Seven Dead Pirates

by Linda Bailey

  “Well, not totally fine, of course. But who is? I thought … well, I imagined they might be company for you. You seemed so alone. And I knew from the old days with your great-granddad that they were a jolly bunch.”

  Jolly. Again, not a word Lewis would have chosen. But he knew what she meant.

  “I have to go now, Mrs. Binchy,” he said. “I have to … help them.”

  She nodded, not surprised. “You’re taking them to their ship?”

  “Yes.”

  “I expected as much. So did your great-granddad. He knew you would help.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet,” said Lewis. “Today, I hope.”

  “You picked a good day. All the spirits out and about on All Hallows Eve. Who’d notice a few more?”

  “Yes. Well, then …” Lewis started to rise to his feet.

  “Not quite yet,” said Mrs. Binchy. “It may be … yes, I think it’s right. Before you leave, you should read your great-granddad’s letter.”

  “I don’t have time for—WHAT?”

  “Your great-granddad wrote you a letter,” said Mrs. Binchy. “It was before he went off his head, poor dear. He asked me to keep it and give it to you when I thought the time was right.”

  “And that’s … now?” said Lewis.

  She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

  Moments later, she was back, sniffing a small white envelope.

  “Smells like your great-granddad,” she said with a sigh. “His pipe. Takes me back. Here.”

  Lewis took the envelope and turned it over. There it was, his name. Lewis.

  He began to open it, then looked at Mrs. Binchy.

  “Oh!” She rolled to her feet. “Don’t mind me. I’ll start my apple pies.”

  It was a single sheet, written on both sides in a small, slanted hand.

  Dearest Lewis,

  If you are reading this letter, then you have met our guests, the crew of the Maria Louisa. I hope you have been of some help to them, and I am equally hopeful that they have been helpful to you. Watching you over these past years, I have often felt that you might benefit from some time with the pirates. They certainly have needed someone like you, Lewis, a healthy young man with a generous heart who could do for them what I could not.

  By now, you may have become friends. If so, I thought you might be interested to learn of another connection you have with these long-dead men. Their history is shrouded in mystery to most, but I took an interest and did some research, traveling as far as London and New York to seek answers.

  What I learned was this. When the Maria Louisa was captured by a Captain Dire, seven of her crew drowned. These are the seven you have met.

  But one of Crawley’s crew managed to escape. He was called Laughing Harry, and he was dragged beneath the ship that day as punishment. When he didn’t come up, everyone thought he was dead. But the truth was, he managed to free himself.

  Badly wounded but still alive, he was carried to shore by the tide. He was the Maria Louisa’s navigator, and his full name was Harold Gordon Douglas.

  Fortunately for him, he was found by kind people on shore, who nursed him back to health. Later, he made his way back to Scotland, where he married and became a merchant. And so, his pirate days ended forever. But along the way, he heard the awful tale of how his shipmates had perished, and he wondered often about fate, and how it had allowed him alone to survive. On the twentieth anniversary of his crewmates’ deaths, he returned to Tandy Bay and stood upon the cliffs to pray for them at a church service he had arranged with the village priest.

  He stayed only a day or two, but he brought his son with him—a boy named Jeremiah. That boy was struck powerfully by the beauty of Tandy Bay and especially by the majestic view from the cliffs. Jeremiah went home to England with his father, but he never forgot those cliffs. When he grew up, he came back here, and he brought his young English bride with him. Her name was Elizabeth. He built Shornoway for her. They had thirteen children.

  Elizabeth and Jeremiah Douglas were my great-great-great-grandparents, Lewis. (There are more greats, no doubt, but this is a small piece of paper.) That means, of course, that they were your ancestors, as well. And so was Harold Douglas.

  Yes, Lewis, you and I are direct descendents of Laughing Harry Douglas, the navigator of the Maria Louisa. We have a bit of pirate in our blood! I wonder what you think of that.

  For myself, I have found that it comes in handy now and then, if properly used, and I hope it will be the same for you. You are a good boy, Lewis, and that’s a fine and valuable thing. You have always done exactly what was expected of you. But there are times in life when one must be bold, moments when one must listen to one’s heart, rise to its call and dare all. At such moments, a drop of pirate blood may help.

  Onward, Lewis of Libertalia!

  With love from

  Great-Granddad

  P.S. Crawley and his crew don’t know we are related to Laughing Harry. I have been tempted many times to tell them, but now I leave that pleasure to you.

  Lewis stared at the letter, stunned. He had a pirate ancestor. So did his mother! Maybe that explained her bossiness and the oversized voice. He couldn’t wait to tell her and his father about Laughing Harry Douglas.

  He especially couldn’t wait to tell Captain Crawley.

  He replaced the letter in the envelope. Standing, he held it out to Mrs. Binchy. “Thank you. Can you keep it for me till I get back?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll get the pirates now,” he said.

  They were waiting, dressed in their outfits. Colorful as a bowl of bubble gum, they were standing in a row in a shaft of morning sunlight. Lewis couldn’t remember when he’d seen so much … brightness!

  There was Jonas, pleased and proud in his fuzzy pink tracksuit. Beside him, Jack managed to look nasty even in a frilly white blouse. Bellows stood out as always, his lower half a sea of purple flowers, while Skittles glowed in a tangerine tie-dyed T-shirt. All that was needed to make the picture completely ridiculous was Hawaiian prints (Moyle) and polka dots (Adam).

  “Atten-SHUN!” hollered Crawley, hitching up his gold basketball shorts.

  To Lewis’s surprise, the pirates snapped to attention. Crisp salutes greeted him down the line.

  He saluted back uncomfortably. “Er … at ease.”

  As soon as the words were out, they gathered around him.

  “Ain’t you a picture!” said Crawley. “Just what in the name of thunderation is this?” He pulled at Lewis’s square rubber head. “And what happened to yer skin? Has you been struck by the plague since we last saw you, lad?”

  “It’s makeup,” said Lewis. “For Halloween.”

  “Well, I ain’t much acquainted with yer Halloween, but if it makes a lad screw bolts into his neck …”

  “They’re not real, Captain Crawley. It’s a costume. Just like yours.”

  Crawley patted his shorts. “Nay, not like my costume. Not like mine at all.”

  “Course not,” said Moyle. “The lad looks like a canker sore!”

  “Like a dirty old sausage left out in the rain,” added Jonas.

  The pirates laughed. All except Crawley.

  “ENOUGH!” he shouted. “Leave the lad be. It’s time to weigh anchor, mates. The Maria Louisa awaits.”

  He paused to gaze around the tower. Removing his baseball cap, he placed it over his heart. The other pirates followed suit.

  “One last adieu to the old manse afore we departs. She was never our home, to be sure. But she were a sweet place to visit for a few centuries. Say good-bye, mateys, say good-bye. And now, young Lewis … lead the way!”

  Now that Lewis didn’t have to hide the pirates from Mrs. Binchy, he shouldn’t have minded their noise as they thundered downstairs. Even so, it was hard not to say “Shush!”

  When they reached the ground floor, he looked around for the housekeeper, peeking into the kitchen and calling her name.

  She didn’t answer, and he co
uldn’t wait. Not with seven dead pirates on his heels.

  “This way!” he called, heading for the front door. When he pulled it open, the wind blew him nearly off his feet—a bitter gust that cut right through his clothes.

  He shivered and glanced down. His Frankenstein costume was only a thin layer of cotton. Underneath, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Wait!” he told the pirates, crowding behind him in the doorway. “I need a jacket.”

  He pushed his way back to the front hall closet. When he opened the door, she was standing there, huddled between the coats.

  “Mrs. Binchy! What are you doing in the closet?”

  She tried to smile. “I don’t really know, dear. Suddenly, the thought of actually seeing them … it gave me the willies.”

  She peeked past him now. “They don’t look so bad, do they? Quite colorful … if you don’t get too close.”

  Lewis nodded. “I need my jacket, Mrs. Binchy. It’s cold outside.”

  She stepped out of the closet, searched through the coats and pulled out a red plaid jacket. It looked familiar.

  “It belonged to your great-granddad,” she said, holding it up. “Wear it for luck!”

  The jacket was old and ugly. But it was warm, and the red would blend in with the pirates’ bright clothes. Lewis pulled it on. It smelled of Great-Granddad’s pipe.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Binchy. For everything.”

  She nodded. “Off with you now!”

  He pushed through the pirates and led the way outside. As he walked down the front steps, they followed … but slowly. He remembered that some had not been outside in decades. He waited as they inched their way down.

  Crawley was not so patient.

  “Push these yobs along, young Lewis. They could spend a whole week on these stairs.”

  Lewis laughed and hastened his pace. As he led the crew down the driveway, Mrs. Binchy’s treble voice followed.

  “Good luck, dear Lewis. Onward!”

  The wind from the north blew strong, stinging Lewis’s green-hued face and flattening his red jacket as he led the way down Muckanutt Road. He glanced back.

  They were keeping up. Good! Seven of them in a wobbly, windblown line, with Crawley at the rear.

  Hearing a motor ahead, Lewis tensed. This was the test.

  “Car coming!” he yelled. “Everyone stay calm.”

  As the car pulled into view, Lewis could see the driver—a dad-looking guy with a bald head. Spotting Lewis’s costume, he grinned and tapped a couple of beeps on his horn.

  The pirates leaped into a flower bed.

  “NO!” yelled Lewis as the car passed. “Wrong!”

  He helped them out of the flowers, now crushed and mangled. “It’s just a horn,” he told them. “Don’t be scared.”

  “WHO’S scared?” hollered Jack, springing forward. “I’ll—”

  “STOW IT!” yelled Crawley. “Till we reaches the moo-see-um, this lad is in charge. You heed his words as you heed mine! Take your place, Jack.”

  Jack whirled and spat on a mailbox. Then he slunk back into line.

  Lewis started walking again. A second car passed, without slowing. The pirate line held firm.

  At a curve in the road ahead was the bus stop. Two old ladies in long coats were seated on a bench, their feet dangling. Lewis looked more closely. Weren’t these the same old ladies who’d been sitting there when he walked to the thrift store with Crawley?

  “Good morning,” said Lewis as he approached.

  The one in the red hat giggled. “Good morning, Frankenstein,” she said.

  Then, as the pirates passed, the other one called, “Good morning, ZOMBIES!”

  The old ladies clutched each other, shrieking with laughter.

  Lewis started laughing, too.

  There was a tap on his shoulder. “What’s a zombie?” asked Moyle.

  You, thought Lewis. What you look like. “Zombies are good,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  It was working. His plan was actually working.

  More cars passed. Every time it happened, the pirates got jittery. A few glowed wildly and yelled and grabbed each other. But they managed to stay in line. And they managed to fool the drivers, who just smiled and waved.

  Only the dogs knew. A black lab went berserk when they passed its yard. It came charging up to the fence, hackles raised, barking and whirling in circles.

  “Can’t fool no dog,” muttered Skittles.

  “Dudley! Hey, Dudley. Cut it out!” yelled a woman from the porch. “What’s gotten into that dog?”

  It was a relief to leave Muckanutt Road and get onto Highbury Lane. Walking on the sidewalk, the pirates looked more relaxed—all except Crawley. He continued to brood, his features gloomy. It was as if his mind was somewhere else.

  But no time to worry about Crawley. The smaller streets had more pedestrians, and the pirates were attracting attention.

  A young guy with a nose ring and a brown leather jacket gave them a thumbs up. “Hey, cool! Night of the Living Dead. I like it.”

  A woman in a cowgirl costume, pushing her bunny-suited baby, said, “Look, Lucy! Zombies.” The baby caught the interest of the pirates—especially Jack the Rat, who stuck his face right into its stroller. The baby wailed for half a block.

  “Cut that out,” said Lewis.

  “Bah!” said Jack. Then his mouth dropped open as he spotted something behind Lewis.

  Lewis turned. A gorilla was walking toward them.

  Uh-oh, thought Lewis. He turned again. But not in time to stop Jack, who was running at the gorilla with—yes, a dagger!

  Fortunately, Crawley chose that moment to start paying attention. As Jack ran past, he reached out and snatched the smaller pirate right off the sidewalk.

  Lewis caught up. “It’s not a real gorilla, Jack! It’s not!”

  But the gorilla was a lesson. However well the pirates were behaving, they were still pirates. He needed to get them to the museum quickly, before they could cause real trouble.

  There were two more dogs on the walk—a growling Rottweiler and a hysterical Chihuahua. Lewis kept the pirates moving. As they neared the municipal center, his heart began to pound. They were almost there. They were going to make it. He had actually led seven ghosts across Tandy Bay!

  Then he remembered. The police station. It was right beside the museum. He should check things out before bringing the pirates any closer.

  He led them into the museum parking lot and stopped. As they began to mill about, Crawley joined him in three swift strides.

  “We’re here!” said Lewis. “We did it, Captain Crawley. Can you believe it?”

  “Aye, lad, we’s arrived. And we thanks you kindly for bringing us.”

  “Can you wait here for a minute while—”

  “No need for that, lad. We travel alone now.”

  “What?”

  “You can go.”

  “I … what?” said Lewis.

  Crawley narrowed his eye. “Yer work is done, young Lewis. Best for you to go home now.”

  Lewis was too shocked to speak. After all the work he’d done? The planning, the clothes, the training. And now he was supposed to just … go home? Not even see the pirates board their ship?

  “But that’s not fair,” he said. “That’s—”

  Crawley’s face grew hard. “This ain’t a right place for you today. There’s things as may happen—I’ll say no more. Heed my words. Go home!”

  “I won’t,” said Lewis. “I’m coming in, too. You can’t stop me.”

  The captain glared at Lewis so fiercely, it was like being struck. Grabbing the boy by the shoulder, Crawley hauled him away from the others, behind a pay station.

  “I didn’t want to tell you, sonny,” he whispered, “and I didn’t want to tell the boys, neither—not till I had to. But you’ll find out soon enough. Does you remember how I went exploring yesterday? On me own?”

  Lewis nodded. “You frightened my father. He said you were
angry.”

  “Angry don’t half say it. The place I went to yesterday was right here—to this moo-see-um. I wanted to reconnoiter. Have a look-see. And what did I find inside these walls? Ah, laddie, it were a foul thing. A foul, repulsive thing!”

  “What?” asked Lewis.

  Crawley’s hand curled into a fist. “I could smell them the second I comes near! I’d know that smell anywhere. The stench of rotting teeth! Maggoty meat! Dying rats!”

  “But what?” begged Lewis. “What was it?”

  “Putrid flesh! Festering swill!”

  “Captain Crawley! Please! What did you find?”

  Crawley lifted his gnarled fist into the air and shook it.

  “DIRE!” he croaked hoarsely.

  “Dire?” repeated Lewis. “You mean … Captain Dire? The pirate who stole your ship? Who threw you overboard?”

  “Dire, aye! That son of a scab, Dire! Standing there at the helm of my ship with his scraggly mane of white hair and those terrible, cold, dead eyes. Those icy blue eyes what can freeze your marrow. It were him, all right. Him and his stinking crew—twelve or more—crawling over the deck like sea lice on a whale. They’re here, lad—right here, on our sweet little Maria Louisa! They been aboard ship all these many years, while we sat landlocked in a tower.”

  Stunned by this news, Lewis tried to take it in. “Twelve of them? But wait—you’re only seven. You’re outnumbered! Listen, Captain Crawley, you can’t go in there. You have to come back to Shornoway. You—”

  Crawley seized him by his jacket and pulled him up so they were face to face. “ARE YE MAD?” boomed the captain. “Back to Shornoway? Wash your mouth out, ye pettifogging little gnat! Two hunnert years and more we’ve waited for our ship. Are we to give her up now? NO! We stays RIGHT HERE, and we FIGHTS for her!”

  He released Lewis and glanced around. The other pirates, hearing the shouting, had gathered in a circle.

  “Dire?” they repeated. “Here?”

  “AYE!” shouted Crawley, throwing caution to the wind. “That son of a bilge rat, Dire! We’re going to toss him into the drink, mates—just as he tossed us. Are ye ready to take back our ship?”

  “AYE!” the pirates cried, pulling out their swords. “AYE, AYE, CAPTAIN!”

  Crawley yanked out his own sword and brandished it in the air. With an ear-splitting scream, he ran straight for the brick wall of the museum. He hit it—