But he's old, at least forty, Mary. Fifteen-year-old Samuel had rebutted. I will get a job and support us. I can, you know I can.

But you shouldn't have to. You should go to college, learn a trade, and James Clay can give you that. Mary's face was cool peach marble, resolute. She had made up her mind. She had but one coin to spend on their security: a home, for being homeless was her greatest fear. She chose to bank on James Clay, upwardly moving merchant, recently widowed, with no dependants.

She stormed him without mercy, and James Clay found himself married before he knew the depth of her commitment. Whether he had tested the waters first was something Mary never said.

Sent to college, Samuel failed: kicked out repeatedly for insubordination, until no school would have him. James Clay gave up, and let him loose upon the world at the tender age of 19.

It was Mary that made sure he had enough to eat, Mary who replaced clothes, Mary... always Mary.

He owed her his life. He owed her everything. It was a debt that crushed him, unable to pay it back.

He vowed someday he would.

The Black Raven was a cow; heavily overloaded, she wallowed her way across the Atlantic to London. The ship groaned and moaned the entire trip, working on Sam's nerves until he was ready to jump overboard. The weather was favourable, but Sam knew the return trip would be risky – storms were frequent during this time of year.

He had time on the trip to rethink his interview with James. The business must be in bad shape, very bad shape, for James to even think of allowing Sam to take a ship. Even with Mary's recommendation. His record with James was blemished – truthfully, it was ALL blemishes – not one single golden mark marred the bleakness of it. It was not through lack of effort on his part. He had tried to meet James's expectations. It just never worked.

He leaned over the bow and whispered into the ship's bowsprit. "I will return, with the gold, for the sake of Mary, my debt repaid." And he touched the bowsprit for luck.

All he had to do was sell this load, and return. Even he should be able to do that, without mishap. The price of cotton was fair – but the borax had him dancing on the way to the bank. With the gold and silver in the strong boxes, and some lightweight, but very valuable, spices in the hold, Sam set sail only a week after docking.

The Black Raven rode better on the way back, and she seemed to hum to herself in the vibrations of the ropes. She was a happy ship, and the experienced crew treated her properly.

They were only three days away from home port when the storm struck. It was not unexpected – the barometer plummeted, the seas turned muddy, and the whitecaps churned hours before the violent, black clouds boiled over the horizon.

"It's goin' to be a bad one, Captain," the first mate said spitting over the side.

"Aye," Sam agreed, watching the barometer slowly drain away. His hopes of an uneventful trip drained with it. "Batten down the holds, secure for rough passage."

"Aye, Captain." As the mate gave the orders, Sam took the wheel from the sailor posted there and braced his feet comfortably. He ordered the sailor to go rest; it may be the last rest he got for a long time.

The wind picked up, slapping into the Raven with malicious calculation. The Raven shied away, but Sam brought her back on course. The sails luffed, then filled with a violent crack. Her bow surged, and the race was on.

The Black Raven rode before the wind, like a dolphin on a ship's wake. Lightweight, she bobbed and nodded, and if she'd had hair she would have shaken it flirtatiously. Sam laughed, feeling the taunt response of her through the wheel. She liked it; she liked the challenge, the freedom. They rode comfortably before the wind. But she was not quick enough, and the clouds overtook them that evening.

The seaman took the wheel back for the night watch, and Sam went to get what sleep he could. Leaving orders to wake him if it got rough, he went to the captain's quarters. Quickly he filled in the logbook, then tumbled into his bunk. He could hear the Raven grumbling even in his sleep. Dreams of an octopus taking the ship down gave him no rest, and he woke several hours later unrefreshed.

He went topside to find them firmly in the teeth of the storm. It was raining, a cold hard rain that beat on his head and seemed to suck the warmth from his body. Shivering, he went back down, donning a sweater and slicker; he returned and took the wheel back. The ship plunged and shuddered, water cascading over the sides, trying to drag the sailors into the sea's waiting maw.

Sam called for less sail, and she steadied out a bit. The wind picked up, whipping the dark green waves into a frenzy, and the Raven now had to climb to escape the troughs. Her timbers groaned, but she was game and shook herself free of the sucking, sheeting water, to rise yet again to the next wave. Sam held his course, a pigeon heading for the roost. He did not feel they could waste time just riding the storm – they must make progress towards home, as well. The gold must get back: he had made a promise, and this was one he must keep.

For a while the rain stopped and Sam hoped the storm was abating, despite what the barometer foretold. His eyes were red from salt water and fatigue. His muscles ached from the cold and his hands felt frozen to the wheel. But he stayed and did not relinquish the wheel to another. He knew the sea was a fickle wench, and as soon as he turned his back she would be on him. Someone brought him some tack and raisins, which he chewed with determination.

With a crack of sulphur-charged lightening, the storm redoubled its efforts to take them down.

The rain was a torrent, obscuring his vision to the point that he could not see the bow. It beat on him until his head and back were numb from the small, fat impacts. The Black Raven was slower to respond now, struggling to rise to the next wave. The waves crashed over the side, Neptune's hands sweeping the deck of any debris – and one sailor who had for some unaccountable reason untied his lifeline. Sam saw the man's face, mouth open, a dark cavern in a white and horrified face. Whether the man screamed or not, Sam didn't know. He could only hear the pounding of the rain on the deck, and the wheeze of his own breath.

The ship screamed, and with a loud groan and snap, one of her topsails broke off to drag in the water. He didn't need to yell commands, the sailors leaped to the tangled rigging, hand axes cutting away the tangled ropes and spar. When the topsail fell away, it took another sailor with it, caught in the wet hemp rope. Sam felt him scream, but heard nothing over the pounding of the furious waves and rain.

Two gone, how many more? Was it worth the lives? How much difference would a day or a week make? Let the storm take them, stop fighting.

All haste, the voice of James Clay echoed in his mind.

He tried to wipe his face of salt and rain, but found them unable to release the wheel. Was it worth the lives? The sailors' lives, his life – Mary's life. He knew his answer and his jaw firmed. All cost, any cost. He would not fail.

He ordered more sail.

The sun rose on the third day, but the crew of the Black Raven never saw it through the purple clouds. The storm continued unabated, a hammer that drove them deeper into despair. Sam knew he was close to home, but not sure just where. They had not been able to see the stars for a reading that night, and he could only rely on his intuition, a faulty and unreliable source.

They had lost the main sail, ripped to shreds during the night. He'd had to pull down all the sails, and they rode on the remaining, tiny tops'ls again. She had become so sluggish, he became suspicious, and sent a man down into the hold.

The man returned, his sun darkened face a murky grey, paler even than the weak sunlight that managed to filtered through the thick, heavy clouds.

"Were takin' on water, captain!" he yelled over the storm. "We're goin' down, I tell ye!"

"Bail! Make a chain, and bail!"

"We need to abandon ship. Take our chances, or we'll all be for Davey Jones's locker!"

Others heard, and they shuffled over, listening. Mutters rose and fearful glances took in the two fragile lifeboats.

Sam pried his hands away from the wheel, and slipped the rope over it to hold the course. He reached over and grabbed the sailor by his slicker and pulled him roughly closer.

"You'll do as I say, you swab, and bail. Bail for your lives. We dock this night, either in New York or in Davey Jones's locker – but we dock, with all hands aboard. Now bail, or I'll hang you from the yardarm myself." The devil looked out from Sam's green eyes, and the men hastened to obey.

Sam turned back to the wheel.

He felt as if he were made of salt, hardened yet fragile. He gave them no chance of making it now; the storm had won although they were still afloat. The men toiled in the backbreaking duty of bailing the hold, and Sam mentally kissed the spices goodbye. He fought the groaning ship every inch of the way, cursing her, praising her, urging her just one league more, just one more; and the Raven struggled on.

They were all dead men, and he knew it. They would never make it back, never see their loved ones again – never see Mary again. Never kiss a daughter or teach a son to sail.

He had heard once that death paid all debts, but he didn't feel debt-clear. Perhaps because he still breathed? Would he feel differently once he rested – finally rested! – in Davey's locker?

Debt... that reminded him, he had one debt that he could pay off. He sent his first mate down to the hold, and had him bring up a chest of silver. He had the men come and get their pay: three silver coins each. When the men questioned his actions, he had a response ready.

"Have you ever heard of a sailor with money in his pocket dying at sea?" And this logic soothed them; they went back to bailing with a lightened heart. Sam's heart was also lightened. This left only his debt to Mary to pay off.

The foghorn was a mournful cry that echoed over the sea. Sam's aching head snapped up, afraid he had imagined it. But again it echoed eerily, and his heart started racing.

He scanned the horizon, finally spotting the light far to port, just as the lookout did.

"Land ho!" was the joyous cry that rose above the sound of the storm.

Sam tried to turn the wheel, but the Raven refused to respond. He called over two other seamen to help. Between the three of them, they managed to turn her.

She turned slowly, fighting every degree.

"Move, you sea cow!" Sam growled, putting his back into it, then realized his mistake of cursing her. The last of her sails ripped in the wind, snapping and fluttering helplessly. The Black Raven groaned and the life seemed to go out of her. The wheel felt as if it was just wood, with no blood coursing through her. "Curse you, curse you to hell."

She responded to the wheel, but there was no life, he could feel it, death – just floating wood. A sailor next to him crossed himself. What could he do? What was there, that he could do?

"Hold the wheel steady," he ordered, then, releasing his lifeline, went forward.

Staggering, holding onto the rail with clutching, bleeding hands, he worked his way forward until he came to the bowsprit. He used a snip of rope, and tied himself to the rail, then leaned over.

"We can do it, you and I. We can beat the storm, race before the wind, be joyous again. I need you to live. I need you to get us to land. Without you we stand no chance." He stroked the wing of the 'sprit. "Get us to land, so that I may fulfil my promise. Do this, and I will do whatever you wish. Fly before the wind for eternity, lay calm in the locker – whatever your heart desires. Just live for me, and get us to land."

The ship hovered on the crest of a wave, hung there an impossibly long time, before plunging down into the next trough. There rose over the crashing waves the sound of wood snapping. The Raven shook herself and her bow lifted into the next wave. The wind died down, and the rain slacked off to a drizzle. The storm was over. Smiling, Sam returned to the wheel.

"Captain –"

"I'll take her from here. Get back to the bailing crew."

"But, Sor, you should –"

"Back, I said!" Sam turned a grim, red-eyed look at the sailor. "She will do her part, but we must do ours. Bail, rot you!"

"Aye, Sor."

The men bailed as if the devil rode their shoulders, and perhaps he did. They cast frightened looks at the Captain as they bailed. They spoke quietly amongst themselves and their fear became something tangible, a viper striking at their guts. Finally the first mate joined the captain at the wheel.

"Sir," the mate said, hands behind his back, "the men want off ship as quickly as possible, first land, rather than trying for dock." He looked at the Captain out of the corner of his eye, afraid of what he would say.

"Very well, first mate." Sam said, his voice clear of any emotion. "First land."

"Right, Sir." The mate's wide eyes locked on the wheel as Sam changed course slightly, heading for a rock outcropping. The ship responded quickly, turning smartly to the new heading. The mate backed slowly away, nodding, eyes wild.

"First mate," the Captain called without turning, "take the gold and silver and deliver it to the office. Tell James Clay I have fulfilled my promise."

"Right you are, Sir. First thing!"

Sam's head turned sharply to the first mate. "If you don't, I will personally hunt you down, or your descendants, and take you to hell." His red-rimmed eyes glared at the first mate. "And tell James Clay this: If he endangers the family again – indeed, if any of his seed does – I will do the same for them. All debts must be paid in full!"

"Aye, Sir!" The first mate saluted smartly, eyes rolling with fright, and backed away. He called for the chests to be brought up.

Sam hove to, just a hand's space from the rock outcropping. The men hastily poured into the two lifeboats, carefully stowing the chests at their feet. With more haste than strength, they rowed for the rocks.

When Sam saw them safely on land, he turned his face away. No point in looking at land, no need to engrave it in his memory. The sea was his life now, the sea and the Black Raven.

"Where to now, my dear?"

With a toss of her bow, the ship turned and headed back out to sea.

"Dear God, will you look at her?" the first mate said, his mouth hanging open. The men turned and watched as the Black Raven sailed away.

Her timbers were black as pitch, as if she had just been tarred; she shimmered silver along the edges, as if hell's fire ran through her veins. Her tattered sails were renewed, black holes that looked into eternity, they bellowed in a wind that didn't exist. Captain Samuel stood at the wheel, his slicker teased by the same invisible wind, his face white and exhausted as he looked out to sea. The ship turned, a lovely elegant sweeping turn, and disappeared into the mists.

"But she broke, Sor!" whined one of the sailors who had steered. "I felt it, so help me God, I felt the rudder snap. She shouldn't be going anywhere but where the sea tosses her."

"Aye," the first mate breathed. He blinked and looked down at the chests. "Let's get these chests to the office, for I surely don't want that man comin' back for me!"

"Aye, Sor!" were the heartfelt replies.

Gramps opened the French doors and we stepped out onto the balcony. It was a clear, brilliant blue day, and the riptide that curved around Captain Samuel's Point was a scar on the face of the placid aqua sea.

"And then what happened, Gramps?"

"Grandma Mary sold two ships, defying her husband James, and along with the money Samuel sent, paid off all their debts. It took them a long time to recover, but they did, debt-free. She took control of all the money – turns out James was a gambler, had almost lost the company through his losses. Mary had never asked James to give the Black Raven to Samuel. James heavily insured the vessel, and deliberately sent Samuel out during the winter storms. He expected Samuel to fail, and sink with all hands."

"But he didn't fail! He got the money back!"

"Aye, he did at that. And his curse is as true as his word, as well."

"His curse? Does he come back then?"

"Your Uncle Walter didn't believe in the curse, and ran the company on debt."

Young Sam's eyes grew large.

"One night," Gramps continued, "he came out here on the balcony. We always wondered why. But we know what happened." Gramps nodded slowly. "Captain Samuel took him, took his soul, and left his wastrel body on this very balcony." Gramps pointed to the ship's engraving on the stone floor of the balcony. "When they took the body away, they found that beneath him. It’s the Black Raven. Look at it closely, boy, what do you see?"

"There are two men on the ship. One here, at the wheel, and one here, at the bow."

"Aye, and if you look closely enough, you will see the one at the bow has a shackle on his leg. And the face is that of your Uncle Walter."

"Oh, Gramps!"

"Aye, lad. Let it be a lesson to you to hold in your heart. Always pay your debts, or Captain Samuel will come for you. He swore to, and he always keeps his word."