The November’s Pride sat in the water quietly with her sails loose flapping in the steady breeze. A solemn voice could be faintly heard over the splashing waves.
We therefore commit
their bodies to the deep,
to be turned into corruption,
looking for the resurrection of the body
when the sea shall give up her dead,
and the life of the world to come,
through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Marcus gave a nod as the crew raised several platforms on the side of the ship as the dead slipped into the water. After a moment of silence Marcus turned and went below decks to the captain’s cabin. The crew waited until he could not be seen before disassembling from their burial detail and tending to their regular duties.
The cabin still lay in disarray as splinters layered the floor. Marcus picked up an overturned chair and placed it upright as his second in command Lieutenant Alexei Rinald entered.
“Orders, sir” asked Alexei in the door way.
“Give an hour for the crew to rest and collect themselves, then set course due west.”
“Very good, sir” Alexei turned and left Marcus to his thoughts.
Marcus sat and replayed the battle in his head over and over, each time wondering if there was something different he could have done. Each time the events played out, he came to the realization that things could not be changed. Captain Raimous was dead, and the loyal crew approved of Marcus as their new captain. Marcus had been around death’s embrace before, losing fellow crewman, but this time it was different, it was his captain, his mentor, and the closest thing he ever had to a father. Even with his Scottish heritage Raimous, a Russian, took Marcus on as his son from the sea. Marcus stared at the open log book on the table.
“You were a good captain…and a better father.” Marcus said as he made the final entries to the log book, as he did; he noticed writing on the very last page. “Pliyvee Bestrashna”
”Sail on fearlessly, captain, sail on fearlessly.” He said closing the log book.
Alexei popped his head into the cabin with a look of urgency on his face, “Sir, sails on the horizon”
“Their colors, Mr. Rinald?” Marcus asked rising from his seat.
“Pirate colors, sir.”
Marcus paused for a moment then straightened up, “Beat to quarters”
Alexei let a smile creep across his face “Aye, sir” he replied and disappeared from the doorway.
Marcus could hear the drummer beat the battle cadence and the rush of the crew on deck. He donned his sword and pistol, brushed off his hat before putting it on, and made his way to the doorway. Looking back at the closed log book one last time he drew in the fresh sea air.