Passing
“I can’t say I miss the ol’ bitch.”
Toringard peered into his upside-down horn, more cynical than hopeful. A solitary drop of grog hung at the lip, refusing to relinquish its purchase. It had been a very long month at sea and the Damned Promise was leaning hard to port, as they say.
Behind the drunken merriment, the officers could see tension building on the top deck almost as much as they could smell it below. Never had the crew gone so long without opportunity or purpose. It was obvious that, in lacking both, these men had no clue how to simply exist.
“’n who you think you are speakin’ on the women in my life as if you know better, you salted snail?!”
“A thousand pardons your royal highness.” Sinclair offered a deep and theatrical bow.
“I’ll have you know that the Cartographer was a beautiful mistress. My first true love.”
“Is that so. You jumped out’f your true love’s arms and onto the Damned Promise without even a backwards glance.”
“Does that count as adultery?” Toringard murmured as he shook his horn over his open mouth.
“I wouldn’t be willing to say who looked madder that day, you or Sexieme. And IF you recall, he attempted to fence the lot of us with a crusty piece of salted pork.” Sinclair chuckled as he reseated his pipe and sparked the last bowl of tabac aboard the ship.
“My faults and failures speak naught to the virtues of my mistress. She was a maiden at port and a tempest when the guns were manned. I miss’r, I do. Only unnoticement we get on the Damned Promise is in the dead of night. Was nice to sneak about in broad daylight and cause mischief wherever we went. I’ll never forgive myself for putting her down that day. Never.” Redbeard, with his elbows resting on the rails, fiddled with a knot as he lost himself in the early days of his piracy. “I owe her. We all do. It wasn’t right. We could have manned her. We could’ve sailed ‘em both.”
“Supposin’ we met an unwelcome guest shortly after? Just enough of the boys on each boat to keep a line and you ‘spect we can do harm? There was no good call that day, but crew comes first. So you made the call that needed making.”
“There was a way.”
“There was not. Better to be scuttled than taken; half the crew dead or captured… Come now Cap’n, let’s not drown in our memories. How ‘bout a round of that poitín we borrowed from the sutler when last at port? A drink in her memory?”
“Indeed.” Redbeard gathered himself to address the crew. “Oye! I have something needs sayin’.” He raised his glass and intoned, “To the Cartographer, who gave more than she received; who stood upon these waters and carried us to opportunity without ever’na complaint or misgiving.” Harshly reddened eyes scanned the men, then looked to the horizon. The sun was setting as he stared into the blackness of the water beneath him. Swaying with the waves, Redbeard let the dance of the sea and the punch of the rum overwhelm him. With a quiet breath that could have been a prayer, he tossed his hat over the rail. One by one, the men followed suit. Sinclair lit a match and flicked it at Redbeard’s cocked hat as it passed. To a man, they watched the vessels sail into the sunset, a lick of flames leading the way.
Wake
His eyes felt like they were trying to crawl out the back of his skull. He twisted out of his hammock and found his face pressed to the deck. Ropes grasped his ankle like they were attempting to shake the coins from his purse. He kicked away the tangles and rolled to his wrists and knees, trying to decide if anyone would notice if he pissed himself on the spot.
“You alright there, Swing?”
He turned and peered into the darkness. The voice he knew, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t struggling with a serious case of vertigo right then. Having a visual anchor would really help him to find his legs. “Split I am, don’t even know which way is up… what in the frayed riggings happened last night?” He reached to adjust his hat but found only the knotted nest of hair that lived on his head, and with a final tug the recollection washed over him.
“S..shouldn’t the skip be the one keepin his feet firm? How is it we always end up tracin’ our steps on the previous?” He felt the contents of his gut searching for an exit. Knowing what that would do to a crowded room of sick men, he swallowed and composed himself as best he could. Finally, he saw some light framing a bulkhead and relaxed as the room settled into shape. “Don’t be missin the mark, I like drinking much as the next, but this feels wrong, yeah? This ain’t a party n’more, it’s a funeral; and I’m wonderin if this boat is the casket.” Swing heard mumbles of agreement as he moved to the hatch. He hoped some fresh air would put an end to this unease. As he opened the hatch light assaulted him. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a piece of hung shaving glass twisting about. It turned and faced him; A gaunt man stared back.
“If we don’t have som’n to do soon this whole damn ship will implode.” He mumbled as he climbed the steps to the top deck to catch some much-needed fresh air.
Recover
Redbeard’s head snapped forward as he scrambled to find a weapon. Beams of light struck his line of sight while his hand swam the sheets of his bed seeking the familiar grip of the French pistol that he borrowed from Leon Dimont 3 years back. He wrestled with the currently unfamiliar setting. As he squinted, a headache threatened to turn his insides out. Finally, his fingers wrapped around the familiar stock, and he snapped it to the threat. A knock sounded, and the scene clicked into place. The previous night flashed as he mumbled for the inquiring party to enter. When it was clear that his invitation was not received, he cleared his throat and bellowed.
“This best be fatal or fiduciary, otherwise you’ll find yourself with a belly of lead and too many holes to shit from.”
The door cracked just enough for more sun to assault the room and rejuvenate the headache.
“Barrelman just chirped. Vessel 2 ticks astern, starboard. Boys’r abuzz.”
The light receded to nothing with a gentle click. As he swung his legs to the deck, he felt the Damned Promise pitch to port. Intercept course, no doubt.
Redbeard stood with the dismissed confidence of a man who lived at sea, intimate with a dance that was older that the language that could describe it. It was no wonder that a sailor ashore so often drank himself to folly; it was the closest a seaman could come to dancing with his salty mistress.
He pulled the stopper from his water ration and took a swig. He then let a small bit drip onto his palm and wiped his face before collecting his kit from the floor and putting himself together. A call would need to be made, and the crew would make it if he didn’t show himself soon. While he trusted their judgement, it wasn’t good to be absent when opportunity was afoot, especially considering their recent dry spell. Not that they wanted for anything, quite the opposite, in fact, but the men aboard the Damned Promise weren’t the men who relished the prize- they savored the fight.
The Captain’s door burst open, and Redbeard roared from the silhouette.
“Expectin’ you barnacles were hopin’ fer a free ride to the next port, eh?!” The men put forth a laugh that was part genuine mirth and part rabid dog.
“Report?”
“On their broadside in no time. English if I know the shape’o things.”
“War?”
“Likely. Second or third-rate. Nothin’ we haven’t seen before. Expect they’ll spot us soon by but for the moment seems the mist has us cloaked.”
“Press’m.”
Redbeard pulled a spyglass and scanned the silhouette of a ship as the distance closed. The wind was with them both, but no keel split the sea like the Damned Promise. It was as if the staff of Moses was grafted to the stem.
“Considerin’ the solitary nature of our dearest friends with whom we seek to fraternize, I expect the prize to not be worth its weight. I also expect that many of you antsy bastards are hungry to test your lead and steel. What say?”
Affirmation rolled across the ship.
Folly and Flabbergastery
The grating of two ships finally began to settle as the smoke combined with the mist, wafting above their sightline. The Captain of the ship was upon his knees, unsuccessful in his attempts to maintain an air of authority. As he struggled, the men of the Damned Promise held several enlisted men at sword and gunpoint, each seeking an opportunity to send the sailor overboard. The silence that followed was nearly unsettling.
Redbeard crossed the boarding plank and made the short jump onto the claimed deck, both at ease, and relieved, that his crew finally had the action he knew they sorely needed. He took a loud, audible breath and exhaled slowly.
“How DARE you encroach upon the Queen’s business, do you have any idea the force we can bring to bear in response to such an act?!”
“Mm. Seeming I knew and didn’t care. Seeming I did more than dare, Captain?”
“Singletary. Captain James Singletary of the HMS Shrewsbury and I’ll have you-” His captor jerked him violently.
“Now, now Captain Singletary, remember who holds the pointy things. Idle threats are a weak man’s business. Are you a weak man, Mister Singletary?”
“Captain Singletary, and I represent the greatest Naval force this world has ever seen.”
“Indeed, and yet here I am, standin over ya, enforcin’ your naval.” Redbeard poked the belly of the Captain, drawing a chuckle from those in earshot.
The Captain sputtered a confused and embarrassed rebuke as he wildly sought any opportunity for an exit. Redbeard stepped close to the Captain, putting his head alongside the nervous Englishman.
“Believe me, or not, you might just be the luckiest man alive. And alive you will remain, contrary to our reputation- by the winds and sea. Do you think, perchance, that I could regale you a story, and after such a tale has been told, that you could offer me the courtesy of acknowledgement?”
“I DO N-”
“I warn you once. that I am not a gentleman. Nor am I a gentle man.” A small circle of red bloomed where Redbeard’s blade-point rested on the Captain’s belly as he leaned closer.
With a pregnant pause, Redbeard flippantly continued. “You see’in that I lack a particular adornment?” His eyebrows bounced up and down. After noticing a look of confusion on the Captain’s face, Redbeard nodded upward and rolled his eyes toward the top of his head several times. No-No shook his head at the display.
Just as the bewildered Singletary opened his mouth to respond, “HATS man. HATS. Leather. Straw. Cloth. Felt. Heard of ‘em?”
“Well of cour-”
“Right well me and the boys,” Redbeard gestured expansively to the crew around him, “paid our respects to a fine mistress, of’n evening. The funeral demanded a procession, and we produced vehicles most readily at our disposal.” He peered down his eyebrows at the confused Englishman. “Twas a sunset of sadness, no doubt, but we watched the sea swallow our offering and knew that it was well received. That said, it left us with a most inconvenient deficit.”
Toringard’s eyebrow lifted.
“Vehicles, sir? I do not understand. What do hats have to do with a funeral, or my ship?”
“Have you ever lost something close to you, Lord Shingletary?”
“Patience comes to mind.” Singletary mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“I said of course, no man crosses the oceans without knowing loss.”
“Indeed, Father Singleton, but I’m not speaking on the woes of man.” Redbeard walked to the railing and ran his hand along the grain of the wood. Quietly, but with an air of expectancy, Redbeard asked, “Do you love this boat?”
“She is mine to command. I have a duty to the crown and I-”
“Yes, yes, yes, you carry a profound sense of ‘honor.’ You stink of it. Stop avoiding my question. Do. You. Love. This. Boat?”
“I love my wife. I love my men. I do not love metal, wood and cloth, no matter the configuration.”
“Ah. We stand upon the same ship, and yet a sea of meaning separates us. Have you ever killed something you loved, Simpletary?”
“I feel like you’re doing that on purpose.”
“’Tis the way of things, yes, that conversating is born of a purpose.”
“Not what I mea- nevermind. I have not, in point of fact, killed anything that I loved.”
“Then yours is a life without burden.”
“Without betrayal, you mean?”
“What would you know of either? Handed a commission because of your name; never known hunger or the cold that settles in your bones and stays with you through an entire winter. You think crossing the ocean is the challenge of a lifetime. An achievement. Look around you. Some of these men took on your ‘challenge’ to gain their freedom. It wasn’t an achievement; it was a beginning. Do not speak to me of morals, or of ethics. They are perfumes and powders, made to hide the ugliness of privileged men.”
“And yet you kill for sport.”
“I kill because men like you make me sick. Because murder is preferable to forced submission. BECAUSE SHE WAS TAKEN FROM ME!” Spittle flew from Rebeard’s lips as he shouted the last.
Shaken at first, Singletary gathered himself and replied. “Paint as you may, pirate, the canvas is rotten.”
Quietly at first, as a fresh wound begins to bleed; a chuckle became a laugh, which became a scoff. “Indeed, it is, Captain. The truest thing you’ve said today.”
Redbeard turned to the water and took a slow, measured breath. He nodded once, then looked back at Captain Singletary.
“We’ll be taking your hats.”
“Begging your pardon?”
“I offered you mercy; this is our recompense.” Redbeard’s whimsy returned like a small part in a clouded sky that lets the sun touch the earth, even if briefly. “Boys, collect their hats. Burn their flags. Cripple their jib. Toss the shot and powder so they don’t get any.. ideas. Let them limp into harbor like a wounded dog.” Redbeard plucked the finely made cocked hat off the Captain’s head, gave it a quick examination, then spit upon the deck as he turned toward the boarding plank. “You live because of my love for the Cartographer. A ship beyond your means, beyond your skill, and most certainly beyond the reach of your moral compass.”
And so it was that HMS Shrewsbury was hailed, halted and harassed as it struggled to reach port at the English Habour in Antigua. No one knows how Captain Singletary described the events of that day, but we do know that the story has lived on for centuries; though names and details have changed. Let this be the true accounting of the day the crew of the Damned Promise assaulted and boarded a manned and gunned vessel of the Royal Navy, all in the name of replacing their hats.