Back to the Brig

"Don't cross that line," roared a great ox of a man. He was stripped to the waste. Clearly, he was powerful, however, few muscles showed. His fists were cleanched and hung ready at his side. Sweat glistened from his torso and his hair was pulled back and tied at his shoulders.

"Knock 'im straight t'Saint Petah's gate, Mickey!" hollared Little Jimmy Snipe. Snipe was a scavenger. He'd never fight his own battle, prefering instead to let others do his dirty work and then pick up the scraps afterward. He was small in frame and bone, but uncanny in all manner of thievery, guile and blackmail. He had a nasty scar that ran from his chin across his lips and over to his ear. It made him appear has if he had a wicked grin on his face. In the dark shadows of the ships third deck, he looked to Cutter more rat than man. He used his sneers and jeers to control most of the crew that quartered down here.

"Listen here, you little turd of a man. If your mother hadn't died when she birthed you, she, certainly would have shortly after she saw you.." snorted Cutter looking past his opponent at a smaller bow-legged man standing back a few feet.

Just then, with surprising speed, the great ox of a man known as Bellingsworth, lashed out a haymaker right at Cutter's head. He ducked quickly and countered with a smashing punch to Bellingsworth's windpipe. There was a sickening crunch as Cutter's iron-hard fist connected with his opponent's esophogaus. Bellingsworth was caught completely unaware. Instantly, he doubled over and began a vicious gurgling and coughing as he fumbled on the ground.

As Cutter stood over his fallen foe, he almost felt bad for the man. He was one of those souls in life that are born with more brawn than brain. However, it was time to end the sick, cruel games that Snipe had imposed upon the lives of all those who ate and slept down here. It was time to begin righting the long list of wrongs that were weighing his future down.

"Eh, Cutter, you's a cheat'n. You's can't punch 'im in des throat. Faces and fronts only!" snarled Snipe. Snipe stealthy reached down under his shirt were he kept his fish gutter concealed. If that blasted Cutter made a move any closer he'd get more than he bargained for.

Mickey Bellingsworth had been Little Jimmy's insurance policy. Mickey was solid as an old oak tree, but unfortunately so was his head. He'd just been another beast hauling on the anchor cable and pumping the bilges until Jimmy had rescued him. Ever since, Mickey had made all of Snipe's dreams of controlling the below deck trade a reality. Sure, the middies, boatswain, and coaxswain tried to keep the Captain's law. Sure, that law extended above deck and maybe into the first and second deck, but below that Snipe had become master. He was master of all the men, rats, and maggots that moved down here.

The realization of all of Snipe's dealings were about to be undone, by this upstart of a deckhand who had the audacity to speak like an office, made Snipe's blood boil. He began to shake he was so angry. It had only been several weeks, but already this cocky sud-scrubber was bucking his authority. The captain may be the law and lord above deck, but down here in the dark belly of the 52-gunner, Jimmy Snipe ruled.

"Cutter, " began Snipe in his thick, accented brogue, "you's a man who follows d'rules. I've seen that about you's. And de's rules, below the decks here, clearly says only fists n' fronts. You's cheat'n." Snipe looked around at the thirty or so grubby faces that circled the makeshift fightring. Most would side with Snipe, even though they all knew he had cheated them on a daily basis. But, he held their money, and most of them would have bet on Bellingsworth. Cutter winning this fight would be bad for the few sixpence that most of them had.

"Lads, 'e's, 'it 'im in the windpipe! 'E, didn't fight fair!" cried Snipe, begining to sway the assembly in his favor. "Belows de's decks, de's rules is, you's gots to fights fair..."

"You said... he said...everyone said, 'fists and fronts,' and I hit him in the front---the front of his throat." replied Cutter with a calm that masked his growing fear of having to battle the restless crowd.

"Dem rules is de's rules!" cried Snipe appealling to the crowd. He could see the nods of approval among the lads in the front of the ring. Meanwhile, Bellingsworth had managed to get to his knees and was crouched over holding his throat still gurgling and coughing. Clearly, he would be of no use for quite a while. "Cutter, you's cheated n' we's got rules for cheaters!"

"Wait!" boomed Cutter with an air of authority in his voice that momentarily held the mob at bay. It was money these men were afraid of loosing. He was a newcomer and he had just upset the balance of power. And like the herd of sheep that they were, uneducated and illiterate, money was an equalizing element that Snipe was not counting on.

"I'll uphold my claim on the winnings and every man can have their money returned to them..."Cutter paused, as he suddenly had piqued the interest of the crew, "but.."He decided to bait the crew along a little further.

"But, what?" replied Sandy Jenks, a top roap man as agile as a backstreet alley cat.

"But, I have to fight again," responded Cutter with a deceitful glumness.

"He's make'n new rules. I's say's no!" screamed Snipe sensing a shift toward Cutter amongst the men. He stamped his foot. "Any man, who's disobeys me order will forfeit 'is rum for a week."

"I say let him fight again," Sandy retorted. The general murmers of approval errupted into shouts of acceptance. "Fight again!" shouted the crew seizing upon an opportunity to recover their lost wages.

"Lad's we got a problem," called out Keller Masterson the crew's carpenter who had an eye for detail and a nose for deceit, "who's Cutter gonna fight?" That question had not dawned upon the crew. Each man quickly determined it would not be in his best interest to fight this six-foot, blond haired, lightining quick newcomer with an air of authority in his presence.

"I'll fight any man you choose," said Cutter begining to enjoy the banter. Clearly, with Bellingsworth down, this band of men were not nearly as intimidated by Snipe's ravings. Perhaps, with the right leader this group could make something...

But, Cutter had other irons in the fire.

No one among the crew, despite their growing courage, had the candor to fight Cutter or demand their money returned from Snipe.

"Alright, back to you's bunks, game's over, Cutter's cheated..." puffed Snipe.

"I'll fight you," boomed Cutter seizing upon his opportunity before the crew slunk back to their hammocks pointing a long, accusatory finger at Snipe.

"Yeah," piped in Sandy, "Snipey, you fight him." The crew shouted their agreement as Cutter began to edge closer to Snipe.

"Back off!" yelled Snipe, "I ain't fight'n.." and with surprising speed Snipe whipped out his knife and brandished the blade at Cutter.

Cutter barely had time to move, but it was too late. The knife carved red line across his forearm. Had he been any slower and the knife would have gutted him. He twisted out of the way and squared off against Snipe. Snipe had one fighting skill, and as fate would have it, it was knife fighting. In this close, cramped space with men pushing in from all sides and Cutter having to duck his six-foot frame down constantly, this little man with a knife could be trouble.

Again, Snipe lunged at Cutter. Cutter used the palm of his hand to slap the blade of the knife away. Unfortunately, since he was moving backward, he couldn't get enough force to knock the blade out of Snipe's hand. Snipe whirled around for another lunge. This time Cutter was ready and fell to his back. With tremendous force, he aimed a kick right at Snipe's knee.

Too late, Snipe had committed himself to his lunge and was over extended, when Cutter fell down. Then, crack! Cutter's kick connected with Snipe's left knee causing him to drop the knife and keel over onto the floor. Quickly, Snipe tried to roll over and regain his knife, but Cutter was closer.

Cutter, saw the knife go skidding and he scrambled for it. With his arm still bleeding, his hand was sticky grabbing the knife. The knife was ackward in his bloody hand, but he had to finish Snipe. He jumped on the immobolized Snipe and held the knife to his throat.

"I ought to finish you right now," growled a panting Cutter. "You're done down here, you understand me." Cutter let the knife press into Snipe's throat under his Adam's apple, the blade not quite biting the flesh. "You've got the years, you're going to go to Midshipman Boyle and request a crew reassignment. And if you ever breathe another word to me or any of these other men down here, I'll pluck your eyes out one at a time..."

BANG! Shouted a pistol in the confined area causing everyone to freeze in alarm.

"By order of Captain Downy, you are all to stand right where you are!" yelled Midshipman Boyle, his voice cracking. "Seargent, arrest those to men. And wait, is that a knife! By the Almighty! Marines give that man holding the knife a good drubbing. The rest of you back to your beds."

Cutter bit his lip as the marines smashed their rifle butts into his stomach. As the marines lifted him to his feet and bound his arms behind his back, Midshipmen Bolye addressed him, "Mr. Cutter, I'll have you know, accroding to the Articles of War signed by the King himself, any of the Kings sailors assulting another sailor with a weapon of any kind will certainly face the Captain's cane!"

Cutter hung his head as the marines dragged him up the narrow stairs. He was not looking forward to going back...back to the brig.


(all stories are original material and copyright to AF Vann 2006)

A Chapter

Dark, cold waves crashed over his head. He struggled to swim to the surface. Great gulps of icy cold water forced themselves into his mouth. Yellow fingered streaks of lightning filled the sky overhead. Ferocious booms and claps of thunder roared across the surf.

He was a strong swimmer but the cold water began to take its toll on his body. There was a slight tingling sensation at first, but now it was getting stronger and stronger. Something banged into his head. With power-fading strokes he pulled himself above the water once more.

Just a few feet away bobbing and plunging with the waves was a lifeboat. If he could just reach it, he would be okay. The tingling sensation was growing stronger. His strokes in the water were getting weaker and weaker. As he treaded water, he tried to voice a cry. His feeble voice was lost among the violence of the storm. He had to make the boat. His head to began to pound. His lungs were nearing the point of exhaustion.

"Swim lad, swim!" came a command across the water. The strong clear voice brought strength back into his kicks and pulls. As he neared the raft, hope sprang forth. He would be alright. A flash of lightning illuminated the features of the figure yelling for him in the boat.

"Captain!" he cried. At just that moment the wave carrying the boat swelled up. He was between the wave carrying the boat and the next one. He lost sight of the boat. He began to despair. Then, strong hands grabbed his wet shirt and jerked him out of the water and into the boat.

As he was rolling in the bottom of the boat. Angry mouthfuls of bile, vomit and saltwater expelled themselves from his mouth. He was cold. He could tell that he was shaking uncontrolably. Someone was wrapping a blanket around him. And then he passed out.

Sometime later...

"Well, is he going to make it?" demanded a stiff voice.

"I deem he has had a rough go at it. He drank a lot of salt water and spent a fair amount of time in the water. In a couple of more days full blood circulation should return and he will regain much of the color and strength he lost and ..." replied a kindly voice in a matter of fact tone.

"Doctor, I do not have time to sit here and wait on a boy to regain his color!" was yelled in reply.

"Captian,... if he was only suffering from the effects of mild hypothermia I would not be as concerned, but ....it is this other mark that has me somewhat concerned," responded the doctor.

"What other mark?" demanded the Captain somewhat alarmed. He had not noticed any other mark on the boy as he had pulled him from the water. He had not noticed any mark when the boy had his wet clothes stripped off and wrapped in dry blankets. And for three days while the boy lay in the doctor's bed, he had not noticed any mark. The Captain prided himself on seeing everything. For him to have missed something this important was troubling indeed.

The doctor gently rolled the boy over. He carefully pulled the shoulder length hair up and out of the way. As he pulled the hair up a large and nasty looking gash was visible.

"I can't begin to image how much blood he lost, Captain. If it were just his time in the water, he'd be okay. But this is a vicious cut. He's taken the fever. He shakes. He moans. We don't know how long he was in the water...and we don't know if he took the blow before or after he got in the water. I do doubt that he will recover, however..."

"Enough, man! It is bad enough that I have just discovered that this boy may never recover, without you examining every possibility about where and when this...this attack could have happened. There are only four people that knew the extent of his mission: one is lying there with his brains bashed in, you and me have been here the entire time, that only leaves..."

"Cutter..." whispered the doctor.

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