What good is a blog if I can’t publish my own children’s work? My twelve-year-old daughter recently received an honorable mention for this short work,”My Captain,” in The Hershey Story History Contest for Young Writers.

Next week, a short award-winning piece by her older brother.

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Boom!

I struggled to keep my balance. Captain would kill me if I dropped this bag.

Boom!

This was worse than the thunder.

Boom!

I scrambled up the steps.

“Where’s the powder monkey?” Master Gunner called.

I raced to the gunners, handing them the fine powder.

This is the most thrilling job I’ve ever had. The only drawback is that I’m on one of the most wanted vessels in Spain.

Boom!

I tripped on the steps. Getting up, I grabbed another bag of gunpowder.

“Boy! Hurry up!” Master Gunner called, yet again.

I repeated the same motions over and over. To the orlop, down the steps, grab the powder, up the steps, deliver, repeat. If I weren’t in the middle of a heated battle, I’d drop dead of boredom. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this though. Many a time I had delivered the powder over and over again. So many times I wondered if we were breaking the law. All this raiding would pay off eventually and probably be quite profitable. If it didn’t, I’d rip my hair out. After all, I’d have to show Mama something. She thinks I work for a whaler.

Boom!

The sound ripped me from my thoughts. The whole ship shook. Running up from the orlop, I spotted a gunner strewn across the main deck.

“No time to gawk, boy! Just a minor setback!” Master Gunner called.

Wow. Way to show respect for the dead.

I retreated into the orlop. My eyes fell on the meat barrels in the corner. I hadn’t eaten all day, and my stomach churned in hunger. I heard Master Gunner saying in my head, “No time to rest, boy!” and tore myself away, grabbing a bag of gunpowder.

Life on the sea wasn’t so easy. Most of us had to cram into one room for living quarters. A lot of people got scurvy too. I liked this life though. Just the thrill of it stirred me up. Plus, I had just about the best captain in the world. I always looked up to him, even back in Plymouth before I met him.

Mama would have thoroughly disapproved. She always disapproved of “improper” things. Mama had been raised in a very high-ranking family. It’s understandable that she would be primmer than your average woman, although why would such a prim woman marry a rough seaman like Papa?

A joyous roar rose from the crew.

“Huzzah! Huzzah! He’s done it! He’s captured the Spaniards! Huzzah! Huzzah!”

My eyes shot to the small ship quietly drifting in the choppy waters. There stood captain, sword raised high in the air, broad smile spread across his face. I too smiled and let out a long war-whoop. I was sure we’d feast tonight.

All of us piled into the dinghies and boarded the boat. The Cacafuego’s crew nervously stared and fidgeted. There was a really awkward moment until everyone arrived.

After awhile, our captain showed us what we were there for. My eyes bugged out of my skull! I had never seen so much treasure in my life! There were chests upon chests full of silver and gold! Spanish pesos and precious stones filled the entire ship.

“Men, load this onto the Golden Hinde,” Captain ordered.

And with that, the hours of back-breaking work began. We hauled the overflowing chests to the Golden Hinde for what seemed like an eternity. When we finished, we dragged our aching bodies back to the ship.

My stomach churned and boiled in hunger. I staggered into the dining hall, barely able to keep myself awake until I saw what awaited us. The table overflowed with roasted monkey, rolls, and even some bananas. Apparently the Spanish ship hadn’t been too long from shore.

I dove into the meal, barely even paying attention to the conversation because of my ravenous chomping. The meat was tough, and the bread was chewy, but I hardly noticed. As long as it filled my belly.

When my stomach was nearly full, I listened in on the conversation.

“’Oy, Captain, ’at was a lot o’ loot!” a rigger said, his mouth full of food.

“’Ow much was i’ anyway?” a swabbie inquired.

“I’m not quite sure, but I would guess at least several tons,” Captain replied.

I didn’t stay to hear the rest. A wave of fatigue washed over me. The day’s strenuous work had finally caught up with me. I stumbled out of the room and into the berth, trying to get into my hammock. It swung, and I fell, hitting my head. A second attempt resulted in the same effect. I finally got in and had a chance to relax.

Falling asleep, I drowned in the events of the day: the long battle, the chests of riches, the feast, and my captain. My captain, who captured any ship that crossed his path. My captain, one of the finest mariners on the sea. My captain, Captain Francis Drake.

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