Pacific Ocean, August 1611
The boy snapped awake.
'All hands on deck!' bellowed the Bosun. 'That means you too, Jack!'
The Bosun's weather-beaten face loomed out of the darkness at the boy,
who hastily dropped from his swaying hammock to the wooden floor of the
ship's middle deck.
Jack Fletcher, only twelve, was nonetheless tall for his age, slim and
muscular from two years at sea. Hidden behind the straggly mess of straw blond hair he had inherited from his mother, his eyes were an azure blue
and glinted with a determination and fire far beyond his years.
Men, weary from the long voyage on board the Alexandria, slumped
from their bunks and pushed past Jack, heading urgently for the upper deck.
Jack threw the Bosun a hopeful smile of apology.
'Get going, boy!' snarled the Bosun.
Suddenly there was an almighty crash, followed by a shrieking of the
timbers and Jack was thrown to the floor. The small oil lantern suspended
from the central beam of the dinghy hold swung wildly, its flame
spluttering.
Jack landed heavily among a pile of empty casks, sending them spinning
across the bucking floorboards. He struggled to find his footing as several
other grime-ridden, half-starved crewmen stumbled past in the flickering
darkness. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and dragged him to his feet.
It was Ginsel.
The short stocky Dutchman grinned at Jack, revealing a set of broken
jagged teeth that made him look like a great white shark. Despite his severe
appearance, the sailor had always treated Jack with kindness.
'Another storm's hitting us hard, Jack. It sounds as if Hell itself has
opened up its gates!' growled Ginsel. 'Best get yourself up on the foredeck
before the Bosun has your hide.'
Jack hastily followed Ginsel and the rest of the crew as they scrambled
up the companionway and emerged into the heart of the storm.
Menacing black clouds thundered across the heavens and the complaints
of the sailors were immediately drowned out by the relentless wind ripping
through the ship's rigging. The smell of sea salt was sharp in Jack's nostrils
and ice-cold rain slashed at his face, stinging him like a thousand tiny
needles. But before he could take it all in, the ship was rolled by a
mountainous wave.
The deck flooded and foamed with seawater and Jack was instantly
drenched to the skin. The water cascaded away through the scuppers, and as
he gasped for air, another tumultuous wave roared across the deck. This
one, stronger than the first, swept Jack off his feet and he barely managed to
grab hold of the ship's rail to stop himself being washed overboard.
Jack recovered his footing as a jagged line of lightning scorched its way
across the night sky and struck the main mast. For a brief moment, the
entire ship was illuminated by a ghostly light.
The three - masted ocean
trader was in turmoil. Her crew were scattered across the decks like pieces
of driftwood. High up on the yardarm, a group of sailors battled against the
wind, attempting to furl the mainsail before the storm ripped it away, or
worse, capsized the ship entirely.
On the quarterdeck, the Third Mate, a seven-foot giant of a man with a
beard of fiery red hair, was wrestling with the wheel. Beside him was
Captain Wallace, a stern figure who shouted commands at his crew, but all
in vain; the wind whipped his words away before anyone could hear them.
The only other man on the quarterdeck was a tall and powerful sailor
with dark brown hair tied back with a thin piece of cord. This man was
Jack's father, John Fletcher, the Pilot of the Alexandria, and his eyes were
fixed on the horizon as if hoping to pierce the storm and seek out the safety
of land beyond.
'You lot!' ordered the Bosun, pointing at Jack, Ginsel and two other
crewmembers. 'Get yourselves aloft and unfurl that topsail. Now!'
They immediately headed for the bow of the ship, but as they crossed the
main deck to the foremast, a fireball plummeted out of nowhere – straight
towards Jack.
'Watch out!' cried one of the sailors.
Jack, having already experienced several full-on attacks from enemy
Portuguese warships during the voyage, instinctively ducked. He felt the
rush of hot air and heard the deep howl as the fireball flew past and plunged
into the deck. However, the impact was unlike the sound of a cannonball. It
didn't have the same fearsome crack of iron against wood. This was dull
and lifeless as if it were a bale of broadcloth. With sickening horror, Jack's
eyes fell upon the object now at his feet.
It was no fireball.
It was the burning body of one of the crew, struck dead by the lightning.
Jack stood transfixed, sickness rising from the pit of his stomach. The
dead man's face was etched in agony and so disfigured by fire that Jack
could not even recognize him.
'Holy Mary, mother of God,' exclaimed Ginsel, 'even the Heavens are
against us!'
But before he could utter another word, a wave crested the rail and swept
the body out to sea.
'Jack, stay with me!' said Ginsel, seeing the shock rise in the boy's face.
He grabbed hold of Jack's arm and tried to pull him towards the foremast.
But Jack remained rooted to the spot. He could still smell the charred
flesh of the dead sailor like an overcooked pig on a spit.
This was by no means the first death he had witnessed on the voyage and
he knew it would not be the last. His father had warned him that crossing
both the Atlantic and the Pacific would be fraught with danger. Jack had
seen men die from frostbite, scurvy, tropical fever, knife wounds and
cannon shot. Still, such familiarity with death did not make Jack numb to its
horror.
'Come on, Jack…' urged Ginsel.
'I'm just saying a prayer for him,' Jack finally replied. He knew he
should follow Ginsel and the rest of the crew, but the need to be with his
father at this very moment outweighed any duty to the ship.
'Where're you going?' yelled Ginsel, as Jack ran for the quarterdeck.
'We need you aloft!'
Jack, though, was lost to the storm, struggling towards his father in a
chaotic battle against the elements as the ship pitched and rolled.
He had barely managed to reach the mizzenmast when another colossal
wave ploughed into the Alexandria. This one was so powerful that Jack was
whipped off his feet and washed across the deck, all the way to the larboard
rail.
The ship lurched again and he was tossed over the side, swallowed whole
by the dark seething ocean…