I sat in the corner, rum in hand and hat over my eyes. I sat there, ignoring the fact that my hat was being dampened evermore by the dripping roof, sitting absolutely still and in absolute silence. Then I jumped about two feet into the air by the sudden shot of cannon fire. The ship shook from the shot of our cannon. Cheers and shouts came from upstairs as my companions shouted abuse at the fleeing opposition. I took no notice, straightened my tri-corner hat and took a good, hearty swig of the alcohol in my hand.

As I drank, I looked around. I was sitting in a small cabin – and when I say small, I mean small – created purely from wood, which although is the usual material for ships to be made of, in my opinion, it’s probably one of the worst, especially if you have a ship in this state. Honestly, I have no idea how I haven’t died yet. This ship is literally falling to pieces; the wood is rotten and partly green from all of the ship’s leaking, it’s broken and falling apart from the amount of times it’s been blasted from cannon fire, and a huge ship though it is, it’s desperately running out of space, especially for the sick, the dying and the already dead. I’ve almost forgotten what hygiene is, and what it means. Personally, I think the dying and the dead are the luckiest people on board this god-forsaken ship. When people say “I’m going to give you a fate worse than death”, I say “No thanks, I’m already living”. ‘Pirate’s life for me’ indeed.

All the same, this is a beautiful ship. I came here when I was seventeen. It’s a huge ship with gigantic, white, flapping sails, the varnished painted wood on the outside, the gold letters spelling out her name, Silver Rose, loud ‘n’ clear on the hull, her thin mast standing tall and proud in the sunshine, her smoothed curves … oh my God, I’m falling in love with a ship. I re-placed the hat over my eyes and continued to drink away from reality.

In the darkness of my mind and the abysmal hole of my drinking, I heard someone running down the stairs.

“Come on, Jack”, said the Pirate opposite.

I subtly raised my head so that my dark, hazel eyes gazed lazily at the man opposite.

“Come on! We’re having a big drink fest upstairs. Plenty more alcohol…” He stole my alcohol bottle as he said this. To add insult to injury, he kicked my chair – which was already on two legs – and it being like the ship and falling to pieces … well … it fell to pieces and collapsed beneath me. I stumbled on the floor in my partly drunken rage and raised my sword in his direction.

The pirate didn’t draw his cutlass, nor did he cower away in fear or beg for mercy. He just stood there, looking at the sword, and then to me.

“You wouldn’t kill me, Jack”, he said, his voice much lower than before.

I decided that killing him over a bottle of rum, no matter how tempting it was, really wasn’t worth it. I lowered my sword and put it back in the scabbard. The pirate laughed.

“I thought not”, he said, and walked back over to the stairway.

I turned around. “You broke my chair”, I said, in an almost hurt tone of voice.

“Ah, don’t worry”, said the pirate, now halfway up the stairs and speaking in an almost mocking tone (I’ll kill ‘im, I will kill him …), “When we raid the little town on the Southern coast tomorrow, you can steal all the chairs you like!” He laughed, and then suddenly stopped. He leant forward over the banister towards me, as I was now leaning against the stairway themselves opposite the other scumbag pirate. “Hey, if you like, you can raid the Governor’s daughter’s place, and steal a real nice, pretty one. Although, it will be dangerous … and you’ll have to make sure your rear-end fits on it first!” He laughed and ran as I threw a spare bottle of rum at him, which unfortunately missed him and hit the wall.

“I’ll shoot your bloody ‘ead off if you speak to me like that again, you bleedin’ scallywag, d’ya hear?” I shouted up the staircase. But he was gone. Ran like a little girl. Ran like a rat. I wouldn’t have shot him, anyway. I only use my gun on very, special occasions …

I saw the glass on the stairs and the rum dripping down the walls. I saw my broken chair. I looked around the little cabin. There was no good reason whatsoever for me to stay down here.

I grumbled quietly to myself, and slowly made my way up the stairs.

The main cabin was lit up and full of very drunk – or nearly very drunk – ‘colleagues’. In fact, I don’t actually ‘work’ with any of these men. Most of us don’t really work at all. We just shoot, raid, rape, plunder and destroy everyone and everything and promise to buy each other a bottle of rum (or two or three) if they just happen to save our butts one day.

There were several lanterns swinging rather precariously from the walls and from the ceiling, all of them lit by candle light of course. Makes one hell of a mess when they fall down and set fire to the wood.

Sure enough, as the pirate whose name I now remember to be ScarFace told me, there was plenty more rum, and in fact I could see him helping himself to one right now. I walked over to him and without saying a word, smacked him round the side of the head and nicked his seat. He lay on the floor, nursing his now thumping head, staring up in amazement and shock that I had not only just punched him, but had stolen his seat and was drinking his drink. Which was actually probably mine, but hey.

I looked down at him, and said “Beat it” in a low and manly voice. I had one advantage over him: I was only slightly drunk, whereas he was a boozehound.

He stood up, angry and drunk, and spoke whilst rolling up his sleeves.

“Why you sneaky little bas …”

At this point, I looked towards the bar-man with a straight face, and without looking, shoved my glass rather sharply between his legs. He fell to the floor, bent double, rocking and yet not saying a word.

The barman looked at me. I looked at the barman.

“Refill please”, I said, handing him my now broken and empty glass. I’m a young man, I thought, how did I get into this?

I sat there at the bar, doing nothing but drinking small quantities of alcohol for about half an hour, when I soon heard the sound of an accordion. It was playing a tune I’d heard before; a pirate’s tune, a tune to rouse the troops so they were happy with life and ready for the next day ahead.

“Oh no, not this damned song again”, I said to myself. My head sank down to the table and the barman looked at me, wondering what I was on about. “I’ve still got the scars from when I knocked myself out last time”. It’s true. A nice, deep scar just on my hairline.

As my horrible suspicions had suggested, soon many men, with arms other each other’s shoulders, sang loudly and horribly out of tune about how great it is to be a pirate. The most annoying thing is how catchy it is. I find myself singing it at night, and I have to ask someone to knock me unconscious before I can get it out of my head.

The lyrics were all about what pirates do and how we burn, enflame and destroy cities, how we loot every place we go into, how we kidnap and don’t care, how we hijack and commandeer ships with ease, what rascals and scoundrels we are, but most of all, how much we drink, and how much we like to do so. I hate that song, they make it sound like we enjoy ripping places apart and that it’s great doing what we do. Funny how they don’t mention how many of us get hung. Try eating mouldy biscuits that you have to eat in the dark so that you can’t tell whether you’re eating raisins or maggots … for a month. At least a month. You’ll want to ‘drink up me hearties’ after that, I can tell you.

But you know when they’re really drunk when they start singing about how we’re ‘really bad eggs’ and how much we’re loved by our ‘mummies and daddies’. I haven’t seen my ‘mummy and daddy’ in years. Don’t even know if they’re still alive or not.

The deeper into the night it becomes, the more drunk men become and the louder they sing. That is, until they either fall asleep or pass out. Yes, the song keeps going, and I soon realise I am humming along. I reach towards an abandoned bottle to smash over my head …

BANG!

Sudden silence. All eyes turn towards the doorway, where our eyes lay rest on the captain, holding his shotgun, standing in the doorway. Our captain is not your average pirate. He truly is a pirate captain, scars an’ all. He is tall but not a giant, just taller than me, and I’m six foot.

 His clothes are weatherworn, tatty, patched and re-patched tens of times over, but they’ve lasted him a good long time and they will probably last him a good deal longer. His large tri-corner hat is torn and pretty much ruined at the edges, as are his sleeves and his collar, and the corners of the hat now almost make the hat look circular they’re so worn. His boots, however, have remained waterproof and sturdy for all of the years I’ve known him. Still green-navy coloured as always.

He always keeps his shotgun close at hand and his long curved pirate cutlass on his right-hand side; he’s left-handed, that’s why he ran away from home, because he was treated as a freak. Not many people know that about him. The captain and I get along relatively well, so I know a few of his personal secrets. Not that we’re friends or anything, nor do I let him into any of my personal secrets.

He stood in the doorway, silent and still, eyes scanning round the cabin. The smoke from the barrel of the gun slowly wafted away and he replaced his gun in its special place. Still he stood there, silent and still. Then, slowly and deeply, he spoke:

“Drinking like rats. As usual. You’r’all a bunch of scallywags.”

He took a few steps forward. I never quite knew why, but whenever he was in the room, talking to us, his presence always made everyone shut up.

“We’re headin’ for the Southern coast. We’ll be there at dawn. We’ll fire our cannons, as normal, to destroy what we can from here, and then we leap ashore and do what we do best”. One very drunk idiot started to laugh hysterically, that is, until one of the larger, much more sober pirates gave him a good hard poke in his side with his elbow. “I don’t care how drunk you are, I expect every single one o’ yeh to be ready to fight, raid … and whatever else you plan to do … “

At this, subtle laughter and chuckling broke out. The last time we raided a town, several men did more than just raid buildings … they raided women as well. One pirate was left behind on the island with a woman in bed, ‘cause he got a little … drunk with her, shall we say. The next time we saw him, he was swinging from a tree with a rope round his neck. Doubt anyone would sleep with ‘im now.

The captain now shouted, all joking and all humour now having disappeared from his voice. “Now prepare and get to work!” He turned to walk out of the door, only briefly pausing to say “And no singin’ while you’re at it!” Back turned to us, he walked heavily and swiftly out the door, his tight, heavy, discoloured boots helping him make every stride as clear and definite as the last.

Everyone started moving to their cabins and quarters. Cannons were loaded, swords sharpened, everyone running about the place, desperate to be ready for the assault.

So, I thought, in about three hours, we’ll be running and screaming across an island, trying to destroy and burn as much as we can. I try to fight as little as possible, I just prefer to burn things. Less effort, still as much destruction, if not more so. However, I can fight if I have to, and very well, might I add.

I wandered off unobtrusively, so as not to draw attention to myself, and sauntered back to my cabin. Three hours until the assault … gives me just enough time to sleep.

“All hands on deck! All hands on deck…”

“Land ahoy!”

“Come on, you scallywags! You landlubbers, come on!”

“Prepare those cannons!”

“All hands on deck!! All hands on deck, men!!”

“And to think we attack in secret” I said, as I stood at the front of the ship, looking out at the small, humble, almost totally defenceless island before us. The night was dark, the clouds were thick and high, and everyone except me and the Captain were running around like headless chickens. Screaming and shouting like headless chickens, too. “You could wake the dead with this noise”

“Well that’s it, isn’t it Jack”, said the Captain in an evil tone that made even the bravest pirate’s hair curl, the strongest man’s blood freeze, and the wisest and most courageous sailor feel a sudden chill run down his spine. He looked out at the island coming towards us, as I had done, then he turned to me. “Soon, we will be fighting dead men”. He walked off, leaving me to stand there, alone and knowing there would be carnage.

The large, black island grew ever closer. Lights could be seen, and ships, and if your eyesight was good enough, people. Our ship sailed cleanly through the tides, and like a demon from the depths, approached the shore, which was now totally unaware of our presence, but soon, would have nothing else on their minds but our presence.

“We’re close enough” said the Captain, and then shouted behind him, “Silence, all o’ ya! Dim the lights!”

We were just a looming, dark shadow. The silence was so loud, so deafening, it was almost crushing. Slowly and silently, we crept forward, like a hungry tiger or lioness that had seen its prey, but does not pounce, only sits in hiding, waiting. Sweat appeared on men’s brows and in their palms, our blood pulsed, our breathing increased, our patience thinning, our need and want to step foot on that island ever growing.

Silence. Silence. Silence, and nothing but it. All that could be heard was the creaking of the ship over the waves and the breathing of the man next to you. Sword close by and gun in hand, we waited. Calmly and eagerly, we waited.

FIRE!!

Crash, bang, wallop, whoosh, splash, scream, creak, boom! Even in their panic as our cannon balls hit them, still we stood silent, waiting for the order, that one order that meant we were free. The one tiny little word that meant we were free to kill, burn, destroy, free to do what the hell we wanted to do.

The same thoughts came across everyone’s mind.

Say it.

We’re so close now, say it.

So close now …

So very, very close …

Creeeak. We hit the shore.

“NOW!” screamed the captain. The doors opened. Pirates screamed in anger and to instil fear, women and children screamed in terror.

I ran. I ran and I ran and I ran. That’s all you could do, really. If you stopped, you were either gonna get in the way, you were gonna get captured, imprisoned and hung or you were gonna get shot. Personally, I’m not a great fan of any of them. So I sprinted full speed through the town, which was now flooded with terrified people and completely ablaze from our cannon fire.

Running in the streets, wading through water, through doors, into houses, out of back doors, along tunnels, down trap doors, up stairs, trying locks, round corners, crawling through small spaces, diving into secret holes and passageways, dodging the falling buildings, under bridges, over broken pieces of building that now lay scattered and quite often burning in the middle of the street, past the hundreds of screaming people that could do nothing but panic and stand in my way.

The sights I saw as I ran though the town would probably scare and traumatise most people: dead men, bleeding women, screaming children, burning houses, fallen buildings, animals fleeing the scene of terror, soldiers, running around and shouting orders like they think they know what they’re doing. It’s terrible, really, when you think about it. I do often wonder why on earth I decided to lead this kind of life, but then again, what other choice do I have? Past the point of no return now.

I ran round the corner of a huge stone building which I would presume was the Town Hall and I came into a large courtyard. For the first time since I left the ship, I stopped running. I simply stood and stared at the sight before me. Before me, in this huge stone courtyard, illuminated by the fire from the burning buildings all around them were four or five pirates. One of them in the centre was a friend of mine that I hadn’t seen in years. All of them were hanging there, their bodies rotting after days of simply being left to the birds. Their wide, white, lifeless eyes stared at me, begging me to do something. Begging to avenge them and to set them free.

I considered taking my hat off to respect them, but now wasn’t the time for sympathy. The anger flowing through my veins made me sweat, made my blood boil, made me clench my teeth, made me furious, would have made me cry if I wasn’t so cold hearted. I screamed and grabbed a few small grenades from my pocket. They were very poorly made, but with the amount of gunpowder inside them, my plan might just work.

I grabbed the grenades from my pocket and scattered them around the corpses of the pirates and the gallows. I then stood well back behind a stone wall, drew my gun, aimed carefully and fired at the gunpowder. The bullet hit the very centre of the grenade. It struck it, the grenade fizzled, and then BANG! The grenade exploded, burning and shattering everything in its path. As soon as one blew up, all the rest followed. One by one, as the grenades blew and dominoes fell, the gallows collapsed and the bodies burnt, going up in smoke to Heaven. Or down to Hell, wherever they were supposed to go.

Unfortunately, my scream and my grenades had attracted more attention to myself than I had intended. Several guards with long, sharp bayonets came round the corner and aimed at me, shouting at me and ordering me to follow them. Yes, I’m going to follow you lot, of all people, I thought.

Then I heard it; a loud, deep horn. It was the ship’s call. The damage was complete, the terror was instilled in the people, the carnage had been done. I sprinted away in the other direction, deliberately going by the burning carcasses and wood that had once been the gallows to make it as difficult as possible for them to follow me.

As I ran back towards the docks, I saw several other pirates running in the same direction.

“Jack!”

Did someone just call me?

“JACK!”

I spun round. Down one of the streets, being dragged away by a couple of soldiers, was ScarFace, pleading for mercy to the soldiers and screaming for help to anyone else who would listen.

Again, tempting though it was, I couldn’t leave him to the fate of my other pirate friends, so I ran towards him and the two soldiers carrying him away. A smack round the head and a sword through the head; the Jack treatment. Both soldiers fell to the floor, either unconscious or dead.

I hauled ScarFace to his feet.

“You really are useless, aren’t you?” I said to him as he finally came to his feet (and hopefully his senses). “You were taken out and down by two men?!”

“Thanks Jack” he said, breathlessly, ignoring my last comment, “I owe you one”.

“That’s another IOU to the list then”, I replied.

I presumed he either ignored me or he was too ashamed of himself to look me back in the face and reply, as he ran off in the direction of the ship. I, too, ran towards the ship. I didn’t want to spend another minute on this damn island. How can you call yourselves civilised when you hang people and leave them to rot in the open for all to see? At least we have the decency to give them a quick and painless death with a bullet through the head. When the plague of rats arrive, you only have yourselves to blame!

One thing I hate about the ship’s call and everyone running back on-board the ship it that everyone on the island thought they’d scared us off and that they’d won. So then the cheering starts and the throwing of insults at us begins. It’s so annoying; how can you say you won? We came back on board our ship of our own will and we blew up half your town, how did you win?!

As I was running up the boards into the ship, amongst the childish cheering, I heard a man shout “Ha! Not so big now, are you, you dirty murderous scumbags?!” As always when insulted, I say nothing. Simply turning round and quick as lightening, find the man in the crowd and fire a bullet through his heart. Let him die slowly for that remark, a quick death was too good for him.

I ran on board the ship. At last I was able to calm down and catch my breath. Shortly the boat started moving away from the shore, and within an hour or so, we were back on the open sea. Apparently, for every pirate captured or killed today, ten civilians went with him, so everyone was upstairs again, drinking, cheering and nursing whatever wounds they had. But I didn’t care. There was only one thing I wanted to do right now.

I walked down the staircase, ignoring and stepping on the broken glass and the small puddles of rum on the floor. I realised that my chair was still broken. So I sat in the corner, listening to the sound of the waves and the rocking of the ship on the tide … funny how romantic it can sound when in reality, it’s a living hell. I sat there, absolutely still and in complete silence, drinking away from reality. You can’t blame me for it, really. As they say, drink up me hearties, yo ho.