The Abyss rocked gently on the open sea, the deep blue horizon stretching as far as the eye could see. The chaos of recent battles had finally ebbed, but there was no rest for the crew. They were in dire need of repairs, supplies, and replacements, yet before they reached the next port, Jacob knew his newly assigned officers needed to assert their authority and mold the crew into a cohesive unit.
Standing near the helm, Jacob watched as the crew hustled about the deck. It had been a week since they'd left the battle behind, and though the men were skilled, they lacked the refinement that true discipline required. They worked together, but not with the synergy necessary to make them unstoppable. That's where these drills came in.
Garrett stood beside Jacob, his arms crossed, silently observing as the crew scrambled below. The old veteran's eyes were sharp, catching every misstep and blunder, though his calm exterior betrayed nothing of what was going through his mind.
"Watch Renard there," Garrett muttered, nodding toward the gun deck where Renard and his gunners were in the midst of an artillery drill. "His crew's slow on the reloads."
Jacob's eyes flicked to Renard, the newly appointed lead gunner. The cannons were being loaded and prepared, but it wasn't as smooth as Jacob had hoped. The lead gunner barked orders, but there was a lag—a hesitation in the men's movements.
"Damn it, Hale!" Renard's voice rose sharply, his cool demeanor cracking as he pointed toward one of the crew. "You're gonna get someone killed if you don't get that powder ready on time!"
Hale, the second gunner, snapped to attention, his face flushed with frustration. "I'm doing it, Renard! Just give me a bloody second."
Renard growled, his usual calm demeanor replaced with irritation. "There's no time in a fight! Get your act together, or I'll have Briggs throw you overboard!"
Jacob's lips twitched into a faint smile. Renard was finding his authority, and though the crew was still adjusting, the fire in his voice was what they needed. Jacob didn't intervene, knowing Renard had to manage his own men.
On the other side of the ship, Elias's booming voice echoed across the deck. The hotheaded quartermaster had his section running through a sail-raising drill, and his temper was already flaring.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Rook? I said pull, not gently tug the damn thing like it's your sweetheart's hand!" Elias shouted, glaring at Jory "Rook" Carter, one of the younger deckhands.
"I'm pulling as hard as I can!" Rook snapped back, his rebellious streak showing.
Elias stomped over, his muscular frame towering over the smaller man. "Not hard enough! If this was a storm, we'd be halfway to the bottom of the sea by now! Either you pull, or I'll find someone who can!"
Rook's face reddened, but he bit his tongue and pulled harder. The tension between them was clear, but Jacob could see Elias was already molding Rook. The young man was rebellious, but he had potential, and Elias's harsh hand was exactly what Rook needed.
Jacob turned his gaze to the rigging, where Wicks, the bosun, was overseeing the work of the sailors as they hoisted the sails. Wicks had been with The Abyss for years, but Jacob had noticed his leadership faltering recently. The ropes were tangled more often than not, and the crew seemed to be working at half their usual speed.
Garrett grunted, shaking his head. "He's slipping."
Jacob glanced at him, his expression serious. "He's been given enough chances. If he can't shape up, we'll need someone else."
Wicks scolded a few sailors below, his voice lacking the bite of his younger years. "Tighter, lads, tighter! You're gonna make us look like a bloody merchant crew at this rate."
Pike, a veteran sailor, threw Wicks a sharp look. "If you gave clearer orders, maybe we'd know what the hell we're supposed to be doing!"
Wicks opened his mouth to retort, but the words seemed to die in his throat. He hesitated, and Pike smirked before turning back to his work. That brief pause told Jacob everything he needed to know—Wicks was losing control of the deckhands.
Jacob caught Garrett's eye and gave him a subtle nod. It was time to start looking for Wicks' replacement.
As the drills continued, Jacob moved across the deck, inspecting the crew's work. He didn't need to know the specifics of each role, but his instinct for leadership allowed him to sense when something wasn't working smoothly. He caught Briggs watching him, the officer's sharp eyes scanning the men with a look of calculated assessment.
"Briggs," Jacob called.
"Aye, Captain?" Briggs's voice was steady as ever.
"Discipline's slipping in the lower ranks. Keep an eye on it. If anyone slacks off again, you know what to do."
Briggs nodded curtly, his expression hardening. "Aye, Captain. No mercy."
It was then that a shout from the rigging drew Jacob's attention. Thomas, the young apprentice under Cedric's tutelage, had his hands full with a stubborn knot in one of the lines. The wind tugged at the sails, and Cedric's voice rang out from the quarterdeck, sounding strained.
"Thomas! You're going too fast! Slow down and watch what you're doing, lad, or we'll have that sail in the drink."
Thomas struggled, his hands moving too quickly in his eagerness to impress. "I'm trying, Cedric, but—"
"No excuses!" Cedric cut him off, his voice sharp but lacking its old bite. "You don't try. You do it right!"
Jacob watched closely, his hands clasped behind his back. He could see the tension in Thomas's body, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Cedric was tough on him, but that was the price of learning from a master.
Garrett leaned closer to Jacob, lowering his voice. "Thomas will get there. Cedric's hard on him, but the boy's got potential."
Jacob nodded. "He'll need to learn fast. Cedric won't be around forever."
The day wore on, the crew growing more cohesive with each passing hour. As the sun began to set, casting an orange glow across the sea, the drills finally wound down. The crew, exhausted but more in tune with each other's movements, gathered around the deck, panting and wiping sweat from their brows.
Jacob looked out over them, his eyes meeting those of his officers. Renard, Elias, Briggs—they were shaping their teams, but the cohesion of The Abyss was only beginning to form.
The road to their next port still stretched ahead of them, but Jacob knew that by the time they arrived, his crew would be ready for whatever awaited them next.
As The Abyss sailed steadily toward port, the crew had begun to find their rhythm—not just in their work, but in their song. Over the days of drilling, with barked orders and biting insults from the officers, the crew had settled into a routine of sharp discipline mixed with the raw, rough edge of pirate life. Mistakes were still made, of course. Pike was constantly reprimanded for being too slow with the lines, and Elias had nearly thrown Jory overboard for missing a rigging knot for the third time in a row.
"Blast it, Jory! If you can't tie a knot right, you'll tie it 'round your neck next!" Elias bellowed, his voice carrying over the deck as he pulled the rope from the young deckhand's hands and re-did it with quick precision. "A ship don't sail on good intentions! Fix it, or I'll see you fishin' with the sharks!"
Jory's face flushed, and he hastily corrected the knot under Elias' sharp gaze, earning a few grunts of approval from Renard, who leaned nearby, watching the scene unfold with amusement.
"Least you got the hands for it, lad," Renard called with a smirk. "Pity about that empty skull though."
Pike, too, found himself the target of several scoldings, particularly from Wicks. The bosun, though still under scrutiny from Garrett and Jacob, made sure to assert his dominance by picking at Pike's slower pace.
"If ye can't haul a sail faster than a crippled dog, Pike, maybe we'll have to leave ye in the port as a beggar!" Wicks spat, his voice laced with annoyance. "Move like ye mean it, or we'll see if ye float any better than ye work!"
Even Thomas, eager as ever, found himself getting corrected by Cedric on more than one occasion. The older sailing master, while patient, was losing none of his edge. He barked out corrections to Thomas when the young sailor misjudged the wind or pulled the wrong rope.
"Pay attention, boy!" Cedric snapped, his voice still carrying authority despite his years. "You think this ship will sail itself if you stand there gawkin' at the waves? Pull that line proper, and stop actin' like a greenhorn!"
But amidst the work and the scoldings, there was something else—the rhythm of their song, the shanty the crew had come up with to deal with the tension aboard the cursed ship. It had started with murmurs and hums, and over the last few days, it had grown into something full and powerful. The men sang it as they worked, their voices rising and falling in unison, keeping time with the pulling of ropes and the shifting of sails.
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
The song carried over the deck, infectious in its rhythm. Even Jacob, standing near the helm, could hear the crew singing as they worked. He exchanged a glance with Garrett, who nodded approvingly. This was how legends were born—through whispers, songs, and the spreading of tales. The crew didn't just fear him anymore; they respected him, and they were making sure others would, too.
"Seems the men are starting to find their stride," Garrett said, watching as Renard barked orders to the gunners while the song continued in the background.
"Aye," Jacob replied, his gaze sweeping across the deck. "A song'll help keep their spirits high."
"And it'll do more than that," Garrett added with a knowing look. "This shanty of theirs—if it reaches port, it won't be long before other crews are singin' it too. Word spreads fast in these waters."
Jacob's eyes flickered with understanding. The song wasn't just for morale—it was a weapon, a way to spread his name, his influence. A way to become more than just a man.
We sailed from dawn to the dead of night,
With Jacob Black at the helm so tight,
He speaks to ghosts when the moon is full,
And bends the tides to his wicked pull.
As the crew adjusted sails, the verses came in waves, each line rising with the creak of the ropes and the snap of the wind. Even Pike, for all his slowness, had picked up the chorus. The younger deckhands sang louder as they tried to outmatch the insults thrown at them, while the veterans let their voices rumble in deeper tones.
Mistakes were still made—Jory botched another knot and earned a cuff on the back of the head from Elias—but the song kept them moving.
He took the ship from the old man's hand,
With a crew of bones and cursed sand,
The sea it whispers, the wind does wail,
When Jacob Black sets forth to sail.
"Keep it tight, lads!" Elias barked, but there was a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth now. The crew was learning, and more importantly, they were bonding through the work. It wasn't perfect, not yet, but the gruff camaraderie was starting to form, each scolding followed by laughter or a sly comment.
Barret, the new carpenter, had settled into his duties as well. He hummed along with the others, his hands steady as he patched the deck's damage from the recent battles. The ship wouldn't fall apart under his watch.
As The Abyss sailed closer to port, the horizon shifted. The outline of the harbor came into view, and with it, the pace on deck quickened. The song, now more than a shanty, had become a kind of battle cry.
The souls he claims, they haunt the deck,
Their hollow eyes, they keep in check,
But follow him, we do, by choice or curse,
For there's no escape, and it could be worse!
The midday sun cast long shadows across the ship as the crew sang louder, the shanty reaching its peak. They pulled ropes, adjusted the sails, and maneuvered the ship with renewed vigor, the song pushing them forward as they neared the harbor.
And then, just as they began their final approach into port, the crew belted out the full chorus one last time, their voices echoing off the docks and the nearby ships:
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
Dockworkers stopped to watch the cursed ship approach, their eyes wide as the eerie melody drifted over the water. Whispers spread quickly as the crew continued their tasks, the legend of Black Jack Jacob already starting to take root.
Jacob stood at the helm, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Let them sing. Let them fear. Soon enough, his name would be on every tongue in the Caribbean, carried by the wind and the waves—and by the crew who sang his legend into existence.
Author Note: Sea Shanty
"The Cursed Captain's Call"
(Chorus)
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
(Verse 1)
We sailed from dawn to the dead of night,
With Jacob Black at the helm so tight,
He speaks to ghosts when the moon is full,
And bends the tides to his wicked pull.
(Chorus)
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
(Verse 2)
He took the ship from the old man's hand,
With a crew of bones and cursed sand,
The sea it whispers, the wind does wail,
When Jacob Black sets forth to sail.
(Chorus)
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
(Verse 3)
The souls he claims, they haunt the deck,
Their hollow eyes, they keep in check,
But follow him, we do, by choice or curse,
For there's no escape, and it could be worse!
(Chorus)
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!
(Verse 4)
So drink your rum, and fear the night,
The captain's curse is a sailor's fight,
But fortune's won with the devil's hand,
And Jacob Black rules sea and land!
(Chorus – repeat)
Oh, the cursed captain leads us all,
With shadows dark and spirits tall,
His hand's as cold as the ocean's maw,
Beware, beware, the captain's call!