Fog: either a mariner's worst nightmare, or his best friend. For Gerald Winston, Captain of the man o' war HMS Prince, the dense Caribbean mist was definitely the latter. The fog surrounding his vessel and crew provided them all with a natural camouflage; and gave the Prince an unnatural, ghostly appearance. Her dark sails, worn from exposure to the elements, only increased her menacing appearance. Any and all enemies of Britain hapless enough to enter the fog found themselves face to face with the mightiest warship in the Caribbean.

In January of 1715, Captain Winston was dispatched by the Admiralty to combat the growing pirate threat in the West Indies. That same day, Winston took command of the Prince, the best ship available. Outfitted with one hundred cannons, four mortars, and one dozen swivel guns, the Prince was more than a match for any pirate ship. Few could stand up to her immense firepower. Fewer still could challenge her crew; a few hundred of the most hardened and experienced sailors, officers, and marines in the Royal Navy. Unfortunately, not all aboard were there by choice. One such young man was Midshipman Thomas McNally.

Having grown up in a poor Irish family, Thomas' father pushed him to join the Royal Navy in the hope of allowing his son to live a better life. Early on, Thomas enjoyed the life of a sailor, even working his way up to Midshipman. As time passed, however, Thomas grew resentful of the Navy's methods, not approving of the harsh discipline and strict hierarchy. Surely there was a better way of doing the job? The merchant navy wasn't known to be so unforgiving. Yet here he was, standing beside his Captain on the Prince's quarterdeck.

"Bloody dull morning, Mr. McNally," Winston spoke up in a Yorkshire accent. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Thomas turned to face his Captain. Winston wore the standard uniform of a Royal Navy officer: boots, blue pants and jacket, and a small red cape over his left shoulder. His jacket was adorned with several medals, awarded for various deeds done in service to the Crown. A gold-hilted saber hung at his side. The man's face, weathered and hardened, spoke silently of his many years as a seafarer. To Thomas, Winston was a true man of the sea. With him, one couldn't help but feel like a pauper in the presence of a king.

"Indeed sir," Thomas replied rather meekly. "Not a single vessel sighted since yesterday, and she was flying English colors. Of course, this fog is not helping our cause."

"You never know who might stumble into this cloud. Nature doesn't discriminate. Fortunately, boy, we do."

The Prince had been patrolling the waters south of Hispaniola for two weeks now. In that time, she had encountered five Spanish merchantmen, one French warship, six English merchantmen, and three pirate schooners. All three of those pirate vessels now rested on the sea floor, with several members of their compliment locked below deck aboard the man o' war. The next time the Prince made port, those men would end up tried and hanged. Pirates who did not meet the hangman's noose died in battle, while others succumbed to disease. The lucky ones accepted a pardon from the King, and returned to honest living. Such was the fate of all those who preyed upon honest seafaring men.

"Sails! Starboard bow!" The shout came from a lookout perched on the mainmast.

"Acknowledged!" Winston shouted back. In response, he, Thomas, and the Officer of the Watch all drew their spyglasses and began scanning the horizon.

About twenty seconds passed before the three officers sighted the unknown vessel. Thomas spotted her first. Through the fog, Thomas clearly made out the rigging of a brig, about one hundred meters off. Her own starboard bow faced the Midshipman, standing on the Prince's starboard quarter. Looking upwards at the unknown brig's mainmast, he made an effort to identify her flag.

It was black. In the center was a skull, itself surrounded by a strange triangular symbol.

Another pirate ship, Thomas thought.

Just then, billows of smoke jetted from the brig's hull, followed by a rapid series of thundering booms.

"DOWN!" Winston shouted. "All hands, down!"

Thomas threw himself to the deck. Cannonballs whistled overhead and smashed into the hull, sending splinters of timber into the air. Men cried out in surprise and in pain. One sailor fought to pull a wooden shard from his leg.

"Beat to Quarters!"

Upon hearing this, the marine bandsman sounded his drum. Men surged up from below decks, scurrying with purpose to their posts. Cannons were loaded, arms distributed, sails set, and decks sanded. Within a minute, HMS Prince was ready for battle.

The hostile brig had passed astern of the man o' war. Winston ordered a hard turn to starboard, hoping to catch her in his own ship's broadside. He succeeded, and ordered a broadside fired at the pirate. The roar of forty-eight cannons firing at once shook across the sea. Clouds of smoke hung in the air around the warship. Gun crews rushed to reload their cannons. The broadside hit home, but the brig stayed afloat and, through Winston's spyglass, appeared relatively undamaged.

"Blast," he thought aloud. "She must have armor plating. Ready mortars!"

The mortar crews loaded and primed their weapons. Normally used against shore-based fortifications, the mortar was also an effective anti-ship weapon, particularly against larger vessels. Each mortar was loaded with a shell, primed with a fuse set to explode in midair. The resulting blast rained shrapnel and fire down onto an enemy ship's deck.

"Fire mortars!" Winston cried.

The din of mortar fire ripped across the deck. Smoke shot upwards from their gaping steel maws. Four explosions appeared over the pirate, but none appeared to inflict any damage. The mortars, simply put, had missed their target.

The brig altered course to port. As she came about, her pirate crew let loose another volley. Cannonballs smashed into her opponent's hull and rigging. Wood splinters flew about the ship. Pieces of line fell from the rigging and onto the deck. Screams of wounded men echoed up from the gun decks. Immediately following this latest broadside, Thomas spotted vertical pillars of smoke shoot up from the brig's bow. Two explosions thundered overhead.

"Captain! She's got mortars!"

"I noticed, Mr. McNally!" Winston spat.

Both vessels altered course to port, with the brig aiming her bow ahead of the man o' war. Two cannons mounted on her bow let fly, sending chain shot into her enemy's forward rigging. The forward jib was torn loose and fluttered uselessly in the breeze. Men working at the bow moved quickly to secure it. The brig continued to charge straight at the mighty man o' war, like David challenging Goliath. It was then that Thomas noticed a most unusual fixture on the pirate ship's bow… a steel ram. A ram! Those were obsolete in the Royal Navy. In this day and age, a man was as likely to see a king's ship outfitted with a ram as he was a bridal gown on his commanding officer. Perhaps these pirates had fallen behind the times. If that was the case, this battle should end in favor of the HMS Prince and her crew. Or so Thomas hoped…

The brig was now no more than fifty yards from the man o' war's hull. Winston ordered another starboard broadside fired at the pirate vessel. Again the din of cannon fire rang in Thomas' ears and filled his nose with acrid smoke. The ship rolled noticeably to port when the guns roared. The brig took damage, but kept coming, her solid steel ram aimed directly at the man o' war's midships.

"Brace for collision!" shouted the Captain.

Thomas knelt down on one knee and clung to the quarterdeck's starboard rail. He stole a glance at the incoming pirate ship. She did indeed have armor. Copper plating, normally used to protect just a vessel's underside, instead coated her entire hull, right up to the rails. The brig was now so close, Thomas could distinguish individual men on her main deck. Most were raggedly dressed (much like the crewmen aboard his own ship), and carried weapons at their sides. They too appeared braced for the impending collision. Her helmsman was crouched down low behind the ship's wheel.

The brig's ram struck home. Both vessels shook violently from the impact. Thomas himself was nearly thrown to the deck, while several others lost their footing. The force from the collision caused the pirate brig to recoil away from the man o' war. Her ram had failed to penetrate her enemy's hull, much to her captain's displeasure. While the man o' war's crew got back on their feet, the brig once again altered course to port, passing astern of her opponent.

As she did so, a third volley erupted from her cannons, this one aimed at her enemy's port side. This broadside crashed into the Prince's stern, shattering the windows leading to the officer's quarters. Fires broke out in those same quarters. Down below, men rushed to extinguish the flames, enduring heat and inhaling smoke.

"Heavy shot, that was!" Winston remarked. "Clever bastard. Thomas, go below and put out those fires! Take whomever you need with you."

Thomas felt a feeling of dread rise within him. Heavy shot consisted of regular cannonballs heated red hot before loading. Heating the shot allowed it to cause shrapnel damage then, once it settled, set fire to an enemy ship. As the Midshipman scampered off the quarterdeck, he stole a glimpse at the pirate brig, now off to port with her stern facing the man o' war. The nameplate on her stern was clearly visible.

It read Jackdaw.

Thomas hurried down a ladder and into the ship's tween decks. He made his way through the upper gun deck, where organized chaos reigned. Gun crews swiftly worked to reload their weapons, while others stood waiting for an order to fire. Several cannons were unmanned. Why abandon those guns during combat? Their crews had been allocated to firefighting. On his way aft, Thomas relieved two more gun crews, ordering them to join in the firefighting effort.

The officers quarters, located just forward of the captain's cabin, were ablaze. Flames licked the wooden decks and bulkheads while smoke billowed through the hull and out the broken stern windows. The whole stern baked with heat. Several sailors and marines were already battling the blaze. Water was being pumped up from the bilges by one team, and tossed onto the fire by another. Mr. Cromwell, a marine lieutenant, directed the operation.

"Mr. Cromwell!" Thomas shouted over the roar of the flames. "What's the situation?"

"It's a damn mess, Mr. McNally!" Cromwell shouted back. "The fire is spreading its way forward. Already it's spread past the main cabins. If it reaches the aft powder magazines, this fight is finished!"

"Understood! I'll inform the Captain."

Thomas began making his way back to the quarterdeck. As he did so, the ship lurched to starboard, followed by the din of cannon fire. Another broadside had been unleashed on the pirate ship. Had it been enough to stop her? Not likely. Clearly she had endured combat far worse than this, and her captain had thus far proved a shrewd naval tactician. One more volley could not do the job on its own.

He emerged onto the main deck, finding it still abuzz with activity. The pirate brig was now off to port, within hailing distance. Already both crews were firing swivel guns and muskets at each other. Finally Thomas reached the quarterdeck and ran to Winston's side.

"Captain," he began, " the fire is spreading forward and-"

The ship jarred once again, knocking both Thomas and Winston off balance. This sudden movement came not from cannon fire, but from a collision. The Jackdaw's starboard bow had connected with the Prince's port bow. Another ramming attempt? Thomas quickly rose to his feet planning to assess the situation. The answer landed next to him, in the form of a grappling hook.

"They're making an effort to board us, Mr. McNally," the Captain spoke, already back on his feet with his saber drawn. "All hands, repel boarders! Send these devils back to hell!"

Drawing his own smallsword, Thomas quickly saw what the pirates were doing. Several heaving lines, with grappling hooks at one end, had been tossed over by the pirate crew when the two vessels drew close. Groups of pirates now heaved in on those lines, drawing the ships together. An advance boarding party had crossed over when the ships collided. A melee had then ensued at the Prince's bow. The sounds of combat - steel striking steel, pistols discharging, men shouting - carried across the deck.

Before either Thomas or Winston could cross the deck to join in the melee, a pirate landed on the quarterdeck ahead of them. The pirate turned to face the two men, sporting a menacing grin across his scarred, weathered face. Unlike the other pirates they had encountered, this man wore robes of some kind, colored blue and white, with a red officer's sash tied around his waist. His arms and torso were covered by strips of leather, stitched together as patchwork armor. A pair of pistols were holstered across his chest. Two more hung at his side, along with a pair of cutlasses. The pirate drew his cutlasses and slowly approached Captain Winston.

"You there," he said with a Welsh accent. "You must be commander of this legendary ship. I am Edward Kenway, captain of the Jackdaw."

"Captain Gerald Winston of His Majesty's Ship Prince," Winston replied, returning the introduction.

"Greetings, Captain. Lay down your arms, and no further harm shall be done."

"You know I can't do that, pirate. You are an enemy of the Crown and a criminal."

"This doesn't have to be hard, mate."

Ignoring Kenway, Winston swung his saber at the man. Kenway blocked the blow with his left cutlass and swung his second blade downwards. Winston dodged this blow and attacked again, only to get stabbed in the waist by Kenway, causing him to fall on his back and drop his saber. Thomas leapt forward and swung his smallsword at Kenway's right side, hoping to catch him unaware. Instead, Kenway deflected this blow with his right cutlass, turned towards Thomas, and buried his left cutlass into Thomas' shoulder. Thomas screamed in pain, dropped his smallsword, and fell to the deck, clutching the wound with his good arm. He struggled to sit up, but managed to do so.

"Foolish boy," Kenway remarked, looking at Thomas. Behind Kenway, Winston had stood back up and was drawing his pistol. Kenway looked over his shoulder, spotted this, drew one of his own pistols, and shot Winston in the chest. He collapsed back to the deck, lifeless.

Thomas also fell on his back, his strength draining from him. He felt the heat from the fires raging below decks. What would happen to him now? The ship was afire, the Captain dead, and the battle likely lost. Would he die here aboard the Prince? If his wound wasn't treated fast, he'd end up in Davy Jones' Locker. How could he escape from this?

Kenway sheathed his cutlasses, picked up Winston's saber, walked up to Thomas, and looked the wounded Midshipman in the eye.

"You are injured, lad," he said calmly. "We have a surgeon on board that can dress your wound. However, such services are not offered to those outside of our crew. If you wish to live..." Kenway offered Thomas the late Captain's saber. "...you must join us."

For a second, Thomas hesitated. He was about to throw in his lot with a crew of brigands. He knew that their lives were fast and often short. Many pirates ended their careers at the gallows; a fate which surely awaited Thomas if he joined the Jackdaw's crew. But if he refused, then he would almost certainly die. Even if he survived, he would most likely end up back with the Navy. That meant returning to the meager pay and crushing discipline that he despised. Then there would be no escape.

That's it, Thomas thought. Join the pirates, forsake the Navy. It's my best chance.

Just before slipping into unconsciousness, Thomas reached up and took hold of the saber's hilt.