Chapter 6 #2
His thoughts spinning in circles, he pulled Captain Courtney’s logbook toward him, opening it at random.
Over the past weeks, he’d found himself drawn to it.
A captain’s log was usually a list of facts: departure and arrival dates, ports, position, crew details, ship maintenance, weather conditions.
But Captain Courtney’s log was more of a journal.
He commented on small things, happenings that most would not think important enough to record, such as a joke told, a particular bird spotted, or his impressions of a new port.
He made notes of crewmembers’ families and where they were from.
There was hardly a record of punishments.
Ideas and complaints were recorded, usually alongside a resolution.
The men were listened to, respected. It was no wonder his crew was so loyal.
Many of them had sailed with him for more than twenty years.
Hawke could learn from Courtney’s style of leadership.
He thought of his own crew aboard The Cormorant.
He’d always considered himself a capable captain.
When it came to fighting, he was more skilled than most. He was a good judge of which ships to attack, which to avoid, and which to flee from.
He commanded his men well in battle, and he kept the vessel running efficiently.
But Courtney’s log made him consider for the first time that there might be more to being a leader than simply giving orders.
Hawke knew his men trusted him. They likely feared him.
But did they respect him? Would his crew be willing to travel to a cursed island to rescue him?
He harbored no illusions. Most aboard The Cormorant would not even cross the deck to help a shipmate.
Heat lined his throat as he thought of what he might have done differently. If he’d shown Robert Wilkes more respect, would his first mate still have betrayed him? In Wilkes’s case, Hawke didn’t believe any change in his part would have had an effect. But the others—
“What are you doing?” Lady Annabelle stood in the chart room’s doorway, fists on her hips, glaring at him. Of course she was. The woman had not spoken to him in weeks, and he’d wondered if her animosity toward him may have cooled. Apparently it had not.
“Entering the captain’s log,” he said, turning the pages to the last entry. He held up a quill to show her, wiggling the feather between his finger and thumb to emphasize his point.
Her glare intensified, making her eyes darken, which Hawke would have thought impossible if he’d not seen it himself. And he wasn’t ashamed to admit the sight was a little terrifying.
“That is not for you to do,” she said. “You are not the captain.”
So, it was to be the same argument. Very well. “My lady, I believe my leading this crew and navigating this ship indicates otherwise.”
Her gaze moved from him to the logbook, and her face reddened. “You have no right to use his book.”
“Lady Annabelle.” He spoke slowly and clearly so she might fully understand. “Captain Courtney is not here. I am.” He pointed to his chest. “I. Am. The. Captain.”
“You may stand at the helm and give orders, but you are only playacting.” Her eyes shone with tears. “I will never call you captain. Never. You are an imposter. Once Captain Courtney returns, everything will be as it should.”
Anger flared in Hawke’s chest. “If you’ll remember, per our agreement, once Captain Courtney returns, this ship is mine.
” He pushed his palms against the desk, rising.
“And having a ship, sailing it . . . What does that make me? Oh yes. It makes me the captain.” Hawke shrugged a shoulder and sat back on the stool. “Courtney’s probably dead anyway.”
The pain that flashed across Lady Annabelle’s face was so unexpected he almost didn’t recognize her. Her shoulders dropped, and her tears overflowed, spilling down her cheeks. She opened her mouth as if she’d say something more, but instead, she spun and rushed away.
Hawke grimaced as guilt twisted inside him. He’d spoken in anger, and he may have gone too far. But that woman . . . He had never met anyone who made him so furious. And that included the Portuguese soldiers who’d hung him by his feet over a pit of crocodiles and left him to die.
His anger cooled as he thought of the raw vulnerability he’d seen on her face. His words had been unnecessarily cruel, and he needed to apologize. Hawke stood, but before he’d even taken a step toward the door, Lady Annabelle burst back through the doorway.
“You deserve to fall overboard!” She glared at him. “And for the fishes to feast on your entrails for eternity.” She yelled the words loud enough for the whole ship to hear.
Shadbolt’s door opened, and the first mate watched the interaction, arms crossed.
Anger crashed back over Hawke, extinguishing any remaining guilt and thoughts of apology.
He kept his voice low but infused it with the fury that simmered beneath his skin. “That would be a pity indeed, because without me you’ll never find your island.”
Lady Annabelle spun once again and stormed off. She was apparently incapable of departing in any other manner.
Shadbolt raised his brows, watching her go, then closed his door.
Hawke sat hard onto the stool. He pulled out the inkpot’s cork, black ink sloshing over his hands, and stabbed the quill inside.
There would be no thoughtful comments in the margins of the captain’s log today.