!"

"Watch out!"

A loud crash and the world around us shook to its core. I found myself on the ground, several feet further than where I was standing a moment before.

"Out! We've run aground!"

"Abandon ship!"

We escaped from the hull of the Royal Savage like many little ants that leave their home only to find the anteater in front of them – several British gunboats were already sailing closer to board us.

"Captain Howley?" I heard Thorne's thundering voice among the others and I instantly felt safer.

"Mr Thorne, if we do this, there's no turning back."

"I know."

"Do it."

We hastily freed a couple of boats from the rigging, while Thorne headed back into the Royal Savage. For a minute nothing happened and we couldn't do anything but pray, sitting in our little boats and being lulled up and down by the waves. Then, lights started to dance from the bottom of the ship up to the top, crackling and popping until the whole Royal Savage was on fire.

Captain Hawley's eyes mirrored the flames that were grasping his ship; his countenance was funereal. My eyes, however, were desperately searching for the man who'd just provided us with a way out, distracting the British fleet with such a magnificent fire.

Announced by the roar of her cannons, a sloop-of-war suddenly entered our sight. Bone-chilling, blood-freezing fear descended on the whole crew – she was the Inflexible.

"The Hammer," James whispered.

Captain Howley gestured his men to row, and two of our boats instantly moved away, escaping the British naval grip. Sitting in the last boat, we held our breath and looked up at the burning Royal Savage.

"Look! He's up there!"

The Stormchaser was climbing the main mast, his eyes fixed on the admiral who was standing less than a mile away from us – William Shotbolt. He rose higher than the flames and finally reached the wings, balancing on the timber by holding on to a rope. I saw him stretch his arm and aim his gun at Shotbolt, but the smoke was thick and the sky was turning black with ashes; in the end, Thorne lowered his gun and let out a frustrated growl. He was far away from me, but I swear I saw The Hammer grin.

"Thorne! It's gonna blow up any moment! Get away from there!"

Our yells shook him out of his rage and he seemed to suddenly realise he was surrounded by flames. I saw him remove his patch – was he using the power of the Devil's eye? – and run on the wing, perfectly balanced on the collapsing mast. The sky turned crimson as he took his last step and jumped into the air.