Chapter 3: Ile à Vache

I felt sand on my face - hot sand. I groaned, rolling myself over onto my back, as I did so, I felt the heavy clothes rub against my wet skin. I started to grin - I was alive. I let out a small chuckle as I soaked in the sun, of course a hurricane couldn't kill me!

I pushed myself up off the floor, still laughing slightly inanely. I looked around, surveying where I actually was: it was a small island, decorated with tents, bonfires and dancing crowds.

I steadily walked past groups of sailors, all laughing heartily. One of them darted their eyes over at me.

"Morning mate." He grinned at me in an Irish accent. I nodded at him. "Rough night, eh?" I grinned at him.

"That's one way of seeing it, aye." He narrowed his eyes at me, his smile disappearing off his face as I spoke.

"You sound like one of the King's men." He said, his two friends encircling me. "Dress like one too." I kept my smirk up, my mind working desperately.

"It's a ruse mate." I said, relaxing my mouth and talking more 'commonly'. "Was in a hold, sailing for Port Royal to hang, when I killed a guard, took his garb and made off with his Schooner." I twisted the truth - if they knew I actually was a Midshipman from the navy, I'd most likely be beaten to death now. The Irishman grinned.

"Well, that's a tale I'll be glad to hear in more detail." He laughed, as did his pair of friends. "Come, drink with us lad." He gave me a bottle of rum as I followed him to the bonfire. "So, where you from lad?"

"London, originally."

"London?" A second man asked, with a heavy Jamaican accent.

"Aye. I became a sailor for the King's Navy when I were eighteen." I said, cursing in my head for letting it slip.

"King's Navy?" Asked a Frenchman.

"Well, I wouldn't say the King's Navy... I was a privateer." I fixed my lie. "For three years. Then we thought 'Fuck it', and became pirates. I'm assuming you lads are fellow... free men aye?" I finally got a hang of speaking in the different accent - it felt more... natural for me.

"Aye, that we are lad." They all nodded with a smile. "So, where's your ship?"

"We were set upon." I explained. "Don't know who by - the Spanish, other pirates..." I shook my head. "We were scuttled and I'm the only one left to tell the tale."

"Malchance." The Frenchman frowned.

"Aye." I nodded, drinking the rum, which was definitely stronger than any I had drunk on the HMS Royal James. "So, what about you lads? Why are you on... here?"

"Ile à Vache." The Frenchman informed me.

"We stopped to rest and resupply." He informed me. "On our way to Nassau."

"Nassau?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Aye." The Jamaican ate some fish as he spoke. "Just took a prize - a grand old British Frigate."

"A Frigate?" I asked, slightly in awe. "With what?"

"The Harpy. Schooner." The Frenchman said in broken English.

"Aye. We plan on selling it at Nassau. I reckon Blackbeard could make good use of it." The Irishman nodded. "My name's Seamus. This fine company here is Dominique," he gestured to the Frenchmen, "and Modo." He nodded at the Jamaican. "What's your name lad?"

"Patrick. Tallon."

"Tallon? Like ah... griffes d'un oiseau? Le..." Dominique rubbed his chin in thought.

"Bird." Modo said to him.

"Bard?"

"Bird."

"Bird." He nodded, flapping his arms. "Talon!"

"Oui." I nodded at him. "Well, Seamus, if you can have another sailor, I'd much like to visit Nassau. I've only recently decided to live life freely you see."

"Pleasure to have you Tallon." Seamus shook my hand. "Well, we best be getting off then - the Captain's very lax - he won't mind another hand on deck." I grinned. "Come aboard lad - you can sail on the Frigate... we're lacking men."