The High-Skies Adventures of Blue Jay the Pirate

by Scott Nash

  “I know, I know! But out there . . .” said Jay, pointing toward the horizon, “out there is a merchant ship or two traveling toward us on the westerlies, and I’d like to see how Gabriel handles himself when we land that ship. From the looks of ’im, he might be useful.”

  Both Crossbill and Snipe looked skeptical.

  “Really!” said Jay. “If not a god, that goose might just make a fine pirate. You wait and see.”

  In contrast to the cold, late spring, the first weeks of summer were golden ones for the crew of the Grosbeak. As Jay claimed to have foreseen, there was in fact a merchant ship on the horizon, a Thrushian seed hauler named the Widgeon. She was transporting cloth and exotic fruit and berries from the south to the colonial outposts in the Northeast. She was a three-masted carrack with a high, rounded stern and a bow that resembled the flat bill of a duck. The ship’s terrified little captain, a gray-cheeked thrush named Lawrence, put up no fight when the Grosbeak, flying the dreaded Jolly Robin, overtook him. Evidently, Blue Jay’s diabolical reputation was intact, since Captain Lawrence had no doubt that Blue Jay and his crew would butcher every last one of them if they offered the slightest resistance. While the ship’s hold was full of valuable cargo, it was certainly not worth losing his life or the lives of his passengers and crew.

  Blue Jay, ever mindful of maintaining his fearsome image, had the giant goose stand guard over the Widgeon’s crew while the rest of the pirates emptied the seed hauler’s hold. Unfortunately, Gabriel’s presence did not create the desired effect on the assembled captives. The poor bird looked ridiculous in his pile of patchwork clothing and his mixed-up, pimply complexion of yellow down and gray pinfeathers sticking out in all directions on his neck. He carried a sword that was much too small for him, which made it look more like a toy. Terribly uncoordinated, Gabriel tripped over the capstan and bumped his head on one of the booms. To make matters worse, the pirates’ captives actually began to giggle.

  Painfully aware that he was making a fool of himself, Gabriel tried to establish his authority by threatening his prisoners. “One false move . . . and I’ll run you through!” he said, waving his tiny sword. This could have sounded convincing if he hadn’t delivered the command in a warbling, yodel-some voice common to adolescents. “My sword is sharp, and I’m . . . I’m not afraid to use it.” Then he added, “By plunder!”

  His performance caused the prisoners to twitter and chuckle even more. “Did he just say ‘by plunder’?” mimicked one of the prisoners under his breath. Gabriel was mortified. It was clear that the prisoners were not afraid of him in the least.

  Fortunately, Blue Jay was nearby. He whirled onto the deck, looking wild, with his cutlass drawn, and confronted a black-throated warbler who had mocked Gabriel. The bird trembled before the point of Blue Jay’s sword. “This one needs to be taught some manners . . . by plunder!” he enunciated, then called, “Mr. Will’s-Widow!”

  “Here, sir!” answered Chuck, stepping forward with a heavy basket of grain he’d just stolen from the Widgeon’s hold.

  “Fetch me some rope, will you?” said Jay.

  “Aye, sir!” said Chuck, setting the basket down and ducking belowdecks. He soon emerged with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder.

  Jay cocked his head toward the prisoner. “Now, bind this prisoner’s wings behind him if you please, Chuck.”

  “Aye, sir!” said Chuck, lifting the bird’s wings and looping the rope around them so that they stuck up together from his back like a fin.

  The black-throat was mute with terror. Jay ordered Gabriel to lift the warbler up by his bound wings and dangle him over the gunwales. Gabriel hesitated at first, being of a generally sweet disposition, but Blue Jay shot him a glance as if to say, Do it this instant! Not wanting to fall in disfavor with his captain, the goose gingerly lifted the black-throat up by his wing tips and held him over the edge.

  The warbler stared down at the earth a thousand feet below, then screeched and begged for forgiveness. “Have mercy on me! Please! Have mercy!”

  Jay allowed this to go on for a bit before having Gabriel set the sailor back on deck. The sailor gasped his thanks. “Bless-you-sir-oh-God-bless-you!”

  Jay looked satisfied. He knew that there would be no further trouble from the prisoners and that the incident would produce yet another story to enhance his status as a ruthless rogue. Nevertheless, before he flew away, he could not help but say to Gabriel, “Toss him overboard if he gives you more grief!”

  Gabriel sheathed his sword, stood tall, crossed his wings over his chest, and glowered at the prisoners. The pirates finished emptying the Widgeon’s hold, leaving the crew and passengers with just enough rations to last them for a few days. Before departing, Jay could not resist the opportunity to shore up his mythic reputation. “Be grateful ya have yer lives!” he called to the Widgeon’s crew. “Our goose is a merciful god!” He pointed to Gabriel and then to the sky. “Be sure to tell your priests that a god is on our side now!”

  Back on the Grosbeak, Blue Jay praised his crew and clapped the gosling on the back. “Crayee! Did you see the look on their faces when you boarded the Widgeon? Struck dumb, I tell you! Struck dumb by the awesome power of our young godling here! Ha-ha!”

  Gabriel shuffled awkwardly from one foot to another and lowered his head as the pirates cheered him. He was both pleased and made uncomfortable by the attention, and he was a bit puzzled.

  Later, while helping Junco pile up sacks of grain, Gabriel asked her, “Why did the captain call me a godling?”

  “Because the Thrushians fear gods, and since your species is associated with gods,” Junco explained. “Jay believes that you could be very useful to our cause.”

  Gabriel looked no less perplexed than before. “Um . . . what’s a god exactly?”

  “Ah, well, that’s a puzzle,” said Junco, scratching her head. “I’m not an expert on such matters, but I suppose a short answer is that a god is a large and powerful being that smaller beings tend to live in awe of. It used to be that little birds worshipped all of the larger birds — eagles, hawks, owls, and geese. As the bird colonies grew, each country chose to worship just one large bird. For instance, the Thrushians believe the owl to be the judge, jury, and executioner that rules the world. The finches in Finchland praise hawks, and tyrant birds in Tyrannida offer sacrifices to falcons and go to war in the name of eagles.”

  “Why?” asked Gabriel.

  “I don’t know. I’m not part of any country, thank the clouds!” said Junco.

  “Do you have a god?” asked Gabriel.

  “Not that I can name,” she answered, “though I’ve learned to have respect for large birds, especially hawks. Crikes, those monsters come down from the sky and hit a bird and carry him off before he knows what’s happened!”

  “So hawks are your gods, then.”

  “No, no, no!” said Junco. “I avoid hawks at all costs.”

  “Then who rules pirates?”

  Junco chuckled. “Certainly not a bird!”

  Gabriel cocked his head to the side as if to say, Then who?

  “Pirates answer to no other bird and to no other creature, but we do have a ruler of sorts.”

  “Who?” asked Gabriel.

  “Well, the wind,” she said. “The wind provides us with direction and power. Like a god, it’s a little unpredictable, even moody at times. But unlike most gods, it is not confined to a country. The wind is everywhere and, inasmuch, provides us with our freedom. We pray to the wind, we read the wind, and we move with the wind.”

  Gabriel smiled and nodded. “I like that,” he said. “I’m ruled by the wind.”

  Junco shook out her wings and stretched. “Well, now, more of this later. We must get back to work here.” Junco began to lift her end of a sack and waited for Gabriel to lift his, but he was scratching his neck, mulling something over.

  “Whose gods are geese?” he finally asked.

  Junco thought for a moment, “Well, how about that? Geese d
on’t have a country either . . . like pirates. Geese were the gods of migration, and since countries have outlawed migration, geese have very few worshippers anymore . . . only the birds that still dare to migrate.” Junco lifted her end of the sack while Gabriel stood looking even more confused. “Tell you what: help me with these sacks and I’ll share what I know on the subject.”

  Gabriel lifted his end of the heavy sack with ease, and Junco felt the weight transfer to the goose as he stacked it in the pile with little or no effort. “I’ll do this,” Gabriel said. “Tell me about this migration.”

  “All right, then,” said Junco, sitting on one of the grain sacks. “A long time ago, before any colonies existed — before there were villages, for that matter — birds lived in roving communities called flocks. These flocks had no buildings, no farms, no permanent place to live. Instead of settling in one place, these flocks would travel in numbers from four to five thousand along ancient routes to nesting and feeding grounds, sleeping in trees and living off the land all along the way. Imagine that — five thousand birds, all flying together. It must have been magnificent!” Junco smiled and sighed. “I would love to have lived back then,” she said wistfully.

  “Why don’t birds still live in flocks?” asked Gabriel.

  “Some birds still do,” said Junco. “Mostly geese and ducks — because you are too large to be controlled — and any bird who chooses to be a pirate. But flocks have disappeared mainly because migration has been made illegal.”

  “What is this thing, migration?” Gabriel asked.

  “Migration is the life force that urges birds to travel long distances in search of fresh feeding grounds and longer days.”

  “So, why wouldn’t all birds still migrate?”

  “Because it has been outlawed.”

  “Why?”

  “The Thrushians who rule the land and skies have no use for migration. They figured out that they are better able to control their subjects and their food supply if they can keep them in one place. So they set up farms and workshops and villages for non-thrush birds such as sparrows and warblers to work and live. They force the poor villagers to give half of what they produce to the colony. To help convince them, Thrushia has adopted a bird-god that frightens small birds into staying put.”

  “Which bird is that?” said Gabriel.

  “The white owl, or ghost owl,” said Junco. “According to the Thrushian priests, the white owl knows which subjects are disloyal and which ones try to leave the colony. It is said that the owls will hunt and kill the traitors in the dead of night; the owl swallows the poor sots whole, sucks out their souls, then spits out the bones and feathers in messy little bundles called pellets. The whole thing is disgusting — and poor birds are living every day in fear and poverty when they should be flying free!”

  Gabriel’s eyes were wide with terror.

  “Don’t worry, owls are unlikely to attack a goose,” said Junco, “even if he is a low-down pirate like you!” She lifted her side of another grain sack. “Now then, put that sack on the pile, or we’ll feel the wrath of the god of grain!”

  “Who is that?” asked Gabriel.

  “My stomach,” Junco joked. “A very powerful god!”

  “I know that god!” Gabriel laughed, piling the last sack in the hold. “I’m more than glad to serve my stomach!”

  Come, messmates, pass the grog around

  For our time is short together,

  For our hearts must stop, STOP!

  And our spirits drop, DROP!

  At the first sign of cold weather.

  For tonight we’ll merry, merry be,

  For tonight we’ll merry, merry be,

  For tonight we’ll merry, merry be,

  For we are birds of a feather.

  The days following the Grosbeak’s encounter with the Widgeon were sweet ones, indeed. Jay knew there would be retribution by the colonials for plundering their ships, and there was still the worry of the crows in the forest below. But for the time being, the crew was feeling generally happy and content with fair weather and plenty of food to fill their bellies. They set to the routine tasks on board with renewed enthusiasm. They mended sails and attended to the countless other repairs and maintenance a ship requires. Gabriel made himself useful wherever he could. In addition to being able to lift a grain sack out of the hold by simply reaching down with his long neck and grabbing it with his bill, he was also particularly adept at adjusting the rigging.

  There was also a fair amount of leisure time on the Grosbeak. The crew spent quite a bit of time knitting, sewing, and weaving. They made their own clothes, storage containers, and lanterns lit by lightning bugs. Gabriel sported a red cap, expertly knitted by none other than Chuck-Will’s-Widow.

  The crew would also amuse themselves by telling stories, playing music, and singing (if you could call it that) throughout the day and often far into the night.

  Dirty Sailor Robin was fatter than his nest.

  He wore it like his breeches,

  filled with all his “past.”

  The nest ’twas full o’ buggots,

  all dancin’ in a line.

  Before the music started,

  They’d eaten his behind.

  Other verses of this song featured more unfortunate birds such as Popeye Plover, Sore-Throated Grackle, Green Little Bluebird, and any other miscreant that inspired song. The songs “Rats ’n’ Bats ’n’ Fisher Cats” and “Birdskuller Bill” were other favorites with the pirates. These songs — or fragments of them — continue to be sung to this day by birds in backyards and forests all around the world. It’s the rare bird who doesn’t know that they were originally sung by pirates.

  The camaraderie and good humor lasted for about a month. But the pirates’ need to plunder and their thirst for adventure couldn’t stay dormant for long. Because it was late summer and harvesttime was still weeks away, shipping traffic was light with the exception of the Thrushian warships that constantly patrolled the borders. With nothing to do, the pirates became restless and bored. They didn’t know where they were bound. Worse, Jay didn’t seem to know either. Nearly every day he announced that they were just upwind of some treasure ship or a few nautical miles away from some grand adventure, but none materialized. As the crew grew increasingly antsy, the singing and storytelling became scarcer until it finally stopped altogether. Instead, grumbling and gossip bubbled up in the dark, secluded corners of the ship:

  “I’m afraid our fine captain’s lost his bearings for good this time. Must’ve gotten a blow on the noggin from that clumsy goose. Cracked his compass, if you know what I mean.”

  “Mr. Crossbill looks more cross every time he visits wi’ the captain. It’s plain as print he ain’t happy with our little predicament here. Yellow Belly here says he heard Crossbill arguing with the captain from outside his cabin.”

  “That goose thar has an appetite, to be sure. A growing concern . . . if you know what I mean. Have ye noticed that we’re flying lower and lower in the sky as that boy gets bigger?”

  “All’s we do is feed that goose! We fill up the hold every morning, and the food is gone in no time!”

  “He’s insatiable, I tell you!”

  It was true that Gabriel was growing remarkably, but not unusually, fast. Not for a goose. It would take about three more months for Gabriel to reach his full size and weight. Then he would weigh ten to fourteen pounds, the equivalent of sixty-four blue jays, and he would have a wingspan of five feet, nearly the length of the Grosbeak!

  Unfortunately, Gabriel was still weeks away from fledging. Most of the pirates felt that the goose would have to go sooner or later. However, most of them were also very fond of Gabriel and didn’t mind caring for him till he was able to strike out on his own. Others wanted to leave him in the care of other geese and let his own kind take care of him. Some simply wanted to rid themselves of the goose, no matter where or when, to let him fend for himself.

  One particularly hot day, Junco overhear
d Blackcap grousing to Thrasher, “That young goose needs to fledge, I tell you, or he’ll never leave! Why don’t we just tip him overboard, much the way my mother pushed me out of the nest!”

  “That’ll teach him to fly quick enough,” said Thrasher.

  “He can hold his own. Why should we be spottin’ ’im?” said Blackcap. “He can fly. . . . He just needs a little encouragement, if you know what I mean.”

  “He just needs a little push,” said Thrasher. “Tip him over, I say.”

  So enraged by what she heard, Junco flew at Thrasher and slammed into his back. Thrasher toppled to the deck. Junco pecked his head between curses. “I’ll topple every last one of you!”

  Blackcap was trying to pry Junco off Thrasher when Snipe appeared. “Stand off!” he ordered. That ended the fight.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” he demanded. “Junco, what’s this about?”

  Junco said nothing. Thrasher and Blackcap were silent, too. Snipe knew what the dispute was about and did not press the matter, but he reported the incident to Jay.

  “The crew is openly fighting over the goose, Captain,” said Snipe. “It’s time to make a decision about Gabriel, or I’m afraid there will be trouble.”

  Jay had begun to worry that if circumstances didn’t change for the better and soon, he might just have a mutiny on his hands. This was not implausible, as it had already happened to him six times — twice on the Grosbeak alone and four times on other ships, each the result of a lack of enthusiasm by the crew for what they called “far-fetched harebrained schemes” by Captain Blue Jay, not unlike raising a goose on board his ship, for example. The fact that Blue Jay had survived six mutinies only enhanced his legend in the world of bird pirates. Still, mutiny was a demoralizing experience for all involved, and Jay wanted very much to avoid a seventh.

  “Mr. Crossbill!” said Jay.