Entry 8: 1670

by D S S Atkinson

familiar with the town as we walked amongst its cluttered streets. The nature of its inhabitants quickly became obvious, for you could seldom walk more than a few feet at a time without passing by a tavern or a brothel. ‘Twas indeed a place of wonder despite the streets being so empty of people, apart from the taverns and brothels, carpentries and churches too lined the streets, butcheries and blacksmiths, the air smelt of burnt metal and freshly sawn woodwork. Looking up to the skies the buildings rose stories from the streets beneath, thoughts of the evening excited me as much as it made me nervous, I was walking amongst the most renowned town in the Caribbean.

  With a brief time spent amongst the streets of the vast settlement we came to Rike’s destination, ‘twas a small tavern along a narrow alley in what I assumed to be the very midst of Port Royal. The woodwork of the tavern’s outer walls were painted black, and upon that black, painted white were the words ‘Pirates welcome’.

  “In you go, lads!” The captain shouted out with excitement. The crew carried with it masses of cases and packages, some were personal belongings yet the majority was the spoils of the Grand Martona. We had the tavern to ourselves bar the land maiden who rushed upon Rike with such excitement I could only assume the two had a thrilling history.

  “Nataliya, mi dearest, ‘ow do you fair?”

  “I be fine, you old bastard” she giggled, “so this be your latest bunch o’ scalleys that do your biddin’ ey? And this must be ‘arvey!” The aged lady approached me with an enticing smile upon her face and grabbed me. Her hair was greying though her dimpled cheeks threw a beauty about her.

  “I ‘ath ‘eard much ‘bout you, lad!” She chuckled erratically and I recall being somewhat stuck for words as the woman went on to greet Sollertis, for in all the time I had known Rike I had not once heard of this tavern nor of the woman who owned it.

  “Come, men,” he spoke up with a cough, “through to the back, let us be done with this business so we may rejoice.”

  ‘Twas warm and cosy inside the tavern, a grand fireplace rested behind the bar, burning alight. Vast amounts of copper tubing protruded from the ceiling behind the bar joining up to what I assumed to be a large mead filter. The entire place looked clean and well kept, truly different from the sight and smell of Stoley’s. Once every man was inside the doors were barred shut and we each gathered round the captain.

  Rike was most generous when sharing the loot of the Martona. The lowest ranked crew mate was given as much as any other man on board, although it was with blind lust that the captain chased the boat out into the Caribbean Ocean, ‘twas once the task had been accomplished that his desires ended. He was not a greedy man, nor did he need to be, his home and all that was held dearest to him was aboard his beloved vessel. ‘Twas for this reason his crew remained so loyal to him, they put their trust in him and respected him for what he was.

  With as little time spent as possible flaunting the riches of the Martona, the crew made haste to secure their treasures, I left my own in the possession of my captain for I knew it would be safe wherever he chose to secure it.

  As night fell upon the town the silence slowly resided, the streets outside our tavern lit up and it seemed as though all at once they were flooded by such an array of differing individuals that no man could ever guess, should he wake up here, where or when he was.

  Inside our tavern the crew drank heavily, the mead was fine and the music and company lively, I sat close to Rike and Davey whilst the captain recalled memories of the port to the crew.

  “Thirty three years to the year!” He slurred, exchanging gazes with each of us at each passing sentence, “I washed up upon this bay with a bastard who went by the name of cap’n Rennigan, ‘e were a tough bastard, a greedy bastard! ‘e near cost me and our ‘ole crew our lives for ‘e lied to us, said we were to be chasin’ after a Spanish trade vessel and that it’d be an easy, ‘armless plunder. Upon catchin’ up with ‘er in the midst of the North Sea we found she be accompanied by a forty six gun frigate, a bastard like none I ‘ad ever seen. We ‘ad a sixteen cannon gunboat, washin’ upon ‘er in the depths of the night the cap’n ‘ailed the fire and so we were at the mercy o’ fate. ‘ow I should never know, our vessel were bein’ steered by a man named Zilon Arutan, ‘twas the strangest o’ names I ‘ath ever known, so remember it well. ‘e were able to out manoeuvre every last shot the frigate blasted our way, though with great precision ‘e allowed us bombard ‘er woodwork with constant fire until upon the seventh ‘our o’ battle the frigate fled its duty o’ protectin’ the trade ship, and upon witnessin’ this the vessel gave itself up and the loot were ours...” Realising his beverage was empty the captain immediately stopped his tale and found a tavern maid.

  “Ano’er round o’ mead please mi darlin’!.. ‘Twas upon the return to land that we set sail for Port Royal, and with nothin’ but anger for that bastard who ‘ad put all our lives at stake, upon reachin’ the port I took mi wealth and parted ‘is crew. ‘Twas upon the very same day I ran into the likes of the crazy bastard you see sippin’ upon a fine liquor over there.” Rike turned about to look at Sollertis, though he did not look amused, social gatherings were not an interest of his and the sight of a drunken leery crowd infuriated him. As Rike went on to reveal how he came to be close friends with Sollertis and build their crew and vessel, I recall becoming lost in the depths of my own sorrowful thoughts for the consumption of alcohol.

  It had been nearly eighteen years since I had parted from the land and joined the captain’s crew. I was but a child when I first met him, I recall the night as clear as the crystal Caribbean shallows, for ‘twas a bleak, gloomy evening that he came to my home. My father was a deckhand upon his vessel, he had been slain at the hands of opposing pirates in a plunder, Rike later told me the story of my father’s fall and assured me his death was avenged by Damien Rones. On that night he had come personally to give condolences to myself and my mother, such a man he was. My mother herself however was very ill. I had been caring for her myself, along with the assistance of a few carers for the many months my father had been at sea.

  Upon opening the door on that dark evening I was stricken by the sight of a large stranger who appeared heavily haggard. His old, worn grey leather coat hung the length of his body, he had thick black stubble that covered his broad chin and hair that was thick and matted, it fell just below his ears in most areas. His nose had a distinct, deep scar across its bridge, as though a rapier had taken a piece of it away. Under the darkness of the night his eyes appeared a lifeless black, the whites of them bloodshot and heavily baggy. The only way I could describe his expression would be one of great sorrow, ‘twas almost as if he lacked a soul.

  “This be the Sailor residence?” He asked quietly, his voice deep and sorry sounding.

  “Aye, sir, I am his son, Harvey.”

  “Ah... and your mother, lad, she be ‘ere?”

  “Aye, sir, she’s through the room, she’s very sick.” I recall looking at the ground when I said these words to the stranger, yet a moment later he placed a large heavy hand on my shoulder and I looked up to him.

  “Life be... merely an endless struggle, lad, I am sorry to ‘ear, may I see her?” The stranger’s words did not bare much relevance to me at such a young age, however these were words I would not forget.

  Some may state it naive of me to simply allow this stranger into my house, however I was but a child, no older than eleven, I was to know no better. My mother had brought me up as a child to have good manners, and before I saw the world I certainly held true to them. He entered the house and I took him through to my mother’s room where she lay resting in her bed.

  “Mrs Sailor?” The large male asked. Her head fell to the right and she used only her eyes to look over the room, I could see she saw us both, yet she spoke first to me, still, the captain spoke over me.

  “Who is this man, Harvey?”

  “Captain Rike. I be sorry for the ill news, mam. Your husband, Martin, was a deckhand upon mi vessel, yet �
�e lately ‘ath become deceased.”

  I looked at my mother. Her eyes fell to look at the pillow. She closed them for some time, and as she opened them I could see tears begin to run down her cheek. I ran over to comfort her though she did not react, I wanted to burst into tears myself yet I remained strong for my mother. It seemed she had gone cold, as if she had lost her very last will to live.

  Captain Rike went quiet, a moment later he turned to leave but my mother spoke out. “Wait.”

  “Mam?” He replied, not turning back to look at her.

  “If I pass, will you take my son with you and look out for him? You took this family from the mainland, from the plantations. You gave us a new life because of what you saw in my husband. You will see the same in my son. Please.” The captain did not reply. He remained still for a moment then took his leave. I watched him out, he did not say a word to me either, ‘twas the last, I thought, I would ever see of him. ‘Twas dark outside. The rain fell heavily upon the cobbles as I quickly shut the door preventing the chilling breeze from reaching my mother.

  Not but five months later my mother passed. The only occasion in my life I ever felt without family was the brief period between the death of my mother, and my