The Pirate Raiders

by C. G. Mosley

  Time was critical. Getting out of the water without a trace would be vital to our success. There was one more player in our eventful night that was awaiting our arrival in a tiny, hidden cave just below the rocky cliff from which The Parrot’s Landing rested, overlooking the bay.

  The opening was barely large enough for the boat to slip through, but Langley guided the little vessel into the cave with ease on the first attempt. After the boat travelled another thirty feet, the cave suddenly opened up into a much larger chamber. The jagged ceiling was low, but the stone walls were spread wide and far apart.

  A short and frail silver-haired man stood on a rocky ledge at the far end of the chamber. He was holding a torch and watching us with a posture that suggested he was extremely tired. Seeing him that way made me feel a pang of guilt. The man had to be pushing seventy and here I was keeping him out of bed in the early morning hours of the night.

  Tired as he was, John Copperton was exactly where he promised me he’d be when he, Gordon Littleton, Oliver Langley and I worked out our plan in a back room of The Parrot’s Landing a couple of hours earlier.

  John owned The Parrot’s Landing and although he had a good reputation among Port Royal’s government, he was secretly known to be an ally to pirates everywhere. A trap door existed under a rug in the stock room of his establishment and underneath that door was a secret passageway that twisted and turned through the rocky earth and ended in the chamber we now found ourselves in. John was reluctant to assist us with such a risky endeavor, but the man was practically family to me. There was no way he could tell me no.

  Langley eased the boat back to its rightful place. I briskly stepped out of the boat and onto the rocky ledge. Langley tossed a coiled rope my way; I caught it and immediately tied the line around a large, rusty spike that had been driven into the stone ledge many, many years earlier.

  “William, you’re going to be the death of me,” John said when I turned to face him. I smiled at him.

  John Copperton was probably the only man besides Gordon that could call me William without me taking a swing at him. The man had been the closest thing to a father figure I’d had since my real father was murdered when I was a young lad living in London.

  My father…I hadn’t thought of my real flesh and blood father in years. The revelation suddenly unleashed a flood of memories of the hellish childhood that molded me into the man I was today…

  My mother died shortly after I was born. Her death apparently affected my father in a pretty significant way because he began to drink heavily. I’ve been told that prior to my mother’s untimely death he had a very decent job as a store clerk, but was fired because he was never sober enough to work.

  The combination of my mother’s death, loss of income, and booze completely changed my father’s outlook on life and eventually led him to a life of crime. My father must have been a pretty successful thief because he and I never starved. I remembered many occasions when my father would leave me home alone when I was as young as four. He may have left me alone at a younger age than that but I have no way to know for sure since my memories do not go back that far.

  Ten years passed swiftly and it seemed that, as unusual and unorthodox as our life had become, my father and I were going to somehow make it through our hardships and live happily ever after.

  It wasn’t meant to be.

  Unfortunately my father also developed a gambling problem that later led to a significantly large unpaid debt. On a snowy Christmas Eve during the year 1699 there was a knock on the door. My father was usually a very cautious man due to his line of work, but on this particular night he made no attempt to peek through a nearby window to see who was on the doorstep. He opened the door without a care in the world and a man by the name of Charles Higgins promptly slit his throat with a barber’s razor before my father even had a chance to scream.

  He fell like a sack of potatoes, and after a brief spell of wild thrashing on the floor, he was gone. I was only a boy of ten and seeing that much blood on the floor was utterly shocking. I stood there staring at my dead father, my mouth hung open as if I was in some sort of trance, and I guess it’s fair to say that I was, in a sense.

  A look of horror washed across Mr. Higgins’s face when he spotted me. I don’t think he had any idea at the time that my father even had a son. All he knew was that the dead man at his feet owed him a large debt, and he was going to pay for it with his life. I’m not sure it would’ve even made a difference in the long run if he’d known I was his son.

  At that time, however, it did seem to make a difference to him because the look of horror was suddenly replaced by a somber expression of pity as he looked down on me.

  He stepped toward me and for a moment I feared that he was going to kill me too, but instead he scooped me up and carried me out of my home and into the bitter cold night. Higgins moved swiftly and discreetly through the dark alleys of London with me upon his shoulder. We eventually emerged at a dock and before I knew it I found myself on the deck of a large ship, the largest I’d ever seen at the time. I don’t know why, but somehow I knew immediately that I was on board a pirate ship. On an ordinary night, this realization would’ve undoubtedly terrified me. However, this was no ordinary night. My father had just been murdered and his death, along with the vision of all that blood on the floor, was still fresh in my mind.

  Higgins stopped at the captain’s cabin and began pounding frantically on the door. After a long moment, the door opened and a wrinkled and weathered face peered out. The captain had a large nose with a large, bushy mustache that curved down sharply and disappeared into a grey beard that enveloped the lower half of his face. His eyes were tired but attentive. The captain seemed to know that there must have been a good reason for one of his officers to wake him at such an unusual hour.

  His boatswain, Higgins, began to tell the tale of what had happened on my father’s doorstep earlier in the night. He spoke so fast that I wasn’t sure if the pirate captain was able to comprehend a word that spilled from his chapped lips. When he finally finished, the old captain looked down at meet, pity and sorrow etched in the deep lines of his face. He then knelt down to my level and peered sharply into my eyes. The shadows of the night darkened half of his face and I could smell the strong scent of rum on his breath. He asked me my name and I told him, my voice soft and fearful. The old captain proceeded to tell me very matter-of-factly that given my current predicament, there were only two possible outcomes and the choice was completely mine to make. My first option was death. There was no hesitation in his voice when he told me. It was made very clear to me that if I did not choose the second option, I would be killed. I was promised that the death would be quick and almost painless.

  The second option given was an opportunity to sign the articles and join the crew of his ship. As a ten-year-old boy, this option was not very appealing to me especially since I’d probably see my father’s killer on a daily basis. However, the fear of dying made the decision easier and minutes later I found myself in the captain’s cabin signing my life away…

  “William, are you alright?” John asked, snatching me back to the present.

  I shook my head and nodded.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks again, I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”

  He waved off my thanks and I noticed him eyeing Andrea. He shot a look of confusion my way.

  “This is Andrea Bonnett,” I said. “She’s the prisoner we helped escape.”

  “As you say,” he replied, still staring at her.

  Andrea glanced at me, obviously uncomfortable with the awkward staring. “Does he always stare at new acquaintances like this?”

  Her words seem to snap him out of his trance and his face suddenly flushed a nice shade of pink.

  “Oh, I’m truly sorry Miss…you’re just not what I was expecting is all,” John stammered. “You don’t look the least bit like any pirate I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen a lot of pirates over the years.”
>
  Andrea smiled at him, suddenly understanding his bewildered state.

  “I’m not so sure you’ve seen all that many pirates then,” she replied. “Lady pirates are much more common than you think.”

  “Aye, I’ve met my share of woman pirates,” John said. “However, the woman pirates I’ve met over the years are less…

  He seemed to struggle to find the right word.

  “Less what?” she asked.

  “Less…less…

  “Beautiful,” I interrupted. “Less beautiful, it’s okay to say it John. She is indeed quite beautiful.”

  John’s face turned a shade of pink yet again, and Andrea’s did the same.

  “What are you three bunglers raving on about?” Langley asked suddenly. “Cap’n, I could sure use a hand with Gordon.”

  I hurried over to the boat and grabbed Gordon’s legs; Langley had him under the arms. He was still unconscious and all dead weight.

  John led the way up the stone-carved stairs, torch in hand, followed by Andrea. When we finally arrived in the stock room, John rolled up a thick overcoat and we lay Gordon down, his head resting on the wool coat.

  “We’re going to have to leave him here for the night,” I said. “We can’t move him through the streets without drawing suspicion.”

  “None of you will be able to go out there without drawing suspicion,” John said. “You’re all going to have to stay here for the night.”

  “No, we can’t risk that,” I said. “They’re going to still be searching in the morning and the streets will probably be even more buttoned up than they are right now.”

  John squinted and scratched his head. He always did that when he was deep in thought. Suddenly, his face lit up.

  “I think I’ve got an idea to get you all to your ship unnoticed,” he said. He glanced at Andrea. “But I’m sorry to say it won’t be all that pleasant, Miss.”

  “I can handle whatever you have in mind if it leads to my freedom,” she answered without hesitation.

  “Very well,” he replied. “Follow me.”

  Andrea, Langley, and I followed him to the furthest corner of the stock room. There was a rather large stack of wooden crates and barrels arranged neatly in the corner.

  “When the merchants I use bring me a new shipment of goods, they usually ask that I send back the empty containers when I’m through with them. This is where I keep them all until they return. As you can see, some of them are quite large. Some are so large you could fit a couple of pirates in them.”

  He glanced at me and I soon realized what he was thinking.

  “You know,” I said, smiling. “The sloop that the governor has provided me is still in need of supplies.”

  “I don’t mind making a late night delivery,” John said.

  Langley grumbled as he realized what was about to happen. “Cap’n, let’s bustle to it. I’m not getting any younger and my old bones can’t take this sort of abuse for very long.”

  I clasped a hand on his shoulder.

  “I think we’ll stow you away in your own rum barrel, Langley. The sweet aroma will make the trip somewhat easier.”

  “Aye, it may,” he replied. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “I suppose we can give the lady her own barrel as well,” said John.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she replied. “I will share a crate with Captain Redd. Give Mr. Littleton his own barrel, he is injured and should be handled carefully.”

  I was briefly taken aback when I heard that she wanted to share a crate with me. “Andrea, are you sure you wouldn’t like your own—

  “Captain, I will be just fine sharing a crate,” she snapped. “Unless, of course, you are unwilling to share one with me.”

  She stared at me with sparkling sky blue eyes and awaited my response.

  “It’s settled then,” I said. “Langley and Gordon will ride separately in their own barrels. Andrea and I will share a crate.”

  “Very well,” said John, reaching for a barrel. “Let’s hurry, time is precious.”

  With the help of one of John’s most trusted employee’s, we were all sealed up in our containers and placed onto the back of a covered wagon in less than half an hour. The crate Andrea and I were in was large enough for us to face each other. We had our arms clasped around our legs, and knees pressed against our chests. There was still a foot between us. I removed my hat and it provided me enough room to move my head freely. I knew we were finally on our way when the wagon lurched forward.

  “Why did you rescue me?” Andrea asked abruptly from the pitch-black darkness.

  It soon became apparent to me why she’d wanted to share a crate. She had lots of questions. That was okay though because I had my share of questions too.

  “I’m trying to find Captain Trimble,” I answered. “I saved you from the gallows in hopes that you’d be able to provide me some sort of heading.”

  “Why are you trying to find my father?” she asked in a tone that had a subtle hint of anger attached to it. Whether it was directed at me, or her father, was a mystery.

  “He’s got something that I want—a ring.”

  There was a long silence. The quiet seemed to suggest that Andrea knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “Do you know of the ring I’m speaking of?”

  “Yes, I know of King Solomon’s ring,” she replied. “What do you want with it?”

  “I hear that the ring has extraordinary powers. A man like Captain Trimble shouldn’t have that sort of power.”

  Another long silence passed; then I heard a soft chuckle.

  “Is something funny?” I asked.

  “You’re a bloody privateer aren’t you?” she said, more anger in her voice. This time I knew it was directed at me. “The king hired you to get the ring back, didn’t he?”

  There was no use in denying it.

  “Something like that,” I answered. “But let’s be clear on this, I am no privateer. I was told to retrieve that ring in exchange for my freedom.”

  “If you’re working under the king’s authority, you are a privateer,” she said.

  The wagon suddenly jolted hard and I felt the uncomfortable sensation of the crate bouncing into the air. My head struck the wooden lid.

  Damn potholes, I thought.

  “Okay, I’m a privateer then,” I conceded out of sheer annoyance. I rubbed my aching skull. “Can you help me find your father or not?”

  “Let’s assume that I do know where my father is. Just what do you plan on doing when we find him?”

  At that moment, I was very glad Andrea was unable to see me in the darkness of the crate. There was probably a look of sheer stupidity on my face. I really had no idea what I was going to do to stop a man with that sort of power at his disposal. Reluctantly, I remained honest with her.

  “I honestly haven’t thought that far ahead,” I replied sheepishly.

  Andrea began laughing wildly. The cackle that erupted from her lips was almost scary and for a moment, in the darkness, she seemed exactly what one would imagine the daughter of Captain Winston Trimble to be.

  “That’s what I thought you were going to say,” she said, snorting through laughter. “There can only be two reasons you would go after my father so blindly. Either you’re the bravest pirate that ever lived, or the stupidest one. Tell me, Captain Redd, which one are you?”

  I bit my lip in an effort to refrain from saying something I would regret. I needed Andrea’s help and now she knew it. As angry as I was, I held back the barrage of curses begging me to unleash them.

  “Andrea,” I said with disciplined grace. “Do you know where your father is or not?”

  She sighed and pondered the question for a moment before she spoke.

  “I do not,” she said finally. “But I know where to find men that will probably be able to give us a heading.”

  “Well that’s wonderful,” I said with relief. “Where do we find them?”

  “New Providence is teemi
ng with pirate captains who knew my father and…,” her words trailed off as if something had just occurred to her. “I have an idea,” she said suddenly.

  “Let’s hear it then.”

  “If you’re going to get that ring from my father, you’re going to need a bargaining chip,” she said.

  My eyebrows arched. It seemed now we were finally making progress. “Go on.”

  “There is an old man that lives in New Providence. He will most likely have a rough idea on my father’s whereabouts,” she said. “He is also probably the only man alive that knows where my father buried a chest containing his most important possession.”

  “A chest,” I said, suddenly more interested. “A chest containing what important possession?”

  “I do not know exactly what is in the chest,” she admitted. “But I know that whatever it is my father has gone to great lengths to keep its location hidden. If we could find it, it may be just what we need to bargain with him.”

  My mind began to flood with thoughts of what could be in such a chest. Was it gold? Jewels? Or could it be something more sinister?

  “Okay,” I said. “That sounds like a wonderful plan, but why do you think that this man would give up the location of the chest to us?”

  “He will give up the location to me,” she corrected. “And he’ll do it because he is my uncle. If I tell him that my father is in danger and is in need of the chest…well, it just might be enough.”

  “Are you saying this old man is Captain Trimble’s brother?”

  “Yes, his elder brother,” she replied. “His name is Morgan Trimble. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I said.

  “He sailed under Captain Kidd on the Adventure Prize in the late 1600’s. He was a fearsome pirate, one of the few who escaped before Kidd was arrested. His age is what finally did him in. He gave up that life—well, to a point anyway,” she said. “I mean, he did choose to live out his final days in a pirate haven.”

  “Alright, as soon as the sloop is ready to go we’ll set sail for New Providence,” I said.