The Good Captain was still the figure head of his own ship as it sailed slowly across the ocean that would one day become the Southern Atlantic Ocean, the fact that he was not at the helm, not steering the big ship did not remove him from his position.
The crew were well capable of getting the ship from port A to port B when it was needed, they were well capable of steering the big ship around reefs and small islands, in fact they were well capable of doing everything a pirate crew needed to successfully sail the seven seas. But the Good Captain was never far enough away that he could not be in the thick of things should the need arise.
He’d selected his downtime because the seas were calm, the trip was an easy one and the likelihood of trouble so slim that it was barely worth considering. It was a downtime he had chosen to spend writing his own ledger to the son he didn’t have, not unlike the ledger he’d not long back received from the father he didn’t know he had.
After a short break he continued to scribe his own story of Treasure Island, a land any good pirate captain should know the secrets of. Picking up his scribe in his right hand the Good Captain continued to write his scrawl somewhere between just legible and barely legible.
Don’t believe the stories you’ve heard. Don’t believe the stories you’ve read. Many a pirate folk will spend their days warning other pirates from Treasure Island. Why they do such a thing is unknown, it is not like the spoils of such a place can belong to only one person, but they do. I have heard stories so savage they may make the skin of a lesser man than you crawl, but they are just that stories made by a greedy crewman who thinks Treasure Island can be claimed. But alas they all learn that is not the case.
I did once hear of a pirate ship where the first mate was pole-axed by the bosun’s spiked club. The bosun was then, as retaliation, speared through the head with the spike of a marlin fish. The cook then unbeknown of his fate used that marlin for dinner and was marked for death by the black marlin maid. The black marlin maid took all of his fingers, one by one, then all of his toes, left his a-screaming in the galley besides his pots and pans. The poor cook screamed himself to death. It was then said that the entire ship , a thousand good men, where all killed and laid dead on the decks as the sun broke over the eastern horizon.
But me laddie they are all but stories.
In the mind of the Good Captain it felt a little strange to continually refer to his son in the texts he scribed given that he was yet to become a father but he continued with his thoughts nonetheless for he was sure that one day he and his Fair Maiden would share the joys of parenthood.
Often the price one pays for visiting or even knowing about Treasure Island is high. But that is the fault of their own, they make it a problem because they are not true to the cause, they forget what it means to be a pirate. A pirate’s job may be to be feared, to rule, some even believe that a true success at the helm of a pirate ship does not come until the coffers have run dry at least once, because it is the climbing from rock bottom that makes a captain worthy. But I can be telling you now in these scribed words that such speak is nothing more than the foul stench of everclear within the air.
The Good Captain decided on one more little anecdote before summarising his story and closing off his first ledger entry.
One of my favourite stories about the journey to Treasure Island, and I tell you this only so that you understand the absurdity which some pirates who were not prepared, or even worthy, to visit the wonderful island went through.
There was one hundred and eighty men sailing on a dead man’s chest.
By the time the Good Pirate’s son read those words he’d know a dead man’s chest referred to a ship not worthy of sailing a duck pond.
The ship was in such a state that even a year in dry dock would not see her straight. They drank the devil’s nectar night and day, they drank to help them forget, they drank to stop them having to think about the ship that they sailed upon. After seventy days and seventy nights at sea all but one crew member had died, the diseases unknown, but the hideous deformities that were inflicted upon them, nothing short of nightmarish.
He remained on his endless quest, he remained sailing that ship with the dead crew laying where they fell. He sailed that ship until history and destiny collided and his luck was changed forever. He knew not what catalyst within his life changed but he suspected it was the fact that he battled on whence all the crew around him dropped. But whatever it was that changed he was eternally grateful, for it was claimed his luck would last forever and his legacy would never die.
The Good Captain read through his words. He decided they were what he wanted to say, decided there was enough hooks and snags within the story to give away the information he wanted to offer and he decided it was time to finish of his first entry and head back to the helm of his own ship.
By the end of these scribed words you will have the knowledge and information to guide you toward finding the map I have left for you. No one other than my true flesh and blood shall understand the clues that lie within these words. For you my son, over many years we are together, shall be taught the secret family code that I shall create henceforth.
With the map in hand you will use the stars in the midnight sky on the dark of the moon to guide your voyage. You shall sail onwards through the blackest of waters and the calmest of seas. You will set your own course to the other side of the endless blue oceans. And for all this your shall be rewarded with all that Treasure Island has to offer.
Previous Pirate story here.
Fade to black…..