Entry 8: 1670

by D S S Atkinson

Captain’s words, ridiculous as it may sound, and so now believe some kind of beast of ancient mythology is coming to eat them alive.” The captain erupted into a quiet burst of husky laughter. He stared at the walls of his chamber for a brief duration before looking at Achilles, stroking the beast he spoke to us.

  “Wi’draw the mead from the depths, Sollertis, let ‘em be merry for the journey back to land, it’ll take their mind off the troubles o’ the words o’ men. Sailor, I prefer you didn’t drink, lad, we’ll be needin’ someone sober to get us back to land. Could you gather the crew upon deck, seems I’ll be needin’ another word with ‘em.” With an amused look I agreed, and so I went with Sollertis to bring the stashed mead supplies up from Roselyn’s stock rooms before gathering up what was left of our crew to the gangways of the upper deck.

  As the new day made its way upon us it became clear ‘twas a fine one, the waters were calm, the skies were blue once more, and Roselyn was stable though there would be much work to do before she would be ready to take on another violent storm.

  With the crew ready on the upper deck. I quickly realised just how many men we had lost in the plunder of the Martona. It is always a depressing sight to see, realising your friends, your crew, gone for good, some in the prime of their lives, their time extinguished. I recall the first time I was stricken by the grief of losing a close friend at sea, the misery brings you down for so long that you find yourself wondering if it will ever pass. It may seem somewhat heartless to state that after so many years the death of someone close does not bother you for long, however you have no choice but to block the woeful thoughts from plaguing your mind, for it would be the death of you if you let it.

  The captain stood in his regular position to speak to his men, our quartermaster however sat in the gangway of Roselyn’s starboard, he had a fresh bloody blade wound that ran down the right side of his face that I had not noticed until I saw him sat against the woodwork in the daylight. Rones looked most miserable. He stared at the ship’s woodwork cradling his left arm which was freshly wrapped in heavy bandages, the fall he took as he was nearly dragged into the sea must have done him a great harm.

  Damien had been Rike’s quartermaster for all the years I had sailed upon Roselyn. At times he was somewhat cruel to the lesser ranked crew mates, however it was generally in efforts to rile them up in times of conflict. I never learned much of the history of Rones, for he was a man of few words, and due to the nature of Captain Rike who did not speak of others without true reason, I could not learn of it through any other man.

  Rones came to be known as ‘Davey’ over the years, for we would say, when caught in conflict he was more like the devil than a man. Death itself could not keep up. Many a time I had witnessed him return from rooms which he entered alone, covered in blood, with wounds a lesser man could not even have attempted to stand with. To see him sat injured in the gangway troubled my mind. He must certainly have come to some damage upon the Martona. He had not seemed himself since we returned from the Spanish vessel. I had never once heard him boast about anything he had done in his life, ‘twas as if he was not proud of the actions he committed, so too it seemed his history was shrouded in a darkness that he had never wished to recall.

  “Pirates o’ Roselyn!” The captain began, “‘ave you ever ‘eard stories o’ great monsters o’ the sea? Of course you ‘ave. ‘ave you ever seen great monsters o’ the stories o’ the sea? Per’aps in your dreams. Per’aps in your mind. Per’aps even after drinkin’ a gallon o’ mead!” ‘Twas always impressive to see how the captain’s words could calm his men, laughter broke the paranoid silence as Rike put our minds at ease.

  “I ‘ath sailed upon these oceans all mi life, lads, I was born upon the waves o’ the North and so sure as ‘ell I am I’ll die upon ‘em. I can promise you this, there be nothin’ to fear in these seas other than man, and it just so ‘appens that we ‘ave the most fearsome of ‘em alive onboard,” he looked over at Davey, “though it seems ‘e be bein’ a lazy bastard as we speak.” A cautious, quiet laughter mumbled amongst the crewmates.

  “What we ‘ath seen these last two days, lads! What we ‘ath done! That be real, don’t be spooked by the words o’ a coward, for you are each more man than ever ‘e were. Raise your tankards to the sky for our lost crewmen, and for those lives who we could not save ‘pon the Martona. May they rest well in the locker.” The captain took a swig of his mead. The crew burst into cheer and followed his lead.

  “We set sail to Port Royal soon as we ‘ath found our bearin’s, lads. ‘pon reachin’ our destination I warn you beware o’ your actions, for though this port can make a man feel more alive than ‘e ever ‘ath, it can also rob you o’ life before you would know it. When we arrive we’ll split the greatest plunder I ‘ath ever known, and rejoice until our ‘earts be content. You can lay with as many wenches as you can afford, and ‘ave your way until your bollocks fall off! Now drink your mead down, for all your troubles shall be no more upon reachin’ the greatest port known to man. Cheers!”

  Another great applause burst out amongst the crew, ‘twas pleasing to see them grow calm and humorous as the mead stocks were consumed, and so they sang merry songs and danced about Roselyn’s gangways forgetting their troubles for the moment.

  Once the celebrations thrived on deck the captain and Sollertis came to me. “Sailor, it seems we’ve been blown a distance unknown off course in the storm, though ‘tis surely not too far, I ‘ope, be sure Samuels be stayin’ somewhat sober for the journey, or we be lost forever.” The captain laughed lightly.

  “Don’t worry, Harvey, I will be drinking nothing but water myself, let’s get her into the waters of Port Royal.” Sollertis patted me on the shoulder as we walked to the helm of the vessel and my imagination fell upon thoughts of what might await us in the renowned bay of debauchery.

   

  4.

  ‘Twas not until the twenty ninth day at sea, after sinking the Grand Martona and her tragic hoard of prisoners, that we recovered our lost time in the midst of the Caribbean. We had been blown some leagues south east by the storm, and though many of the crew were left feeling disgruntled and tired from their time away from land, they were kept keen by thoughts of the Martona’s spoils. ‘Twas in good time that we first caught sight of the Jamaican coast, for the mead stocks had run dry and food was scarce, much more time at sea would have seen the crew succumb to some most fetid illnesses, and death would have been sure to ensue.

  For those unfamiliar with Port Royal, which I at the time was not, for ‘twas my first visit to the port, and so seems ‘twas my last, know that it is a spectacle to behold. On arrival into the port, which appears most abruptly from beyond a great extending sand bank, the sheer excess of harboured vessels is astonishing. Some of them made Roselyn look like a paddle boat, others, where they lacked in size, made up for it greatly in beauty of craftsmanship and artistic brilliance. As we were washed into the port via her shipping lane the captain stood at Roselyn’s beak head starring out upon the vast wooden structures that lined the coast, Rike looked as though an old friend was welcoming him in.

  “You see those two docks, lad?” The captain seemed excited. I joined him at the front of his vessel.

  “Aye, capt’n.”

  “‘Twas there where I first laid eyes upon this ship. She were bare at the time, nothin’ but a shell. But, you see just west, upon those docks was where I met Sollertis for the first time. A crazy bastard ‘e seemed to be.” Rike laughed lightly to himself, “if it were not for ‘im she would never ‘ath been what she is. We owe the man a lot.” The captain padded me on the shoulder before turning about and returning to the gangways of Roselyn, starring out myself upon the port I noticed that very few people were at the docks, ‘twas upon immediate appearance not as I had imagined, for all the stories I had heard of the place, however this would quickly change.

  Washing carefully into a docking lane the crew fell silent, it seemed as though each man was awestruck by the sig
ht of the enormous port as they gathered up to make for its streets. The buildings were vast and numerous, lining the bay, they were painted a vast array of colours, from light blues and whites to deep reds and black. I was expecting hellish crowds of drunken pirates and wenches to be cascading the streets and the smell of stale beverages to be in the air, yet all that could be heard as we drifted into the enormous bay was the sea gently caressing the shoreline and the constant screeching of countless gulls hovering above us in the cloudless sky.

  “Stay close, lads!” The captain yelled out. He negotiated with a dock worker to have his ship hauled whilst we were harboured so she could be cleaned up and repaired from the troubles we had come across at sea. With little time else spent at the docks we made our way into the streets and I took no time in enquiring with the captain why the place seemed so lifeless.

  “It must be a Sunday, this town ‘ath more trouble ‘mongst it than any you would see anywhere upon the earth, yet even the most savage minded men must pray for the forgiveness o’ ‘is sins if ‘e wishes to avoid the locker. Don’t be fooled though, matey, come nightfall hell shall return.”

  It seemed the captain was