Captain England (Post 8)

We stepped out into the damp evening, nevertheless pleasant, with a light, cooling breeze. I lifted the hems of my skirts without thinking, not wanting to ruin the fine material with mud. I was exhausted, too exhausted to even mind the growling of my stomach, but ran on a steady trickle of adrenaline. As we walked, England briefed me on Charlie Vane, the unofficial “governor” of New Providence, the chosen leader of the pirate bastion. In addition to being a skillful navigator, naval tactician, and die-hard Jacobite, he was a brutal man, reveling in the torture of his victims.

England relayed the story of the dispute that took place among the pirates when word of the king’s pardon reached Nassau: There were the more moderate pirates, forced into piracy through circumstance, who were thrilled to be given a second chance and raised the Union Jack over Fort Nassau – a pathetic, crumbling thing; then there were the pirate rebels, including Vane and England, who rejected the pardon and, angry and armed, tore the Union Jack down and replaced it with the death’s head flag.

England then told me how Vane and some other thirty-odd pirates had pretended to accept the pardon when a Royal Navy frigate, the HMS Phoenix, arrived at Nassau. Vane and his men surrendered long enough to receive their certificates of pardon, then, upon their release and before the Royal Navy’s very eyes, captured several merchant sloops, slowly amassing their pirate company from the crews, and eventually forced the Royal Navy out of Nassau, its tail between its legs. England had never surrendered, although he’d participated in the overt acts of piracy.

With the pirates back in control of the Bahamas, Vane proceeded to terrorize the seas, wreaking havoc on commerce to the islands. He was especially cruel to those he deemed disloyal to the pirates, the merchant-smugglers who had “kissed arse” the moment they’d seen the British flag. England, who had been Vane’s quartermaster at the time, tried talking him out of his cruel treatment of their prey, but found himself overruled by the crew on most occasions.

I wrapped my arms tightly around my waist, captivated by England’s story. “What kind of… treatment are we talking about here?” I asked, morbidly curious.

“Nothing the likes of ye should ever know about, lass,” England replied, his jaw clenched. This was clearly a point of contention for him.

“Tell me,” I insisted. “I may have a weak stomach, but I’m not weak. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

He looked at me then, his upper lip curled over his teeth in a snarl. “Ye want to know? Ye want to hear about how the poor sons of bitches were tied to the bowsprit with burning matches in their eyelids? How if they didn’t reveal the location of hidden booty they got their eyeballs burned out and then shot in the face?”

I winced, tightening my arms around myself. “I’ve heard worse,” I said meekly. This Vane guy sounded like a load of fun. The life of the party. I had never been less enthused to meet anyone in my life. Then I looked sharply at England. “Why are you siding with him, a man like this? You’re not brutal.”

He looked back at me, surprised and amused. “Am I not?”

I was adamant. “No, you’re not. If a brutal man finds a strange, raving woman floating in the sea, he has his way with her, passes her on to the crew, and then dumps her off somewhere or kills her. He does not protect her at the risk of his own safety. Am I right?”

England was silent for a moment as we walked, taking our time. He seemed to be enjoying my company, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying his. He was easy to talk to, and had a streak of goodness that couldn’t be denied, pirate or no pirate. “Sabrina,” he said, uttering my name for the first time, “I’m on the account. A pirate. I’m no hero – I’m an outlaw, a thief. I have my reasons, and they have little to do with enjoying mayhem, to be sure, but…” He sighed. “I must deal with those who do.”

I watched my shoes peek out from under my skirts as I walked. “What are your reasons?”

He stopped, turning to look at me. “What do ye know of the politics of the world in 1718? Do ye learn about these things in 2009?” I could see traces of skepticism in his eyes – he didn’t truly believe I was from a different era, but since he couldn’t make sense of me otherwise, was going with it.

I winced. “Well… We’re supposed to learn about these things… And at one time I knew enough to pass a test, but… I can’t say that I know about 1718 politics.”

So England summarized it for me, telling me about James Stuart, the heir to the throne who was denied on account of his being Catholic; the German prince George I who took his place because he was Protestant, even though he spoke very little English; and the Stuart attempts at religious tolerance.

I scratched my head, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge on the subject. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to Google the terms “Jacobite” and “James Stuart.” I needed me some Wikipedia. “So,” I said, “your reasons for being a pirate are political?”

The fire returned to his eyes as he replied, “That’s only part of it. It’s an entire system that needs changing. There’s a good reason why poor seamen and escaped slaves turn to piracy: It’s because under the pirate flag, we are all equals, and any man can achieve a captain’s status with cleverness and skill. Not to mention riches and – most importantly – freedom.” He caught the surprise in my expression and smiled. “Aye, lass. We’re not all of us merely cutthroats and drunks, despite what ye hear.”

“So… you’re for… democracy?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “I know not how you use the word, but I believe in equality and freedom.”

I smiled. “Even for blacks and women?”

He grinned back. “Are ye trying to get me used for musket practice, lass?”

We continued to walk as I bit my lip, deep in thought. Edward England was something of an enlightened man. Without thinking, I blurted out what I did know about history, what had impacted me as a child and made me want to go to law school; the words that still sent chills down my spine: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

England looked at me, that expression – the one I still had a hard time placing – on his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Aye, that’s the gist of it.”

I felt a stab of sadness at the realization that England would probably be long dead before Thomas Jefferson would conceive of the words in 1776. Fifty-some-odd years from now. I’d be dead too, if I didn’t get out of here. Out of here – 1718. If it was true, if I truly had somehow time traveled during the storm, via some time portal in the sea, what were the consequences of my being here? How much of the future should I reveal to England? Could I change history by revealing too much? Too little? I felt that now-familiar panic rising, and I shut my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the moment. I could think about all these things later. Right now, I had to think about meeting Charles Vane, not to mention other possibly unsavory characters. Once again in control, I asked, “Does Vane believe the same things you do?”

He shrugged. “I doubt Charlie Vane’s thoughts go far past his own self-preservation. But he’s been chosen as a leader by the men here, and I’ve no choice but to follow.”

“You’d never consider accepting the King’s pardon?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Nay. A pirate I am, and a pirate I will be for the rest of my days.”

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me… I couldn’t help but smile. I had no idea where that was from or what the rest of the words were, but I was fairly certain they said something about plundering and looting, and villains and scoundrels… Yo ho indeed. The song had clearly not considered pirates such as England, the political and social dissidents.