Pirates of Savannah: The Complete Trilogy - Colonial Historical Fiction Action Adventure (Pirates of Savannah (Adult Version))

by Tarrin P. Lupo

  It was a flurry of information to understand but Patrick was quickly learning. The lack of nourishment made it very hard for the ex-prisoner to focus and he was tempted to fall asleep where he stood. When Mr. McLain became unsure if Patrick was nodding because he understood or because he was falling asleep, he sent Patrick to his quarters to get some much needed rest.

  Patrick was lucky to be in quarters with a hammock. It took him a few tries to learn how to lay down in it without it flipping over and dumping him out. The veteran crewmates took great delight in watching Patrick fall repeatedly while trying to steady the hammock. Eventually, a crew mate took pity on Patrick after a good laugh and held it steady while he mounted it. In a few seconds, the gentle swaying of the ship rocked the hammock in a rhythmic motion. It was a strange sensation. It was the first time in years he could lie down to sleep. There were no buzzing noise of flies or the overpowering ammonia smells from the floor covered in the vile sludge. He closed his eyes with a grin and took a long, deep breath before passing out from utter exhaustion.

  Patrick later woke by the violent shaking of his shoulder. Mr. McLain was standing over Patrick's hammock shouting. “Finally! You've been asleep for two whole days. Time to wake up! How the hell did you sleep through all those damned bells and whistles anyway?" Patrick rubbed the sleep from his eyes as Mr. McLain informed him, "The quartermaster wants to see your whole lot. Now!”

  Patrick was in great spirits, but was incredibly sore. Every movement hurt. He was excited; in just two months on the ocean, he would step onto Savannah a free man. He hurried up to the deck as fast as his aching bones would carry him and saw the other four former prisoners assembled and waiting. Smiles were exchanged as Shamus laughed, "Patrick Willis, I see yer da g’damn bilge rat now, eh?”

  The men attempted to stand at attention as Mr. Mandrik walked up. The group immediately stopped talking. The quartermaster explained their situation to them. "Let me remind ya. Ya criminals are two days out to sea already. I hear ya talking about freedom, it just be two months away but me thinks ya not understand yer situation. Yer not just going walk out a free man when you step off dis ship. No." He paused to allow the five men to understand the gravity of his words. "Ya have to earn yer freedom and passage." The five men looked at each other, wondering exactly what Mandrik meant. When he was sure he had their full attention again, the quartermaster continued, "When we port this ship, ya will be indentured to a local merchant. Five years of service. Ya will learn a trade and then ya be free.”

  The shoulders of the men stooped. Their hearts were crushed. Patrick gasped, "Five more years?!" Isaac starred stoically off, past the rail of the ship and into the horizon.

  Noticing their lowered morale, the quartermaster explained that being an indentured servant was not as bad as being a slave, unless of course you were a woman or worked indentured to a tyrant. They would be provided with food, a place to sleep and a job skill. After the contracted work was over the master was expected to send them off with some money and the tools of their new trade. Two thirds of the colonists bought their passage with this arrangement, so there was very little social stigma in being an indentured servant.

  Feeling as if his words did not reassure the men, he released a great, big belly laugh. "If you don’t think dis arrangement is fair, feel free to swim home," he stated as he pointed to the open ocean. At that exact moment, Shamus started walking to the railing, took off his shirt and readied himself to jump overboard when Isaac grabbed the skinny Irishman by the scruff of his neck and pulled him down to the deck.

  “Shamus!" Isaac yelled in his face. "You'll be dead in minutes, you stupid, lousy drunk. Do you even know how to swim?"

  Shamus flailed his arms trying to get Isaac to release him, rolling into an angry rant he was infamous for. “Dose dirty, English bastards fookin’ lied to us! And dey have some damn greasy Greek do dere bidding. Fookin’ cowards!" Isaac grabbed Shamus by his arms as the Irishman’s face flashed with angry crimson. "Lemme go! I plan on swimmin’ back to England and kicking George the Second right in da cherries!"

  "Settle down, Red," Isaac coolly warned.

  The Irishman grew hot with anger, but Patrick knew Isaac's anger was cold and not to be toyed with. Shamus continued, "Fooking never trust the g’damn English for any g’damn, fooking thing! If I get a chance, I’m going to piss in all dere mouths tonight when dey be sleepin’! Those pieces of dog squeeze fooks! I can’t wait to mmmm...”

  Isaac had enough. He put his giant hand over the irate Irishmen’s mouth and held him down like Shamus was a small child.

  Mr. Mandrik was amused at the Irishman’s fire and vitriol. He smiled as Shamus ranted and the bigger Isaac handled him. When he felt the show was over, he commanded, “Gets backs to work and remember to do as we tell ya!" Pointing at each man, he warned, "I wants no trouble from you five."

  As the five scrambled to their duties, Mandrik turned to McLain, "Mr. McLain, I need you to double their rations. They won’t fetch a good price looking like drowned kittens." McLain nodded as the quartermaster continued, "Da one with da bow legs, see he gets triple the birch beer and limes. He won’t fetch no good price if the cripple can’t ambulate.”

  The quartermaster then took his leave and left the angry men all staring at each other from their positions. Jessup later angrily admitted to Isaac, “I agree with Shamus. He deserves a good kick in the balls.”

  Isaac calmly reasoned, “How quickly you forget the death sentence we just escaped from. Use this opportunity. Appreciate our new positions. Enjoy the fact we now get double rations.”

  The idea of double rations did bring smiles to the former prisoners' faces. For years, Patrick had survived living off moldy bread, rats he could catch and scraps of bone. He could not remember what real food tasted like. Anger over being indentured servants was quickly replaced with dreams of food. Patrick was happy to discover that the crew always ate as much food as they could the first two weeks out of port while they still had fresh fruit and vegetables. Soon enough, the sailors would be surviving on heavily salted meat and fish. Patrick was practically drooling on his way the first time to the galley. It was small and cramped in the galley and the food was shuttled out in wood bowls, but it seemed like a holiday feast.

  Patrick sat with the other four former prisoners as they received bowls of fish, potato and turnip stew. They started slurping it down immediately. Patrick could not even remember what hot food tasted like and his taste buds were in shock. When his belly was full, Patrick had a difficult time keeping his food down but fought the urge to expel it. In just a few minutes, he started to feel his body come alive again with energy. He thought to himself how truly amazing his body was when given proper food. When their bowls were empty, the five were told to come back at sunset for their second meal. Sam Scurvey was informed he would get two limes instead of one during the second meal.

  Above deck, Quartermaster Mandrik could be heard shouting commands, reminding the crew that being this close to the coast was the most dangerous part of the trip. There were a few cabin boys running around but two boys were covered in black powder. They were known as the powder monkeys and their job was to run gun powder to the cannons from below deck. The master gunner had his mates and powder monkey on high alert and they practiced drills relentlessly. The cannons were cleaned and oiled with a religious fervor.

  The loud whistle of the boatswain’s call interrupted all work. Each man knew that the distinct whistle meant that all crew stop what they are doing to hear what message the captain had. The entire crew assembled on the deck and listened quietly as the captain addressed them from the raised poop deck. Captain Gibbons cleared his throat and spoke loudly over the constant sound of the waves lapping at the ship's side, "Gentlemen, we are now in pirate waters. The ship will be on high alert until she reaches open sea. Night watch patrols would be doubled as well. Spanish privateers are infamous for attacking at nightfall." Patrick swallowed the fear that was creeping up his stomach into h
is throat as Gibbons continued, "We will be flying the Yellow Jack until we land in Savannah." After the captain dismissed the crew, the men hurried back to their duties.

  Patrick, being a true landlubber, had no idea what most of the captain's message meant. Sam Scurvy saw Patrick was bewildered and stated in his raspy sailor’s voice, "'Privateers' are mercenaries, commissioned by the crown. When two countries be at war, the navy allows private ships to attack any enemy vessel. They be basically pirates, they loot and steal without fear of reprisal since they carry Letters of Marque. Both Spain and England use the Letters of Marque."

  "Ah," Patrick nodded as if he comprehended all that Sam explained but he only really heard ‘pirate’.

  "The captain will fly the Yellow Jack. It's a warning flag meaning the ship is infected with yellow fever." Sam Scurvy grinned with his broken smile, "Hopefully that'll keep us from being boarded by privateers."

  Captain Gibbons had some luck in the past flying the Yellow Jack. Most privateers would not take the chance and would leave his ship unmolested, but Patrick knew none of this. He only knew the tales he heard about pirates in the prison and had never actually seen one. His family had run in the upper circles of society and was never subject to such gruesome things. Images of bodies being tied to a yard arm and heads hung on the ship’s bowsprit now filled his head, but these visions evaporated once he was called away to return to his duties as a bilge rat.

  * * *

  Surprisingly, life on the ship quickly became routine for the ex-prisoners. Patrick saw most of them between shifts and while they were eating their double rations. All of the men had already put on weight. Patrick quickly discovered on the ship that, besides being a surgeon and a carpenter, he was also expected to be a barber. Mandrik informed Patrick that the captain was complaining about the smell of the former prisoners and ordered him to sheer all the hair off his friends. Patrick had no idea how to actually do this and employed the help of Mr. McLain. The surgeon took a very sharp blade and sawed the mats of hair away roughly. Yanking, pulling, tearing, and sawing the thick mats was slow, tedious work. It was painful and he spied some blood coming from the nicks suffered when he was removing Sam Scurvy’s long, mangy beard.

  Isaac was ready to fight when Patrick and McLain came to trim his beard. Protesting, he complained that his religion forbid him from shaving his beard. Patrick calmed his friend down and a compromise of a trim and a wash was made after much negotiating. Isaac also seemed to have fashioned himself a little hat out of leather that he pinned to his hair. Such an outright display of Judaism would not have been tolerated by most captains’ standards but Gibbons seemed not to care. The crew was intimidated by Isaac's monster size and gritty attitude and not one man worked up the courage to say anything derogatory to the Jew about his new hat.

  When it was Patrick’s turn, it seemed to take hours. Removing seven years of matted and tangled hair was a slow and agonizing ordeal. Blood flowed from his scalp all over the makeshift barber's chair, down his shoulders and down his back. When it was finally and mercifully done, Patrick felt lighter, cooler and reborn. Free from hair, his scarred up face was now apparent. Being mugged in London and fighting for seven years in prison had left their mark on his portrait. When he looked at his reflection in the bottom of a brass pot, he did not recognize the face that stared back at him. For the first time he saw himself as a full grown man, not a teenage boy. The food and sun had agreed well with him and he was already looking much healthier.

  Later that day Patrick heard a ruckus when he was walking about the main deck. He was told by Isaac that Shamus had been trading away most his food for extra grog. Shamus was now madly skipping along the slick spars in the rigging singing a happy shanty. No one knew if he was really drunk or if this was just part of his normal behavior. Shamus was now lobster red with large patches of burnt skin peeling off his body. He wore only a loincloth. The skinny man had complained his long clothes, or ‘land clothes’, were being caught in all the riggings. To be fair, very few riggers would ever wear long clothes and usually wore skintight clothes to avoid entanglement. To the crew’s horror and delight, they were taken back in seeing a sailor working in nothing but his skivvies. Shamus recklessly hopped around in the rigging and seasoned sailors were shocked that he had not fallen to a broken back yet. Most quartermasters would never tolerate such dangerous behavior, but Mr. Mandrik had started a wager with members of the crew to see when the fool would fall.

  “I need to see ya tonight,” Shamus yelled down to Patrick, “to take a wee look at me bite.”

  “Come see me when your shift is done," Patrick called up, "if you live through it.”

  Patrick was above deck to join Mr. McLain for a routine health inspection walk. They would lexically examine the crew looking for signs of pox or fever. They then went below to check the surgeon’s chest. The chest was mainly a collection of bottles of rum and opium. It also had some blades, saws, braces and bandage rags. As Patrick was being instructed in the finer points of how much opium to administer for various conditions, Shamus’s bright red, burnt body walked in. Since entertainment was lacking on this vessel, Isaac followed the Irishman down to watch the surgery.

  “My God, Shamus! Let me put olive oil on that burn,” Patrick exclaimed.

  “I don’t need no g’damn fooking Roman-horse-orgy salve all over me skin. I am ‘ere for me bite." Shamus began to rub his jaw. "I gots so much fire in me front tooth here I can’t sleep or even tink. I needs ya to yank it out, lad, but I gets real nervous when people gets near me mouth." Shamus lowered his voice sincerely and somberly said, “Perhaps a wee bit of the creature could help me relax.”

  Mr. McLain fell for the ruse. “We got plenty of rum. I think we can spare some to make this go easier.” Patrick actually had never seen Shamus drink before but he knew he loved Satan’s nectar. Thinking Shamus would take only a few swigs of the bottle before they pulled out his rotten, green tooth, Mr. McLain made the foolish mistake of handing the entire bottle of rum to the Irishman. The master surgeon turned his back to Shamus to dig through the chest and find a small tooth hammer. Shamus lifted the bottle straight up and begun to guzzle it down. When McLain found his hammer and turned back around and was shocked to see one entire bottle empty on the table and Shamus was downing a second one. He shrieked, “Christ! Stop that man before he drinks all the rum!"

  Patrick and McLain grabbed for the Irishman but Shamus dodged and weaved deftly trying to finish the bottle. Isaac laughed heartily as he watched the two men try to catch the wiry, sunburned man squirm and wiggle until the last of the rum disappeared.

  “Damn you, man! The whole crew might need that later," McLain shouted angrily. "We can’t waste all this medicine on a damn tooth.” With the bottle of rum drained, Shamus finally stood still and belched. McLain was breathing heavy through his nose like an angry bull, "Don't just look at me dumbly. Sit the hell down and let me knock that damn tooth out."

  In response, Shamus let out another loud, long belch and confessed, “I’m not fookin’ ready yet, doctor. Me needs more rum to relax.”

  Patrick tried to tackle him again, but to no avail, beginning the chase once again. Isaac laughed even harder as Shamus somehow kept away from the two men chasing him with a hammer in the small chamber. Every so often, Patrick would catch him but Shamus would easily break free and the wild chase would start all over again. Patrick and McLain would become exhausted and give up. Shamus would then continue begging for them to remove the painfully rotten tooth initiating the chase all over again. The chase highly entertained Isaac but he knew that he had to help end this game. Tapping Shamus on the shoulder, the Irishman turned around to be met with Isaac's heavy right hand punching him in the teeth. When Isaac pulled back his fist to inspect his knuckles, he saw two of Shamus's rotten teeth stuck in them.

  “Fook ya! Ya goat-humping bastard!” Shamus yelled as he spit blood on the wooden planked floor.

  “Do you got any other health issues you want me to
fix while I am here, Irishman?” Isaac smirked. Patrick and Mr. McLain immediately began laughing.

  “Fook all of ya shite eaters!” Shamus cursed.

  “Your breath already smells better," Patrick laughed. "And you’re welcome."

  The laughing was interrupted by the sounds of the watch bell ringing madly and the ship sprung to life. The bell rang over and over until the entire crew was hastily mustered on the deck. The sun was setting in the West, but a small outline of a ship could be seen quickly approaching.

  “Man battle stations! Pirates amidst! Man battle stations!"

  Chapter 3

  Pirates AHOY!

  News from the crow's nest

  All hands were madly scrambling and manning the stations. Patrick was frightened. He had hardly done any battle drills. Nervousness could be seen in all of the eyes of the new crew members, green sailors who had only performed some basic war maneuvers. They all questioned their abilities in real action.

  Reports from the crow’s nest were shouted down. “She fly no colors, Captain! I see no jack at all!"

  Spanish Sloop

  The approaching ship was still very far away and cresting the horizon, but it was plain to see from her mirroring movements the Robin was being pursued. Using his folding spy glass, the captain could tell it was a sloop about the same size of the Robin with one large mast and a smaller secondary mast.

  The mystery sloop was gaining on the Robin but not by much. Most pirate ships stayed within a few days sail of the coast and traveled light to increase their speed. These ships were stripped down to the essentials and modified for speed. What pirates do not ever reduce is the size of their crews and cannons. Though the Robin’s compliment was fifty souls, a pirate ship of the same size would have around two hundred men. The Robin’s crew was keenly aware of this fact and knew if the ship was boarded, all would be lost.