The Days of Futures Past

CHAPTER ONE

***

As the early morning clouds dissipated, they gave rise to a new sun that sent golden ripples of sparkling light across the water. A lone seagull, flying a thousand feet high, glided effortlessly on the rising wind currents. Far below, billowing Whitecaps punctuated an azure-blue sea. In the distance, a pinpoint of land appeared. It quickly grew larger and more detailed as the bird soared higher and higher into the sky.

Anchored in the rocky harbor, surrounded by mountainous cliffs, sat a three-masted sailing vessel, a schooner. Hoisted atop the mizzen-mast was a black flag adorned with a white skull and crossbones.

Halfway between the schooner and the island, a longboat, holding five men and a humped-back, iron-strapped treasure chest, made its way across the harbor toward land. Each stroke of the oars brought them closer and closer to shore.

As the wooden boat nosed its way onto the beach, four oarsmen climbed out of the vessel and pulled it farther onto the sand.

An hour later, eye-deep in a hole, the four oarsmen were digging vigorously with picks and shovels. Captain John, a sinister figure with a scar running diagonally across his bearded face, stood beside the treasure chest, and watched the men work with an expressionless stare.

When two of the oarsmen climbed out of the hole, Captain John motioned with a gesture for them to pick up the chest. The men lugged it toward the hole and slowly lowered it to the two men waiting below. The sailors in the pit carefully sat the chest down, then looked up and waited for further orders.

Captain John drew two pistols from his belt, and with a sinister grin, looked down, and fired. The men in the hole dropped dead. He whirled about, faced the other oarsmen, and motioned for them to begin shoveling. The men, without question, did as they were ordered.

While they began to shovel sand over the treasure chest, Captain John drew his cutlass, walked up stealthily from behind, and skewered one of the men. The man screamed and fell into the half-filled hole. The other man panicked, dropped his shovel, turned, and started to run. Before he could take his second step, the Captain swung his saber and quickly decapitated him. He wiped his bloody sword on the sash around his waist, smiled an evil grin, and kicked the dead man’s head into the hole.

CHAPTER TWO

***

Somewhere out on the open sea, lightning flashed and lit up the night sky. Huge, mountainous waves built and rolled in rhythm with the booming thunder. In the distance, through the blinding rain, a large, four-masted frigate appeared. It’s enormous sails strained against the near hurricane-force winds. The ship rocked as it dropped into the valley of a giant swell then climbed up the other side. A flash of lightning illuminated the crew as they scurried about their tasks, pulling lines and trimming sails. It took everything they could muster to keep the ship afloat. In his early thirties, Captain Peter stood behind the helmsman as the man wrestled with the wheel. Strong and determined, Peter’s long, black, shoulder-length hair blew in the wind. His deep-set brown eyes were intent on their course.

The sound of the rain pounding down resonated in the cabin below. Miriam, a woman in her late twenties, with pale skin and flaming red hair, struggled to stand as the ship shifted from side to side. Near-term with a child, she moved to the stern window and looked out at the greenish, rolling sea below.

Another much older woman, dressed in a plain gingham dress, rubbed her arm.

D’ not fear, my dear. Th’ storm, it be o’er soon, she said, trying to console her.

High above the deck, a sailor, standing in the crow’s nest, cupped his hands to his mouth and called out to the captain standing behind the wheel far below. Land ho. Land off th’ port bow.

On the horizon, a dark, ominous shape loomed ahead. It was an island with sheer cliffs that shot straight out of the slate-green sea.

The helmsman turned his head toward Peter and shouted, Orders, Cap’n?

We’ll brin’ her in, but nay too close, said Peter. We’ll lay anchor offshore ‘til high tide. I don’t want ta’ chance runnin’ her aground on a reef.

Aye, aye, Sir.

As they neared the island, amazingly, the clouds quickly parted, and the storm passed. The sea became as calm as glass, and high in the sky, a full moon shined brightly down on the ship as it slowly entered the rocky harbor and dropped anchor.

At the break of dawn, a red-colored sun rose slowly in the sky and illuminated a small longboat making its way toward the shore. As it nosed its way onto the beach, Peter, Miriam, and two crewmen disembarked and walked down the shoreline. In the distance, Peter and Miriam spotted a dead man’s hand rising out of the sand. Its fingers were curled into a fist as if grasping for life.

Oh, me, God. What be it? asked Miriam.

Nay, do I know, he said as he led her to the shade of a palm tree. Stay ye here.

As Miriam waited patiently, Peter and his crew investigated the carnage. After sitting on the hard ground for what seemed an eternity, Miriam saw Peter racing back down the beach towards her. As he approached, she rose to her feet, steadied herself with one hand, and braced herself against the tree. Her eyes widened as he ran up to her with his hands cupped around golden doubloons. Following close behind him were the two crewmen lugging the treasure chest. What did ye find?

Tis pirates’ bounty. We be rich, he said, tossing the coins into the air.

Miriam grimaced, moaned, grabbed her abdomen, and dropped to her knees onto the sand.

What be wrong wi’ ye? asked Peter.

Th’ baby. It be a comin’ soon.

Before Peter could react, he looked up and saw four longboats, loaded with the crew and his ship's passengers, plunging through the surf toward the shore. As the boat beached, one of the crewmen leaped out and raced toward Peter.

Cap’n. ‘Tis a pirate ship, he said breathlessly.

Where? asked Peter.

The crewman pointed toward the horizon.

Are ye sure ‘tis pirates?

Aye. They be flyin’ a skull an’ crossbones. What be yur orders, Cap’n?

Before he could reply, the pirate ship came into view. A shot rang out, and a cannonball whistled overhead, crashing into the sand near them. Peter whirled about and grabbed the crewman’s arm. Take Miriam, th’ passengers, and th’ treasure. Find a place t’ hide and bury th’ booty. Now, hie thee.

Aye, aye, Cap’n.

Peter kneeled in the sand next to Miriam. Ye must go, now.

What ‘bout ye?

I be returnin’ t' th' ship wi’ me crew.

What say ye?

I be seein’ ifn we can hold off th’ pirates long enough t’ allow ye an’ th’ passengers t’ escape.

Miriam took his hand and rubbed it along her face. God be wi’ ye.

Moments later, Miriam, the midwife, the passengers, and two crewmen, carrying the treasure chest, disappeared down the beach.

Peter and the remaining crew hastily boarded the longboats and made their way back toward the frigate. Another cannonball crashed into the water near them, sending a spray of water onto the men. They no sooner boarded the ship than another cannonball flew overhead. Before Peter’s crew could man their cannons, there was another round of fire. A double-ball shot, one in which a chain connected the two cannonballs, struck the frigate. The main mast was hit dead on and made a crackling, splitting sound. It snapped in two and crashed to the deck, trapping several crewmen below. Another cannonball smashed into the port bow. Within seconds, the deck slanted downward, and the ship began to sink. The remaining crew dove into the water and attempted to swim to shore but were shot dead like fish in a barrel. The water around the sinking ship quickly turned red with blood.

CHAPTER THREE

***

Atop an immense limestone cliff, near the center of the island, a group of pirates gathered in a semi-circle.

Now shirtless and sweating profusely, Peter stood tethered between two wooden poles with his hands bound tightly by horsehair ropes. The crack of the whip caused him to flinch each time it found its mark. He clenched his teeth tightly together as the long black forked tongue wrapped itself around his naked torso and bit deeply into his reddened flesh. The searing hot pain made him cry out in agony as he struggled against the bonds that held him. With every lash, he felt himself drift in and out of consciousness. The pain! My God, the pain. How much more can I bear? he thought to himself.

Will, a squat and thuggish man in his forties, tightened his grip on the whip. Sweat ran down his pock-marked face as he viciously flogged Peter. Nine... ten... eleven... twelve, he counted out loudly.

Each successive blow caused Peter’s face to become a distorted mask of anguish. His brain, now swimming in agony, lost control of his body as his knees buckled beneath him. A sense of detachment filled his mind as he hung limply from the ropes that cut deeper and deeper into his wrists. Strangely, he no longer felt the pain and the voices around him seemed distant, almost otherworldly.

Thirteen... fourteen... fifteen..., he heard Will’s voice faintly counting out.

Even though his senses were completely numb, he could feel his body twitch spasmodically each time the whip found its mark. Suddenly, nausea filled his throat. He struggled vainly to contain it, but he knew he could no longer control the overwhelming urge to vomit. Please, no! Not now, he cried out as he began to regurgitate. Each involuntary contraction of his stomach triggered massive convulsions. Hanging there, strangling on his vomit and gasping for oxygen, he heard someone shout a command, and the whip fell silent.That be ‘nough fer now. He nay be die’n, yet, said Captain John.

Shall I be cuttin’ ‘im down? asked Will.

Captain John walked toward Peter, grasped his long black hair matted with blood and vomit, and lifted his head. Nay. I be not finished wi’ ‘im yet. Til ‘e be tellin’ me where ‘e buried my doubloons, I’m goin’ t’ slowly strip ‘is skin off piece by piece an' feed it t’ th’ dogs.

Now, Cap’n John? Now? asked Will as he slid his finger along a glistening metal knife.

Nay. Let ‘im hang here awhile. I be thinkin’ by th’ time we return, ‘e’ll be rememberin’ where ‘e buried th’ booty, he said with a smile.

As the men turned and walked away, their voices faded into the distance.

Peter shook his head and struggled to regain his senses, but the pain was incredible. He attempted to swallow, but his mouth was so dry that his tongue stuck to his palate. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps. Feeling a great desire to fill his lungs with fresh oxygen, he opened his mouth wide and forced in a deep breath. As he did, hot searing pains shot through him, and he lost consciousness.

Upon awakening, flies buzzed around his face. The blazing sun beat down upon his bare skin and sent salty sweat pouring into his open wounds, setting them afire. As the flies began to feast upon his raw flesh, he tried to shake them off, but each move he made was torture. Only the sting of the whip felt worse than the bite of the menacing insects.

Dangling from the ropes, he could no longer feel his hands. Only a strange tingling sensation remained. Regardless of how hard he tried to move his fingers, they wouldn’t respond. He questioned how much more pain he could endure as the will to live began to slip away. Fight it, man. Fight it, he cried out to the heavens. He shook his head to get the sweat out of his eyes and said, Yur th’ captain. Think of th’ others. Thar depenin’ on ya. Thar has t’ be a way t’ escape. Slowly he regained his mental faculties, even though intense pain still filled his body. He knew he would have to stand, so the pressure of the ropes that cut into his wrists could be relieved. Slowly, he brought first his right leg and then his left beneath him and tried to stand, but they gave way and collapsed beneath him. The sudden jar made him cry out in agony. Cold sweat dripped off his brow as a wave of nausea again flowed through him. A few agonizing minutes passed, then he took a deep breath, held it, and tried again. The effort demanded all the strength and courage he could muster, but slowly, he brought his right leg and then his left leg beneath him. He straightened his knees and gradually brought his limp body to an upright position. After standing there for a few minutes, a terrible itching, burning pain returned to his hands. The intense electrical tingling sensation was almost more than he could bear. Tears streamed down his face as he closed his eyes, bit his lip, and fought back the urge to deaden the pain once again. Finally, the agony subsided. Slowly, he unclenched the stiffened fingers of first his right hand then his left until the skin changed from a pale white to pink. He looked at the ropes that bound his wrists and could barely tell where they ended, and his flesh began. The bindings had cut in so deep that they appeared to be an extension of his body. He twisted his wrists to free himself, but