LIBERTALIA: Seize the Day for Remember We All Must Die

By DrahCir

The novel ‘Libertalia’ is a steampunk pirate fantasy fiction with historical elements. An extensive, in-depth study of PYRACY shows the quintessential nature of being human and reveals at its core a well faceted, most fluent, all encompassing, un-compromised view of world history, as untainted by any one cultural belief, value, dogma, and design as none other. All pirate myths, legends and folklore; romantic or realistic lead but one direction, in a search for freedom and equality. The pirate’s code of a democratic-socialst utopia based on egalitarian, collectivist, agrarian ideals are more than a place, but a mind set on a quest for Libertalia. Join Black Captain Randy and crew on ship Leviathan as they set out in search of El Dorado, find Atlantis, drink from the Fountain of Youth and create their own pirate utopia, Libertalia.This edition is complete with 24 full color digital image plates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483473994

Book preview

LIBERTALIA

SEIZE THE DAY FOR REMEMBER

WE ALL MUST DIE

DRAHCIR

Copyright © 2017 DrahCir

Interior Graphics Credit: Richard R Sperry

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7398-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-7399-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 08/28/2017

Dedication

For Don,

My Matelot in this journey and adventure of a lifetime.

With a special thanks to

Joseph G. & Helen R.

VI Prologue

Thus He Avoided Dying on the Vine

‘Twas a glimmer of reflected light that was fixed on Jamié’s eyes as he gazed upon dawn, taunting daybreak’s gleaming, across the calm ocean sea’s horizon. The black steamer trunk, his life vest, he clutched onto with a death grip of white knuckled fear, rocked gently now with the waters breaking stir. He was young, muscular and fit, but now barely conscious and his grip weakened. Lost in the possibility of his own disastrous end, overwhelmed by the shattered thoughts ruminating, the events of evening last, it was now apparent that he, Jamié Le Strange, the sole-survivor, alone and adrift—was forsaken.

Desperately gathering his wits about him, Jamié noticed that the chest was unlocked. He loosened the leather straps and brass hinged clasps and opened the lid. Exhausted, he pulled himself awkwardly into the chest, tasting the salt of the sea upon his lips as it dripped from his mustache to his goatee. This makeshift boat was now his raft and sanctuary. Paddling without direction just to keep moving onward, his arms and hands, though feeling more like anchors, played the oars that kept him going. His fingers strummed the sea lightly while sparse drops of rain hit the surface with a slightly audible sound like the strings on a harp. The deep azure water, crystal clear to a depth of two hundred or so feet and cold as ice, swirled about, and Jamié was the cube waiting to be swallowed, lost forever in the abyss.

Captured in the swirling water and rolling with the flow, the water splashed upon him while in tow. Brief flashes and bits of memory overwhelmed his senses. Anxiety and panic set in the pit of his stomach, a punch he feared unable to overcome. Winded, Jamié gasped for a last breath’s escape, choking back the horror in his mind’s eye. He looked around frantically but saw little proof that a ship once peopled was there. Small bits of lumber and debris were all that remained floating along with him. Jamié’s memory of events failed him, yet he realized he had been cast aside in another direction thus separated from the rest of his mates.

Slime and seaweed slapped against him and clung to the sides of his chest. As the sun rose, the brief shower abated. It was but a simple reminder that the storm of evening last was over for now, but may be back with little warning. The sea beckoned, almost daring him to decide. Sink or swim—what will be your pleasure?

Jamié’s eyes grew heavy with fatigue while he struggled to fight off sleep. Drifting in and out of consciousness, his eyelids flickered as his mind blurred dream and memory. His efforts to stay awake were useless and he succumbed to slumber.

The heat of the sun upon the surface of the water gave rise to fog. The sense of fog lingered in the thoughts of the effete young man, unveiling a truth, giving furl to the fire, smoke, and explosion of unbidden reality. He flicked, fluttered, and strained but was unable to awaken from this nightmare.

Gently bobbing with the current, he lay inside the leather chest, cast about in the vast sea, abandoned. Fragmented images of human flesh, bursting red gore splattering across the ship’s deck overwhelmed and seized his thoughts. The carnage of persons’ remains against shredded canvas, falling masts, and splintering hulls was unending. Deafening sounds of cannons, shrill winds and haunting cries intermixed and wove into his manic thoughts.

His eyes opened in a flash to an ear-piercing screech. In the distance, gulls circled round the open water. The birds dived, fighting each other and feeding on what remained in the aftermath of the disaster. As one of the gulls dove at the water to scavenge a morsel, the surface erupted with the jaws of a predator, snatching up the bird before it had savored its own morning meal. The shark’s eyes, dark and lifeless, rolled back into its head as its protruding razor teeth engulfed the bird in one great gulp. Such are things on the high seas, circle of life and survival of the fittest rule supreme.

Though initially startled by the surprise attack on the bird, Jamié was relatively unmoved by the event, as it seemed so far away, almost nothing compared to the horrors of evening last. As it was certainly not an immediate threat to him, his thoughts lingered on the many dangers and gliding monsters just below the surface, and so he pulled his arms out of the water while the gulls and other birds continued to circle and dine.

Morning bled into noon as the temperatures rose quickly to near ninety degrees. The water evaporated, leaving him and his clothing stained with salt. Jamié’s olive skin, bronzed from his long years at sea, was now slightly burned from exposure. Being tall, dark, and of swarthy complexion had both advantages and disadvantages depending on with whom your country of origin was at war.

His thoughts wandered and trailed off. What I gave, I did so freely, without reservation or condition. What you took, you stole without invitation or my consent. As this has been done, it has set into motion a new game, with new rules. And you, sir, will pay dearly for your indiscretion. With this so stated, there will be no prisoners taken, no quarter given—and it will be a duel to the death at fifty paces! Jamié exclaimed, turning abruptly, his black wavy hair whipping about and his short cape swirling to follow. Whirling on the ball of his foot, he showed and gave his back to the offending gent and roared, Till morrow noon, good day sir—I said ‘good day!’ Then, as abruptly as the memory flashed, it was gone and he found himself again staring across the unending sea…

Dark waters splashed upon him as the weather changed. Dense black clouds rolled in over once clear skies. Strong gusts and gale force winds lashed at him and his makeshift craft. Sheets of rain poured from the sky at a diagonal cutting sheer. The sea lifted and dropped him without mercy as he tried to stay afloat above cresting waves. Jamié bailed, bobbed, and paddled to stay upright. Two minutes seemed an hour as the storm raged on. Visibility was at arm’s length as images of the unknown crept within his terrified thoughts. He realized just how vulnerable he was at this point without any recourse or warning of what lie out there.

His panic stricken mind lifted him off to a memory as his automatic survival instincts kicked in to keep the immediate dangers at bay. Off in thought, a distant memory of his boyhood, growing up in the southwest of France, running through his father’s fifth generation vineyard in Bordeaux, being near the La Gironde inlet waterway that runs out into the Atlantic which had always led his thoughts to the sea. However this day, so many years ago, he and his boyhood friend Jolié, a mulatto from the West Indies, were running away from chores to find a secluded spot to play dice.

‘Twas a glorious mid-fall day, the sun high in the sky and the air crisp. Together they galloped, weaving serpentine through the vineyard canopy isles, chasing each other one forward and the other back then reversed, racing toward the high noon sun. In a shaded outcrop off to the side, they stopped, laughed, and caught their breath.

So what’ll it be, Jamié? Knucklebones or Hazards? Jolié asked, playfully daring.

Nay, nay my friend. Let us keep it a bit more simple and familiar to enjoy this fine day and converse while we can. PASSAGE—three dice, two of a kind plus the edition of the third dice must equal ten—not over. We will keep the dice a rollin’ through the afternoon light! Jamié exclaimed in delight.

Jolié chimed in with a wink, And what’ll we wager this day for the most wins? Ah, I know. Whoever is the loser has to move all the wine casks and barrels to the store room by himself this morrow day!

Jamié winked back in agreement while trying to hold back a slight chuckle and nuanced dare. Ah, a wager of brute strength and sure will power. This is a good bet and yet I wonder how you’ll accomplish such a feat by yourself, my petite friend.

All right then, let’s get them rollin’. Jolié grinned in nervous excitement, yet he knew his good friend Jamié gave no reason for his fear. He was simply trying to psych him out of trying.

They went back and forth, rolling the dice, winning, losing, talking and laughing heartily. The young men jabbed elbows in a friendly exchange of goading, conversely ‘Ayes’ and ‘Arrs’ flew wildly while slapping each other on the back in congratulation. Each cajoling the other in admiration in secret hope the other would be the winner at last. It was a game, one of odds, a game of chances and fate, as they rolled dice along destiny’s highway, the map only beginning to be revealed.

A microburst of wind suddenly smashed between them, knocking them both to the ground and the dice went tumbling through space. With a bright flash of lightning, a loud crash of thunder, the sky turned pitch black and let loose a torrential outpouring of rain.

Within the chaos, Jamié could see out of the corner of his eye his father and the crew foreman grabbing hold of Jolié and pulling him away. Jamié’s father yelled out, Get to the cellar quickly, do it now! GO!

Startled back to his current plight of fighting the crashing waves, Jamié was jolted into the realization that he never saw Jolié thereafter nor had known what became of him, as it was understood to not ask. The thought, so far away in his distant memory, yet a tear was still held in bereavement for the loss of his good friend. As the tear fell, Jamié gripped firmly the edges of the chest as it tousled about and drifted upon the turbulent sea. His every muscle ached with exhaustion and fever as his slightest movements became stressed and strained.

The afternoon sun peeked through the dark clouds as the storm retreated. He caught a glimpse of what seemed an island. It was difficult to gauge the distance of the dark flat mass. For an instant, he believed it was a whale, maybe a sperm or a blue. Suddenly a surge and sense of hope overwhelmed him. Then the uncertain notion that it was a mirage befell Jamié because the site was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. The momentary relief left as well and his stomach now seized with cramps of anxiety. His throat was raspy dry as he snorted and grunted. Surrounded by endless undrinkable amounts of water, taunting him to refresh, his fingers glided across the water. He dipped in and ladled up a handful, thinking to drink it down quickly. Nevertheless, good sense bettered him and he spilled his cup full back into the sea, as drinking such unfit water would speed up his certain and untimely death.

Clearing now above him, the clouds had all but dissipated. He too felt that he had disappeared into the vast landscape were sea and sky met and merged into an uncertain oneness. Seemingly, nothing lay before or aft him. Churning waters held him captive. The seaweed was now dense across the surface. Jamié sensed himself drawn round a very large center, but to where he did not know. He began to remember what happened and how he got here.

Sailing the north by northwest Atlantic just east of Bermuda in open water, the barque he was on went down. An unconventional crossing during hurricane season against the trade winds left the ship smack dab in the center of the Sargasso Sea, when a waterspout with hurricane winds came out of nowhere, shredding sheets and toppling the mast in just a few minutes. Either the hull crashed or something crashed upon it, snapping it like a twig. The ship and all hands went down in seconds, leaving Jamié in awe and wonderment of how such seemingly random forces could change the direction of events so quickly.

Now hollow echoes reverberated. The haunting yet beautiful coos or cries that sounded like an oboe came out from everywhere at the same time, having no certain direction or location. Jamié was locked into and mesmerized by the enchanted song from beyond. Yet, he had an eerie feeling. Goosebumps and hair raised on his arms. One long final note, like that of a foghorn, blasted, ceased, and was gone. He drifted deeper into the spiral arm of the vortex that drew him closer to the center of the pool and his calling.

His face glistened with sweat and oil as the sun beat down upon him. Hours of the day passed, the seaweed became ever more dense and the sea dead calm. There were few birds overhead. Even the stale air above seemed motionless as they glided gently to the water. Seagulls were silent and a foreboding quiet surrounded all life in this domain.

Pulling himself up and balancing to stand at the center of the chest, Jamié’s crimson velvet vest, ruffled down the front and once elegant upon his frame of six foot three, was now disheveled. His red tights and fine white silk blouse were now torn and made filthy during his escape from the sinking ship. A somber exhaustion came over him as he looked out across the seaweed bed in front of him. He grimaced, thinking there was nothing moving out there and that he was about to become evermore trapped within the surface muck.

Bowing with a salute-like gesture, Jamié blocked the sunrays from his eyes to get a better image of where he was. Enormous amounts of debris were locked within this mock terrarium world. It was a Darwinian evolutionary haven. He realized for the first time just how utterly alone he was, an insignificant speck in an endless sea.

Then he froze in horror, held in hypnotic trance as he beheld a great many crafts abandoned. Lost and gathered in this virtual graveyard of ships, on their sides, half sunk, submerged, some in full mast covered in seaweed and algae for as far as the eye can see. They were not felled here so much as gathered by the merging of currents that had pulled them from other courses into this swirling whirlpool of sargassum, red algae and green bio-slime at the center of the north Atlantic. This massive field of debris had emerged from all times a floating lost world as none other.

A sudden gurgling sound, a movement, a trace of life, bubbled from below. Something lifted the seaweed, rippling across from just beneath. Something slithered serpentine thirty meters off, enormous, perhaps some eighteen feet with a three foot girth and one long back dorsal fin breaking and tearing through the surface of the weeds—perhaps a sting or manta ray. Unable to get a good look before it disappeared, Jamié felt a shiver as the beast sunk back into the depths.

Near delirium, a slurping sucking noise caught his attention in a most annoying way.

Minutes became hours and the constant rhythm of the sound was driving him mad as there was no way to find it and no way to stop it. Like the slight dripping from a spigot, it became nails on a chalkboard. He drew his hands up, pressing and driving his palms to his head in an attempt to plug his ears from the sound but to no avail.

To pacify his disturbing thoughts he retreated once again to a more gentle moment, awakening to the cock’s crow, beams of sunlight across his room, and a cool breeze rolling through an open window. With a stretch and a yawn, his eyes flickered and he was soon up and about.

Mother, mother, he called but the words tapered off to a low register with the realization she has been gone, dead now these many years. Jamié’s eyes moistened in remembrance and grief over his loss. Oh, how he missed her and her few but uplifting words, how his heart pained her not being.

James, his father interrupted, glad you’re up. I have decided to send you to the West Indies to start a new plantation on the family’s behalf. Tobacco, sugar, maybe export some of the native fruit—

—Father, the name’s Jamié.

Yes, yes, of course, my son. Just thought you may want to be a bit more professional, give a bit more importance to the family name, some dignity, nobility, given your title.

Well then, the Indies it is. I suppose it is time to get out there and get my feet wet, Jamié agreed without hesitation. He was seventeen now and there were plenty of boys his age and a great many younger who had been sent out, expectant to assist in family matters, thus a rite of passage.

So you’re in. You will go in my stead?

But of course, pleasure is mine. Just one question, though. Answer it and I am off. What happened to Jolié? Where did you take him? Why? Jamié’s voice dropped and deepened to a harsh tone.

His father shrugged. That’s easy enough. He was traded off as part of a business deal I had with Seniór de Gama. As per our arrangement, Jolié was to go to the Potosi Silver mines in the new world.

But why? Why would you do that? You knew he was my dearest friend in the world.

His father’s answer was sharp and cold. It was just business, Jam—Jamié.

Business—ahh. A sense of profound betrayal came over Jamié. He felt the blood rise to his face hot with anger, and he trembled to hold back his rage.

A splash of the cold salty brine transported Jamié back to his present dilemma. Jumping up, out and across Jamié in his floating sea chest, a school of flying fish passed above him. They seemed en route an escape, frenzied as they dove back into the sea.

In a startled response, he pulled out his sword, a rapier, and waved it above his head in a frenzied state.

With a thud, the chest nearly flipped as a giant sea turtle surfaced. The enormous beast of nine feet or more crashed its flippers against the edge of the makeshift craft. Jamié ducked down inside to hide as the largest leatherback he ever saw passed by. Indeed this was the predator from which the fish were fleeing.

After this, the rest of the afternoon passed without event and the days turned into nights as the week went on. Trapped within this centrifuge, this living microcosm, his energy was all but depleted. He was aware that he was suffering the effects of exposure though he had done his best to protect himself with what was left of his garments. Gone was the hope of rescue and his only solaces were the organic plants and animals. Beyond the occasional scare from this or that creature going about its daily business, Jamié somehow felt at peace, almost resigned to his destiny. Living on small amounts of the seaweed and the occasional fish that became entangled, his strength was faltering. Occasionally he would bump into another box, boat or ship and scavenge what he could. It was becoming abundantly clear to him that once you were caught here, here you stayed.

After an evening shower, the skies cleared and a rainbow appeared above him just before dusk. One end seemed to touch down upon him as the other radiated out of the sky, seemingly attached to a flying ship of sorts. Golden in color and in full sail with oars jutting out the sides, rowing with the wind, it moved gracefully across the sky. It was a delusion, a mirage or a dream perhaps. Jamié drifted off to sleep as another day passed into oblivion yet sparking a renewed sense of reason and purpose. He dreamed of rescue from the craft overhead. A gallant savior greeted him with abundance of food and drink sprawled upon an endless table. He was offered drink, a bit of rum punch, a nice brandy and a smoke of the pipe. His heart raced and fell while his makeshift craft heaved up then down upon cresting waves.

Morning’s reality however found him still a prisoner of the open sea. A giant albatross squawked a piercing cry. Jamié’s eyes strained to open. Upon seeing the very large bird with its stare fixed on him, he became fearful of the cursed omen this represented. These birds are not indigenous to this area. They are way off course.

As the bird then took flight, Jamié’s gaze followed across the way. Upon slight waves, he saw several great arms from a squid or octopus slither up one of the derelict ships. The heavy arms roamed and wound, crushing parts of the rotted ship under its weight. For what the great monster was searching, he had no idea, but thought perhaps food as he himself dreamt of a tart, a cherry crepe and a soufflé. He was hardly moved by such creatures at this juncture. There was so much life out here it seemed but just one more as it continued probing about before finding its prey and sinking back beneath the sargassum bed.

Fragments of his life randomly flashed in his mind. A sweater gifted to him by his mother, running a path through the woods with his dog, a small trinket carved by his grand papa and other snippets of cherished memory carried on in his mind. He mumbled as if it were all happening now, It’s so beautiful mother. Must have taken you a long time to make… Come Rover, onward, home… It’s a fine work, Papa, fine indeed…

Immense joy, profound sadness, and a feeling of Je ne sais quoi arose within him. This resignation came on him almost peacefully as he focused on his every labored breath. Most all fear had disappeared but the strong emotions still flooded his thoughts. Small tears rolled off his cheek. This is not done—not done. I am not yet finished—too much more to— the words trailed off. He smiled in brief and his eyes flashed open.

One hundred yards off the sea, an eruption of eight well positioned suckered tentacles embraced its prey, a piragua. This large canoe-like vessel was now crushed and plummeting into the murky depths. Seconds later the event was over but the implosion of water was so great that Jamié was splashed from even this great distance. One large tentacle arm snapped up like a whip, taking with it several small horseshoe crabs and a gull, then sank beneath and was gone.

What great beast is this? Jamié wondered as a flock of startled brown pelicans flew overhead. Out beyond the edge of sargassum, a school of terrified tuna leapt from the sea in unison. All creatures, great and small, seem to converge in this area, a middle of the sea oasis, prison, or a retreat, given on one’s perspective.

He became restless, as he was during the sighting of Halley’s Comet in 1682. ‘Twas considered a good sign, omen, or perhaps a blessing of sorts. So, he left to explore beyond the edge of the vineyard. It had been over a decade ago since he left his oasis of family and home in France. Now so many years had gone by and he had become a man by anyone’s thinking except that of whom it mattered most—to him and to his father. He simply did not measure up.

Through his father’s encouragement, Jamié left Bordeaux at the age of eighteen and found passage to the East Indies which led him back to the West. There he had cultivated the sugar plantation, began an import/export company, a successful trade and commerce business, sailed the seven seas and had become a corsair in Tortuga, a buccaneer of sorts. In all his travel, explorations and discoveries the one thing he had been unable to do was find Jolié. Jamié heard tale of an escaped slave at Potosi, and though there had been many, the spirit of this one seemed like that of his friend. Audacious, tenacious, with a determined and unwavering perseverance, he said aloud to himself in thinking of Jolié’. With a wry grin, he shook his head and chuckled. The memories faded, interrupted by a loud crash of thunder.

All hell’s fire lit up the sky. Lightning flashed cloud-to-cloud and chaotic. Thunder crashed near and rippled off in the distance as the sea became restless. In an instant, the wind ripped through the mid-Atlantic island reef of felled vessels and debris. Hurricane force winds blew in and the wrecked ships were torn apart. All signs of animal life were gone as they had sensed the tribunal and fled beforehand. Flash after flash and crash after crash pounded around him. A squall some thirty feet rolled under him and forced everything toward the sky. Smaller waves followed and smashed down upon him. Jamié grabbed the lid of the chest and pulled it down over him in an attempt to secure his safety.

Having a crack and a hole, the chest was taking on water as the storm raged. Minutes passed like hours while Jamié tried to maintain his composure. He became seasick, with dry heaves, as he was slammed and tossed about like a rag doll in a marionette show in open sea. Delirium and nonsensical rambling spoke to his state of mind. He reached out his arm with a fallen wrist, pointed a finger and mumbled weakly, No. Not now. I cannot leave—not ready. Be gone…

Thud! Smack! Wham! Jamié was jarred back into fighting for his life. Flying open the lid of the chest, he stood alarmed. Surprisingly, the sky was still dark and chilled but the ocean sea had calmed. The eye of the storm, no doubt. Rings about the water told something had risen and quickly descended. He looked about in a radius. Suddenly a six-foot eel leapt out and over him. Another, then another jumped. Three of these prehistoric looking serpents in total snapped and gnashed at him. Shark like, their teeth, all in a row, razor sharp and just as deadly. They slithered across the seaweed slime. A grayish brown and black slippery skinned giant gill headed monster with bulging eyes glared at him. Of what depth does this beast come? With beads of sweat on his forehead and a mind filled with terror, Jamié’s legs buckled in fear as he ducked, slamming the lid shut. He quivered in the corner of the chest in ritual prayer.

All sounds subsided and for the moment and his fear abated. All was quiet and there was no movement around. The silence within was more eerie than outside. A minute passed, then five, and perhaps an hour or more.

Then came a loud smack on the bottom of the chest. He, and everything, began to rise.

Jamié tried to stand and pushed against the lid. It was stuck. He gave it one grand burst and thrust it open. Below, lifting the chest, creating a platform was a whale, easily a hundred foot blue. Jamié looked down and saw the three eel sharks lunging their bodies at the great gentle mammal.

Relieved and feeling safe with the whale, malaise and comfort swept over him as never before. All around the sky was a mysterious green and the seaweed-covered remnants of all that remained were aglow. He smelled ozone, the faint ionic electricity in the air, tasted the salty brine and heard the birds squawking in the distance, signaling their return. Jamié sat down within the chest in exhaustion. The three beasts below had gone away.

The whale began to move. It had lifted him some fifteen feet out the water and was now submerging. Jamié looked up into the sky. A bit of golden sun began to show. Cumulous clouds moved quickly, separating, revealing a great ship in full sail, a galley. Upon its mast, lights danced about, stern to starboard. Then he realized what this vision was. Saint Elmo’s fire.

It flies. This ship flies! My rescuer has come!

Jolted by the movement of the whale, the chest tossed on its side, the lid slammed shut and struck Jamié on the head, knocking him unconscious as all fell into the sea. As the leviathan continued its descent, looking about with its great obsidian eye, Jamié and the chest were pulled down with it, swirling and spinning—down, down, deeper and deeper. Regaining some consciousness, Jamié opened his eyes and instantly understood that he was approaching his watery grave. He struggled briefly but soon resigned, as there was no hope. Bubbles escaped as he held his breath. He pushed but the lid was jammed. Fathom after fathom, he sank deeper as if in a dream. He could no longer hold his breath. He released it, and in one last gasp, he was gone.

Jolié! Jolié! Jolié, wait! Wait up! Please wait! Jamié’s every thought, every feeling surrounded and gathered to this end. One innocent moment soon after they met as boys in the vineyards of Bordeaux now faded away.

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VI SAGA 1

Upon Her Arrival, The Whale and The Squid

In the aftermath of the storm, we find ourselves here at the eye. As the ship rolls out of the clouds and appears upon the sea horizon, all is calm. What we saw as we sailed in has passed over, away and disappeared. The green sky is now indigo, the sun has set, the moon quivers as the clouds dissipate, and star-filled heavens shed grace and light upon our ocean sea of dreams. Captain Randy finished writing in his journal and paced the deck with a firm step, cradling his spyglass. He peered through it and looked about while thinking aloud, Upon this year of 1692, near two-hundred since Columbus landed on San Salvador, Guanahani by the native peoples, discovering the new world in 1492, we are bestowed and thus delivered unto this place.

Earlier that afternoon, in an attempt to scoop up a vast treasure, they spread and dropped several large, swathing sea nets. Heave ho! Put your back into it, men, he roared with encouragement. Drag that net and bring ‘er up. We’ll not give up this time—she’s in our glass!

Black Captain Randy, Sir Rrr Lord Dandy, Esquire Buccaneer Extraordinaire a.k.a. The Fool, as he so often introduced himself upon first meeting, was of English descent, tall and slender of build, with hazel eyes, and strawberry blond hair in a braided queue. He wore a slight mustache, soul patch, and an intense gaze of passion upon his face. Captain Randy always dressed in black except for the tri-corner hat of bright rusty orange that flaunted three feathers, an ostrich, a peacock and a red tailed pheasant. The Fool, as he was so addressed by those closest to him, was two opposing halves of the same equation. He would lay down his life for anyone he knew—unless betrayed. With that, he would maroon or take a life just as easily. As for now, his only thought was of capturing this rich prize.

Just before dusk, the crew of The Leviathan had finally tracked down an elusive sperm whale. All were fraught with anxiety and excitement, for such a whale was said to be rich in ambergris and ready for a large deposit for which current events depended. They had been searching for this whale for quite some time, however now their vision was impaired, guided only by star light.

Tad-Pole, the young grommet, saw a mass and a sparkle on the horizon and yelled out from the crow’s nest. Land! Land! He was an Irish lad of fifteen, a seaman in training who carried the gunpowder.

As was the custom upon the sight of land, several of the men broke out a dram of brandy in lieu of an otherwise desired fine cognac. Captain Randy, not quite as relieved and joyous, halted the merriment. Hold fast, ye gents! I not believe ‘tis land at last, as it moves but slightly!

Some of the crew continued hauling in the net a little at a time as the beast within fought tail and fin. Others remained steadfast, waiting upon the next command. Looking about the dark waters, the men anticipated their reward, whale and land. Many of them toasted with their ale and splashed their suds while others drew on their pipes in celebration.

Minutes became hours and were neither land confirmed nor the whale captured. Throughout the night, the men worked toward getting to shore and reeling in their prize. Tired as they were, they sang out in jolly unison, Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of rum. Drink and the devil had done for the rest. Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of rum…

’Tis a bit cliché, I admit, yet most appropriate given the circumstances, thought Captain Randy as he gazed out at the sea, sipping spiced tea while the crew continued until dawn.

As morning’s light appeared at the horizon, the battle was not over but had settled for the moment and many of the men sought refuge and rest. Several lay under canvas and others draped themselves in small boats on deck. Some, though exhausted, still scurried across the deck, frantic with anticipation.

Morning broke and the night sky’s veil retreated. Captain Randy yelled out, Men, this island moves toward us! Prepare! Prepare! Prepare ye the way!

Tad-Pole echoed, Prepare ye, men! It comes nigh, quick, quick, but quickly now!

Glimmering and gliding, the surface water rippled as some great beast slid along just below the surface. Gaining speed and momentum, the creature created a tide in its path and headed toward the ship as if it was its archenemy. The crew, surprised by the attack of this sea nemesis, suddenly stopped. Then with a snap of its tail, it sprang up. In a flash, jaws clamped down and removed the head of one of the men. The crew member had just leaned over, hung forward off the ship’s stern, and now left a stunned crew in wake of the incident. Shock and silence gripped the others as the headless corpse briefly danced about before falling still. The creature, having retreated, was now gone but the men cried out in horror.

Harpoons sailed into the water, pistols fired, and even small daggers thrown, glancing off the surfaces. In response, Captain Randy ordered, Halt! Halt! Stop ye men! There be no point now—it is gone! It is done and over!

They ceased and scrambled about the deck in a daze, shocked and exhausted. One of the men looked at the torso on deck and called out, Who it be?

’Twas that old sea dog Johnny O’Bannion, rang the answer from another. Look at those hands—old, rough as sand paper and tough as leather.

Still another, Did ye see the sea-monster? ‘Twas a dragon!

Nay, it was a great serpent from ye bowels of hell, the Scott chimed in. Did ye see its massive head, lifeless eyes, rows of dagger teeth, all those flaring gills? He added with much inner dissention, And a snake’s cold, colorless, slimy body veiled in frilled wings of death?

It comes again! Tad-Pole cried out from the rigging.

Prepare ye, men. Gather thy nets. I want this one alive, the captain stated. It comes in threes.

All hands promptly gathered up several nets and tied newly discovered cork over the knotted ends of rope for buoyancy. On the ship aft, a dozen or so men took up the nets, scattering them across the deck and lowering them into the sea in its wake. Gaining speed, the creatures split up and charged toward the ship.

Several of the men grabbed for harpoons, small daggers and muskets. Surface water began to break as the sea-beasts gained momentum, head to tail, lifting out of the water, lashing out at the ship. With jaws lunging and teeth gnashing, now all three serpents dove toward the men on the ship Leviathan.

Thrashing, diving and leaping, the monstrous beasts slammed one after another upon the hull as if to breach it. Harpoons sailed, daggers twirled and balls rolled, glancing off and ricocheting off their armored skin. Shrill screams echoed from the monster as it chomped and frothed at the mouth, teeth dripping with gore. Again, they slammed against the ship as the bombardment of munitions ceased, the crew becoming steadily aware that their weapons were no match for the demon triplets.

Captain Randy yelled out, ’Tis some sort of prehistoric beast, the likes I’ve not contended with before. ‘Tis a gigantic eel or a shark—perhaps a mutation of both. I fear we are no match for this creature, boys. We’ll outrun ‘er though!

We can try to outrun ‘er, Capi, but that be a Nessie, the Scott shouted. He was one of the midshipman, loyal and always around when needed.

A Nessie, ye say, asked Bling, the younker. What be dat? Bling, just a boy of seventeen, was from Bristol and in charge of the sails.

The Scott answered back, Nessie’s my wife—a soul sucking harpy from which there be no dodging or getting away from. She be everywhere and nowhere at da same time, ye be a knowing what I mean?

Not really sir, but ye mean run away, right? Bling pleaded.

Hoist the sheets, man the oars! Captain Randy commanded as he moved toward the helm. We need be making time, ye hear men? Quickly now!

The rest of the crew abandoned all attempts to subdue the serpent and slay the dragon.

It had become clear this was not going to happen today, not here, not now. The men scurried about the deck, like so many rats in a flood, making way for leave as the beast continued to scream and lash out, whipping its massive tail across the hull. Thud! With having set sail and the oars manned, the Leviathan began to move out, quickly gaining knots and speed. The cries of the great monsters trailed off in the wake of the ship with its crew now safe.

As they sailed away from the creatures on light winds, uncertain gales rose up and the gusts moved them from the fringe deeper within the Sargossa Sea. Wrecked and abandon ships lay in ruin trapped within the weeded graveyard. Tangled and thick as thieves, the weed was slowing them down as if to capture the Leviathan along with the others.

Grab ye swords and axes, men! roared Captain Randy as to motivate his crew to strength. We may be needing to cut r’ way through ‘er!

Some of the crew were on the oars when Bosun Nod ordered, Pull! Pull! Put your backs into it! We be in need of some distance from that three headed hydra. Nod,