Beloved Castaway by Kathleen Y'Barbo

on the dock, he made his decision.
    “On my signal then,” he called to the men below.
    Positioning himself just beneath the rope holding the young fool, Josiah gave the rigging a hard yank and watched the boy go spiraling toward the deck. In a rush of movement, Harrigan and his men captured the lad in the sail.  
    The Jude gave a hearty lurch backward, sending Josiah’s chin smashing into the mast. He felt his fingers begin to loosen their grip on the mast. Blood inched a crimson path down his shirtfront, mingling with the soot and grime already there.
    When he gained his senses, he looked down to see the boy scramble to his feet, obviously unharmed. The sail, however, did not fare so well. Two of the men held pieces of the fabric, and two were empty-handed save shreds of torn canvas. As Harrigan had predicted, the sail had not held.
    One of the men spirited the youth away, while Harrigan turned to offer a sign of approval to Josiah. “Ready yourself, Captain,” Harrigan said. “Dunston’s gone to fetch another canvas.”
    “Aye,” he answered, breaking into a cough when a burst of smoke trailed past.
    Above, another piece of sail had come loose from the Mathilde and danced about, teasing his head and shoulders with showers of burning fabric. Josiah brushed a smoldering ember off his shirtsleeve and watched as Harrigan and several men engaged in a heated argument.
    There seemed to be a problem locating a replacement canvas. Harrigan called up to him, but most of his words were lost in the rumbling of the fire, now consuming ships on either side of the Jude .Without a fresh sail, there looked to be two ways out of his predicament. Neither appealed.
    Either he could climb down the way he climbed up, or he could chance a ride down on the riggings. The mainmast, while still steady, held nothing in the way of support for a man descending to the deck, especially now that the Jude ’s anchor had been lifted.  
    How he’d managed the upward climb baffled him. The rigging, on the other hand, looked every bit as insecure as the first choice. It held the added danger of small spots of smoldering ash threatening to spark into true flames at the slightest hint of a breeze.
    At least the Jude had cleared the dock and begun sliding backward toward the headwaters of the river. Another few minutes and the vessel would be clear to make her turn.
    Though not in the manner of his choosing, Josiah Carter and the Jude would be sailing away from New Orleans forever. The fact that Hezekiah Carter stood somewhere watching his escape was an added bonus.
    “Make haste, Harrigan, for I’ve work to do,” he called to his second in command.
    “It seems, sir,” Harrigan answered, “we’ve run into a bit of an obstacle.”
    Josiah clung to the swaying mast and watched a streak of lightning dance way too close. “An obstacle of what sort?”
    Harrigan shook his head. “All we’ve got is the sails we need for navigation. There’s nothing to spare save a scrap or two for patches.” He paused. “What would you have us do, Captain Carter?”
    So that was how it would be. No escape from the fiery flames and nothing to catch him when he fell.  
    Josiah suppressed a wry smile. How very much like the end his father had predicted for him.
    Glancing over his aching shoulder into the crowd, he looked for the familiar face. Hezekiah Carter, if he’d been there at all, had vanished from sight. Soon New Orleans would disappear, too.
    Good riddance to them all.
    A shuddering sound brought his attention back to the situation at hand; an action demanded to be taken posthaste. Should he die, he would have but few regrets; should he live, he would have to give serious consideration to the reason.  
    “So be it,” he shouted into the storm.
    Josiah released his grip on the mainmast and grasped for a purchase on the rigging. Missing altogether, he lurched forward and felt nothing but air beneath his feet.
    Odd, but he heard no splash when he hit