The cold sea was choppy as the small flotilla of longboats made their way to the 32-gun frigate known as the HMS Chiron. In broad daylight, I hadn't really given it much thought when I first saw it from in front of its recruiting house, but in the dim light, it was a menacing wooden leviathan painted with yellow-and-black stripes, whose sixteen-pounder guns could easily turn the little vessel I was on into matchsticks.

The longboat I was on soon neared some planks in the center of the ship's broadside, and a member of the press-gang leapt to scurry up to the main deck. I then was roughly shoved forward by a member of the press-gang to the side of the boat, nearly sending me overboard in the process. As I recovered, I realized that I had to climb up. Stepping onto the side of the longboat, I landed onto the planks, with little waves nipping at my heels and soaking the bottom of my trousers.

As I climbed onto the main deck, I couldn't help but notice how dizzyingly tall the three masts were. The rigging was a forest made up of acres of canvas and rope stretching for miles, and I estimated the height to be over a hundred feet. My observations were then rudely cut off by one of the press-gang as he shoved me to an open hatch leading to the deck below, where I was herded along with the others like cattle down three decks to the ship's hold, where her provisions were kept.

I resented being treated like a slave, as if I was just another expendable brute to work the ship and to be despised by all the other sailors aboard. Clenching my teeth in bitterness, I felt the thick rope tied around my wrists slacken and fall, and I heard it drop with a thud onto the deck before I was shoved down the companionway to the hold, and I heard the hatch slam shut behind me, as I was the last to be sent to the hold.

The only light now was from lanterns on the orlop deck above, pouring through grates in the rafters, and ducking to avoid hitting my head, I sat atop a wooden barrel lying on its side. The sun had probably set by now, but I was so tired, I didn't feel like falling asleep. I then felt pinpricks on my feet as something crawled across, and I looked to see that it was a red-eyed rat the color of the shadows around it.

My eyes went wide, and I stifled a scream as I kicked it across the dappled light, where I could see the movements of the other pressed men, although now in the darkness, they looked more like shades instead of real people.

They were making noises, although I felt so disconnected, I had to tune in to hear them clearly. I heard their prayers for themselves and their loved ones, as well as their cursing the Fates, but loudest of all were their sobs, their sadness at being torn apart from their families.

I imagined tiny teardrops splashing onto the unfeeling deck of the hold, and I wondered how many little children are waiting for their daddies to come home, only to find out months later that he had died at sea?

After awhile, I felt something wet slide down the sides of my nose, and I belatedly realized that I was crying. The first tear that ran across my lip tasted bitter and salty as it entered my mouth, and as I wiped it and the other tears away with the sleeve of my shirt, I heard a voice say, "Don't cry now, lad."

I looked up from my knees to see that a little old sailor had sat down next to me on the barrel. He wore a woolen sailor's cap that rested on his big red nose and covered his eyes, and his thick, white mustache and beard rested on the collar of his coat, which was a bright, sunny yellow that didn't help my mood at all, and now that I think about it, wasn't a very common color for practical boat cloaks.

The little old man smiled cheerfully as he patted me on the back. "Cheer up, lad. The ones who are really going to suffer aboard this here ship are the ones who stay the way you are right now: angry, bitter, and resentful. They'll be the ones who work the worst jobs, while the ones who are at least willing to try become true sailors, and that's no bad life, if you ask me. You just got to remember that the darkest hour is just before dawn."

I smiled at the little old sailor, in spite of myself, and he smiled back at me as he tipped his hat. I then heard a loud creak come from behind me, and I turned to see that a boatswain's mate had opened the hatch behind me. "First luff wants you all topside!"

"Come on, let's get going-" I said, turning to where the little old sailor was sitting, but it looked like he had disappeared. You'd think that with his bright yellow coat, he'd kinda stick out in the dim light, but I had no time to look for him before the boatswain's mate shouted, "Come on! Time's a-wasting!"

Getting up from my seat on the barrel, I was in the lead as the sailors herded the pressed men up to the weather decks, where the boatswain, the ship's officer in charge of the crew bawled, "Toe the line!"

Pressing all our toes against one of the tarry lines keeping the ship's planks together, I looked up to see the master-at-arms, in charge of weapons and discipline, arrive with his mates from the ship's stern, or rear. They toed the line across the deck from us, along with the other officers, which included the midshipmen, officer cadets no older than I was. Between the aft, or towards the stern ends of the two lines was the ship's clerk, along with a small wooden table and chair.

We stood there in an awkward silence for a few minutes, before I heard a mutter pass down the line of pressed men from the able seaman at the aft end. "Looks like the first luff's come topside, boys."

I resisted the urge to peer down the line, instead focusing on the redheaded midshipman standing in front of me. He had a kind of pretty-boy elegance about him, even in the working rig uniform, and as we made eye contact, I could see that he had green eyes. We both averted our gaze at the same time as we saw the first lieutenant step in front of the table, wearing his full dress uniform complete with gold-laced hat and sword.

"Pressed men, sir!" The master-at-arm reported as he touched his hat to the first lieutenant, who stepped up to the center of the two lines. The captain was a tall and lean man in his mid-twenties, with dark eyes, tanned skin, and sunburned cheeks. He said nothing as he took his hat off and tucked it underneath his shoulder, revealing dark brown hair that was tied in a loose pigtail.

"I am Mr. James, and I am the first lieutenant of this ship, and as of today, you are all pressed men at the service of the Royal Navy of Leomaris." The captain said as he strode slowly towards us, and I froze like a deer in headlights as he glanced at me with dark, intelligent eyes before he continued speaking. "We are at war with Napoleon Vercingetorix, and there will only be one winner at the end, and that is going to be us. And we will win it by courage and discipline!"

The captain let that sink in for a moment before walking back to the small table a few yards away and sat down, placing his gold-laced two-cornered hat on the table while a clerk opened up a book the size of the library's dictionary to write in it. "You will answer my questions now and this will help me decide how best you will serve. I will rate you here and provide watch and station details later to the officer of your division. Do we have any volunteers?"

No one dared to raise his hand, keeping them at their sides clenched in fists, and Mr. James turned his head to the clerk to say one quiet word that somehow we could all hear clearly. "Begin."

The clerk opened his behemoth of a leather-bound book to consult its old and yellow pages, and I froze again as he called out my name in a somewhat nasally voice: "Arden, Chase!"

I nervously shuffled forward, feeling much smaller now, and I kept my blue eyes glued to the deck to avoid eye contact, and Mr. James asked me, and not unkindly: "Your profession, Mr. Arden?"

"A student." I answered, mustering the courage to looked the captain in the eye. I had no idea what fifteen-year old guys had as jobs in this world, so I decided to tell the truth, just not all of it. That's how I got away with most "lies" I told.

"Sir!" The master-at-arms said sharply, startling me and making me almost jump out of my shoes as I repeated him. The first lieutenant's eyes looked up at me with a raised eyebrow as he did so, and then he said to the clerk, "Rated landsman, Mr. Harcourt's division."

Soon, the rest of the pressed men had been rated by Mr. James, some as landsmen, others as ordinary or able seamen, and then the first lieutenant leaned over to speak to the clerk. "Get them to the surgeon, and then they must muster at the main capstan. If any man refuses, they can tell me their reasons in person. Tell the boatswain."

A piercing whistle then came up from over the other side of the ship, and a murmur then went up from among the officers as the boatswain's mate whispered to us from behind: "It looks like the captain has come aboard, boys."

The captain's bargemen were the first to come up onto the weather decks. In charge of manning the captain's longboat that took him from ship to store and back again, they were also his bodyguards during boarding parties.

The captain himself was a tall and beefy man in full dress uniform, and peeking out from underneath his gold-laced cocked hat was curly blonde hair that made him look a bit like a male Goldilocks who had really let himself go.

As the officers saluted him, the pressed men then were herded down the companionways by the boatswain's mate to the orlop deck just above the hold of the ship to have our check-ups with the surgeon, and then back up to the gun deck just above the orlop deck.

Keeping out of the way of the men busily preparing the ship to set sail, I took in more of my surroundings, which were illuminated by the weak sunlight pouring in through the gun ports at the bulkheads of the ship to both my sides.

Each gun port was like an empty square in the bulkheads of the ship, a slot for a heavy iron cannon to go into with the tools to fire it lashed to the bulkhead beside it, but even with those in the way, I could still see the glittering blue ocean below.

Across the water, I could see the tall, square stone tower of a stately cathedral, a contrast to the narrow sandy streets and ramshackle buildings that surrounded it on all sides. I should know, because before I was press-ganged, I had walked through those narrow sandy streets, looking for a place to stay. As it turned out, the fifteen dollars I had been carrying in my pocket had somehow been converted into pounds, so I used that to rent a room at an inn.

I grimaced as I remembered how the press-gang swooped down on us, armed with wooden cudgels as they seized every male patron of the inn. We didn't go down without a fight though, and I'd never been so scared in my life. After causing what must've been a hundred pounds' worth of property damage, we were put in chains and thrown into a covered wagon for the longboats waiting in the harbor.

Putting the thought of impressment out of my mind, I thought that maybe being in the Royal Navy wouldn't be so bad if I got to visit places like this, and then I realized with a pang that as someone who had been forced to join the Royal Navy against his will, they probably wouldn't want to risk me escaping. But even so, I was still kind of excited by all the activity around me as the ship was readied for a voyage to lands far away and maybe even adventures.

2: Chapter 2

As I thought about what might await me on this voyage, I was brought back to reality by the muffled thumps of the gun ports being closed and secured, cutting off the weak winter sunlight coming through them, and the sunlight coming down from the hatchways leading up to the weather decks us dimmed as they were closed as well.

In the darkness, I was unpleasantly reminded of the cramped spaces of the ship's hold as I saw the sailors moving, and I felt much better as the lanterns were lit, and I saw the young midshipman from before standing at the bottom of the companionway to the weather decks, and I frowned a bit as I got another close look at his face. Maybe it was just the uncertain lantern light, but something felt... off about him, not necessarily in a dangerous way, but like he was hiding something.

The pressed sailors gathered around the capstan on the deck, its bars sticking out like the spokes of a wooden wheel with the rim removed, with tight rope attached to their ends, and I felt myself being pushed into place at a capstan bar next to a marine wearing red as the midshipman suddenly shouted, "Man the capstan! Silence, fore and aft!"

It had only been yesterday since I was at school with what few friends I had, and now I'm a victim of the press-gang, sent out to sea to defend a country called Leomaris. Knowing my mom, she probably would blame me if I died out here than become a lawyer like she wanted.

"Take the strain, heave round!" The midshipman cried, and I copied the motions of the others as they pushed against the capstan bars, which began to move slowly to the beat of metallic clanks as I imagined the anchor slowly rising outside of the ship.

"Now, come on, men - heave away for your lives!" The midshipman yelled, and we threw ourselves at the bar in a furious assault of effort, as if we were fighting against our worst enemies. All the angry and bitter resentment I've ever felt towards anyone fueled my frenzy of effort as I pushed the capstan bar. Flashes of light appeared in my vision, but I ignored them as I pressed on.

We kept up the pressure, desperate to avoid a loss of momentum as the clanks came in a faster pace, and just when I thought I couldn't push anymore, a shout from up the ladder was acknowledged by the midshipman. "Avast heaving!"

Feeling lightheaded from exhaustion, I was breathing hard as I hung from the capstan bar like a sweaty towel on a clothesline, and the midshipman said to us, "Well done, men!"

I then felt the ship move out from under me, and I would've fallen over if it weren't for the capstan bar. An old seaman chuckled as he said to me, "Don't worry, mate. She's just gotten some wind in her sails. Now the swabs topside will be doing all the hard work."

Once I got used to it, standing aboard the ship was no different from sitting in the car, and the capstan and anchor were quickly secured as a boatswain's mate appeared at the steps leading up to the weather decks. "Hands to supper!"

Following the enlisted men down the companionways to the berth deck, I saw that picnic cloths had been laid down as messes of eight reached into their chests to pull out their wooden plates and utensils.

I leaned against a wooden deck pillar in the darkness between the two rows of cloths, feeling lonely and hungry. As I crossed my arms in front of my chest and looked down at my shoes, I heard a voice directed towards me. "Bring your arse to anchor, mate, we'll see you right."

The voice belonged to a man in his twenties, and he had short brown hair and brown eyes. He was tall and muscular, and he wore a red handkerchief carelessly knotted over a blue striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and brown trousers. Feeling self-conscious, I slowly sat down at the edge of the cloth next to the man who invited me."So you're newly pressed, are you?"

I nodded, and the man held out his hand towards me as he jerked his other thumb at the others. "I'm Lucas Mills, able seaman, and these be my messmates. It's nice to make your acquaintance."

"I'm Chase Arden, landsman. It's nice to meet you too." I answered as I shook his hand, and then Mills called to an older man sitting nearest to the mess chest. "Faulkner, lend our guest your traps - we can't have him keeling over on his first day."

I nodded gratefully as Faulkner passed down his traps, which turned out to be the eating utensils: wooden cutlery atop a square wooden plate with food. Picking up the wooden spoon, I finished off my bowl of oatmeal with chunks of meat before the rest had finished, despite their head start, and was about to bite into the bread when Mills stopped me.

Mills took the piece of bread away from me and broke it into two halves before tapping them on the table. A few seconds later, worm-like maggots started squirming out of the bread and onto the cloth to my disgust, and he cheerfully handed me back the two halves of bread.

"So you're new pressed, eh? Know anything 'bout the sea?" A member of the mess asked. He was bald with several scars on his face, and without waiting for my response, he snarled, "Ye'll suffer, ye clueless landlubber. It's really gonna hurt."

"Aw, shut your trap, David!" Mills said as I kept quiet, staring into the crust of my bread, and he said to me, "Don't mind Debias. Not all of us suffer landsmen poorly, y'know."

"So is there anyone I should watch out for?" I asked, changing the topic as I hesitantly took a bite of the bread, which tasted just fine despite its former occupants, but Mills shook his head as he seized several of the maggots and casually dropped them on the wooden deck outside of the cloth. "The captain's no friend of the cat-o'-nine-tails. It hasn't seen the light of day for a month – the captain knows it's us who work the ship for him, so he treats us right."

I then spotted the redheaded midshipman from before slowly walking towards us from the ladder leading down to the orlop deck, and pointing, I elbowed Mills gently to ask, "Who's that?"

"That'd be Harcourt, the squeaker in charge of our division." Mills answered, and I nodded as I said, "Yeah, I remember now. Mr. James assigned me to his division when we were on the main deck."

Harcourt stopped as he reached our mess, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he was still dressed in the working rig uniform: a black porkpie hat, a dark blue frock coat open over a white waistcoat and trousers, and black shoes. "So is this your new messmate, Mr. Mills?"

"Yes sir, if these blokes here don't have any objections." Mills answered as he nodded, and the other members of the mess shook their heads as they ate, keeping their eyes glued to their food. Harcourt nodded as he asked, "So what's your name, landsman?"

"Arden. Chase Arden." I answered as I looked him in the eye, and I hesitantly held out my hand to him. Harcourt looked a bit surprised, but nevertheless, he shook my hand as he introduced himself. "Harcourt. Elijah Harcourt."

There was that weird feeling of suspicion again, but I decided to shrug it off as Harcourt turned to leave for the steerage, where the midshipmen ate and slept, and we continued talking over our meal.

After dinner, Mills took me to see the purser on the orlop deck to buy slops, which was what they called clothes and bedding, as well as my own set of traps, all of which the purser cheerfully informed me would come out of my pay when we reached port. After we had put away our things into our mess chest, Mills showed me how to sling my new hammock on the rafters by tying bowline knots.

To be honest, I was kind of disappointed by how small the hammock was at only fourteen inches wide, barely big enough to fit my body inside, but I didn't dare complain. Nevertheless, I climbed atop the mattress and pulled the blanket over me as the lights of the lanterns dimmed, and by the time it was completely dark, I had already fallen asleep to the sound of the waves slowly rocking the ship like a floating cradle.

XOXOX OXOXO XOXOX OXOXO XOXOX

I had a dream that night, and in my dream, I was sitting alone at a small table inside a local inn, enjoying the atmosphere that wasn't unlike the mess tables at dinner time aboard the ship, or the lunch tables inside my high school cafeteria, and then I felt my heart sink as I belatedly realized that this was exactly like when the press-gang swooped down on us.

One minute, we were all laughing and talking over our food and drinks, and the next, members of the press-gang armed with cudgels burst through the doors and seized the male patrons, including me. We all had struggled, of course, but for every one of us, the press-gang had two or three with cudgels like small, wooden, and crude baseball bats.

I had never been so scared in my life, and like a cornered rattlesnake, I fought as hard as I could to try and avoid being taken, but in the end, I was clapped in irons and taken to the hold of the ship, where we spent the night sleeping on wooden casks instead of soft beds, with the rats as our bedmates.

As I sat atop a cask with my arms wrapped around my knees pressed against my body, glowing red eyes the size of golfballs looked at me from across the speckled light pouring in from the grate on the rafters, which revealed the mangy snout of a giant rat as it rasped at me.

I screamed as the giant rat leapt towards me, and I scrambled to sit up in my hammock, almost hitting my head on the rafters. Breathing heavily, I looked down at my arms, I noticed that they were in a cold sweat. "Relax, Chase... It's just a dream..."

I forced myself to slow down my breathing, and after a minute or two, I finally relaxed with a sigh of relief. I placed the palms of my hands onto my blanket-covered thighs, but my right hand felt something furry that definitely wasn't my blanket.

I ran my hand over the furry thing, and I felt small claws pinprick my skin, and a fleshy tail that was long and thin. After a few seconds, I realized that it was a dead rat, and I felt last night's dinner coming back up my stomach. Trying not to throw up, I picked up the body of the rat and threw it down the deck, hearing a soft thud as it hit the wooden planks.

I sighed as I lied back down in my hammock, and an hour later, I was shaken awake by Mills, who whispered to me, "Arden, get up! It's time for morning watch. Wake up before the bosun-"

PEEP! The bosun's whistle went, and if I wasn't entirely awake before, I was now. The ship's resident drill sergeant, the boatswain shouted, "Morning watch! Up and at 'em, boys! I want the decks as white as clouds before breakfast!"