Pirate Story – Last Voyage of the Black Betty – Chapter 3
by Craig Nybo ~ April 22, 2009
Chapters are posted in backwards order in the posts category. To read this story from the beginning, go to this link: pirate story.
To buy the official soundtrack for this story, go to this link: pirate music.
Last Voyage of the Black Betty
Chapter 3
The day cabin stunk with the smell of fifteen men. None had bathed in days and the stench choked the senses. Stark breathed through his mouth to fight against the mal-odor. The captain’s day cabin had once been an elegant place, fitted with intricately carved relief in oak and fine art, which had hung on every wall. The Black Betty, in another age, had been a ship of the line in The Royal Navy, her decks pristine and manned with well-trained uniformed men–men enlisted to fight at sea against the French. Her decks no longer gleamed with the sheen of frequent scraping and bathing with disinfectants. Since the day The Black Betty had been captured and dragooned into piracy, her day cabin, along with the rest of the ship, had fallen to shambles, having been the home of 5 cantankerous captains, each more boorish than the last.
Stark had called the meeting. He looked over those in attendance, counting heads–all were present–officers and a few midshipmen. He spotted Jax near the exit, bare-chested, low browed and brooding. He spotted Ian, the Englishman, his most profound opposition among the otherwise submissive crew. Like Stark, Ian read books and occasionally wrote letters. The rest of the men were nothing more than pawns to the promise of fortune, inert objects that seemed to show no personal power of which to speak–each of them required the persuasion of a master in order to act.
“I realize,” Stark shouted out. The room became still at the sound of his booming voice, “That we have settled on a course, North By North East, so you have voted. And so we have made way. I recognize that you have set your hearts on reaching The Kattegatt within 2-weeks sail. But, as the books so indicate, I, as captain, have the right to call for parley should a better option raise its head. It is for this reason that I have called assembly.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” It was Scree, the navigator, who spoke from deep in the throng of bodies. “The wind is at our beam. We are already two days sail on route. To change course now would be unlucky.” There was a general din of agreement as men nodded heads and offered concurrent grunts.
“The fact, lads,” Stark said, glancing across the room at Ian, who stood stoic, a finger on his chin, thoughtful, careful not to allow his sentiments slip through. “Is that there is no guarantee of any price whatever in Halmstad.”
“How have things changed?” One of the men, a burly mid-aged sailor with red, sun-burned skin said. “Halmstad has a ripe fruit, a war chest. Isn’t that right, Ian?” The man appealed to Ian.
Ian stood up tall and arched his eyebrows. “I’m a bit at loss, Stark.” Ian said, rocking his weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing has changed in Sweden. They are at peace with the Danes and are on the verge of repaying the last of their ransom.”
“And that ransom will be ours.” One of the men shouted. Others punctuated his outburst with a volley of grunts and cheers.
Stark raised one hand to quell the eruption. “There is no certainty that the ransom has not already been paid.”
“There is no certainty of anything.” Ian said. “Or so I have discovered under your captainship.”
“My captainship is not under dispute.”
“Perhaps it should be.” Ian said, still feeling pangs of anger at not being voted in as captain. “Your leadership is capricious and undirected, unlike your predecessor, the rock, Mr. Drosdan.”
Several of the men licked their right forefingers and spotted their brows at the mention of their dead captain; for none desired to summon his ghost up from the deep.
“Drosdan was a fine Celt and a good captain,” Stark said, deliberately allowing his Scottish accent to come through. “And were he with us now, he would also take issue with our hastily chosen path to Halmstad.”
“What alternative do you present? We have parleyed and decided on Halmstad as this ship’s destination.” Ian said.
“Back in Barbados, while you busied yourselves squandering that which I have aided you to gain, I learned of a place so ladened with gold that it pains the eyes which behold it.”
The crew settled, all eyes on Stark.
“Such a place does not exist outside of legend.” Ian said, waving his hand to dispel Stark’s words.
“Such a place does exist.”
“Pray, tell us where, and shall go there.” Ian said, flourishing mockingly with one hand.
“Every pirate knows that the way to riches is through the Spaniards. Each year, they send a flotilla of gold and silver, pressed into doubloons, back to their country. We ourselves have looted one of their galleons.”
Some of the pirates chortled, rocking back and forth, their laughs lecherous and grinding.
“All that treasure taken from savages leads one to ask: from where do the savages garner their precious metals?” Stark raised one finger to emphasize his rhetorical question. All eyes, large with lust for treasure, locked on him. “The Spanish know the source of all that unrefined wealth. They know where the savages keep enough fortune for a thousand men–neigh, for ten-thousand men, enough to fill fifty ships such as The Black Betty.”
The room went deadly silent for a long moment as each man imagined bags full of gold and rooms full of silver.
“He speaks madness.” Ian said. “The kind of madness that gets men killed.” Ian wheeled on Stark. ” You speak in cryptic terms. Any man can dangle a carrot in front of a mule and coax the animal to slaughter.” Ian turned to the rest of the men. “And I don’t see any mules among you.”
“But what if what he says is true?” Yeates, a spindly man at the back of the room said, his voice wispy from an old wound in the throat.
“What do you stand on?” Ian asked the spindly sailor.
“I stand on my feet.” Yeates said unsurely.
“No, you dolt, what do your feet stand on? What supports you from falling?”
“Wood and metal.”
“My point is you are grounded. You stand on something firm.” Ian turned with a flourish and pointed at Stark, “Unlike our captain, who seems to stand on nothing more than superstition and legend.”
“It’s not superstition.” Stark said.
“It is superstition. You speak of El Dorado, the mythical city of gold. They say that the ancient savages used to cover themselves with gold dust and dive into a lake of the purest water, water so pure that it can wash away a man’s very culpability.”
Stark sneered.
All eyes followed Ian as he walked across the day cabin, haughty and postured “They say the streets are paved with gold and that the buildings themselves gleam.” Ian stopped at the the head of the room to stand next to Stark. “But one must consider the foundation of such a story. On what does it stand? Does it stand on wood and metal like Mr. Yeats?” Ian pointed at the spindly sailor with the ruined throat. ” Or does it stand on the foolish hopes of a straw captain?”
“I don’ speak of El Dorado.” Stark spat.
Ian cut him off. “Well, whatever the fancy of the day, I choose to be grounded on wood and metal. If your plan is to change course and embark on a fool’s errand, then I must politely decline. We know that the balance of Halmstad’s debt to the Danes lies in store for our taking. We need only land in their harbor’s and do that which we do best.”
Some of the men laughed, uncouth and rustic.
“Parley, I say.” Ian called. “If our good captain’s intention is to present a choice before us, then we must cast our lots. Each man a knot, if you please.”
Each of the fifteen men reached into his pocket and drew out a length or rope tied into a monkey’s fist, a ball of a knot with intricate circuitous chords.
“Any man who wishes to take our Captain’s path to slow defeat and certain financial disaster, let him cast his knot.”
Two knots flew over the crowd and landed on the center table, that of Stark, and that of Jax, Stark’s lieutenant. Stark looked across the room at Jax. The big man nodded at the captain, his eyes nothing more than slits. Stark could always rely on Jax’s loyalty.
“And those who grounded on wood and metal, those who would like to fill their coffers with the gold of the Swiss and the Danes, cast your knots.”
Thirteen knots flew and landed, thumping, on the center table. Although the lots had fallen almost unanimously in Ian’s favor, there was an undertone of trepidation in the air; all knew the cunning of Captain Stark. They knew his viciousness with both his sword and his wit. It was because of this viciousness that he had been voted in as captain in the first place. Though they had all decided to follow him, none desired to cross him.
Ian turned to Stark with a smug smile traced across his lips. “And so the men have spoken.” He spread his hands.
“And so they have.” Stark smiled wickedly, defeated for the moment. “We keep steady. To Halmstad we sail.”
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