Disclaimer – Disney owns the entire franchise of Pirates of the Caribbean.

The tradition of story-telling, as demonstrated by a gnarled pirate.

Horrible History

New Year's Eve. Captain Jack Sparrow sighed contently and placed his emptied mug on the table. He wished Lizzie had been more generous with the rum but he wasn't going to scoff at what little she could spare. Bringing up a little one alone was tough work. Little William Turner III sat by the fire in the back room of the tavern as his mother busied herself with the raucous merrymakers out front. As far as he was concerned, Uncle Jack was a friend of his parents and always welcome at the Captain Turner Inn & Tavern.

"Uncle Jack, please tell me another story…" the little boy pleaded. Jack laughed and cast a wary eye at the door. Mrs Turner was still preoccupied. Lizzie did not approve of relating the more gory aspects of their adventures to her little one. But all little boys delight in the bloodier aspects of the tale. Who wanted a squeaky-clean story when the gruesome truth was so much more interesting?

"Very well, Willie lad, did anyone ever tell ye of yer granddad Bootstrap Bill and how a mean pirate threw him over the side tied to a cannon with his bootstraps?" The little boy shook his head. Jack launched into his tale of mutiny, double-cross and swordfights with a flourish.


Teague opened up his battered bible to the page where his family tree was listed. Jackie boy had learned to read and write and his father was going to relate the modest but proud family history of the Teagues. The Bloody Sunday and Misty Lady had dropped anchor in Aruba and the crews were catching up on their rest ashore. Jenny Wren had dropped off their little girl for a few hours while she saw to some personal matters involving a pair of pistols, a rival captain and a pit in the sand. The table had been set with platters of salt ham, biscuits and apples for the children if they got peckish. If only Grace O'Nelly had not seen fit to interrupt.

"Here is yer great-grandfather, Francis Teague, seaman, who married Ann White, a vicar's daughter… Their sons, Henry, George and John… Only yer grandfather, Henry, had issue, that's me, your da and your aunt Mary who died of the pox…" Captain Edward Teague related in a monotone. Both his offspring, Jack and his little sister Wilhelmina, yawned and tried to keep awake.

"Santa Maria! Whatever are ya doin'? Boring the bairns to death?" Granny Grace declared. She snatched the bible from him, to Teague's chagrin.

"I was jus tellin' them of the family history…" Teague grabbed the bible back from the sea cook.

"Wakey-wakey, laddies and lassies… Granny's gonna tell ye of the glorious piratical histories of yer clan!" Grace yanked a large scroll out of her shopping basket and unfurled it on the table. The children perked up immediately. Their dark eyes glowed in eager expectation.

"Will ye tell us of how they sacrificed Olaf the Red to the pagan gods?" Wilhelmina asked. Granny Grace nodded. "Yea, and how long it took Great-grandpa Samuel O'Nelly to die at de end of a rope."

"Grace, I am not sure dis is proper for young uns to hear…" Teague voiced his doubts but the gnarled pirate was on her way and the children were drinking it all up like a sponge in rum.

"Here's yer earliest piratical ancestor, Olaf the Viking…" she pointed at a smudge with a near-illegible scrawl in it. "Caught by the Danes and sacrificed in the manner of the Blood Eagle to the pagan Norse gods. They cut open 'is back, broke 'is ribs and yanked out 'is lungs…" she skimmed over the parchment to another name. "Here's where the proud O'Nelly clan came in, Jock O'Nelly, hung, drawn and quartered for piracy in London during the reign of King Edward III. Rab, his son, beheaded by the Fishers of Skye for the same reason…" Granny mimed the motions of an executioner swinging the axe.

"Mother said they used a blunt axe, so it took thirteen swings to get it off!" Wilhelmina asked. "And his brother Neill avenged him by firing the Fishers' chieftain from a cannon." Granny Grace nodded.

"We ain't all black Irish, lassie. Ah, a spot of Turkish blood here in the form of Ali Bey, Terror of the Mediterranean until he sailed into some rival pirates off some Greek coast. He did marry an O'Nelly lass sojourning in Venice as one of his many wives, so let's say he's family."

"What happened to him, Granny?" Jack asked.

"No one really knows but they say he was boiled alive in a cauldron before being fed to the wild boars," Granny shrugged. Teague choked on the piece of salt-ham he had been chewing on. He did not feel all that hungry now.

"Let's not forget our Spanish cousin who was keelhauled to death by the Dutch off the East Indies. He might have survived if that shark had not taken a bite outta him…" The children's eyes were glowing with ghoulish delight as Granny Grace related the proceedings of keelhauling.

"And here is Alessandro the Sicilian, who was tied to a plank and tossed into the sea by his own crew. A shark came along and started biting chunks outta his limbs as he was trying to paddle to shore…" the proud grandmother pointed at another smudge. "And poor Matthew who was skinned alive by the Turks… we have his skin in the captain's cabin in the Bloody Sunday. Makes a nice tapestry with his tattoos."

"Tell us of the grisly demise of granduncle James O'Nelly, Granny…" Wilhelmina chirped. Granny laughed.

"Ah, old Jamie. Torn in twa by a cannonball. His top half landed on the aft deck and the bottom bits below… Made a proper mess. I trust Jenny Wren will shaw ye the stains if ye asked 'er."

"Oh, Mother did tell me about those stains. And how Uncle James drags himself by his arms below decks at midnight looking for his bottom bits. Father, could ye pass the ham please? I feel peckish…" Wilhelmina waved at the food.

"Uncles Samuel, Joe and Cousin Harry. I guess they are still gracing de entrance to Port Royal. Do salute them if ye happen to pass that way, will ya?" Grace pointed at another smudge on the scroll. Teague had quite enough.

"Grace, are there any pirates in yer family who lived to a ripe old age?" the captain asked. Piracy was a hazardous profession but surely…

"Well, ye're looking at her, Captain. Grace O'Nelly, pirate lord of the Irish Sea," Grace O'Nelly shrugged. "If I had my rathers, I would love to die in me own bed but I would accept goin' out in a blaze of glory with a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other."

"Da, I wanna be a pirate, but a smart one to send the navy and other pirates in circles trying to catch me," Jack chirped.

"Be sure to do that, Brother Jack, and if you do get caught and hung I will be there to salute your rotting corpse," his sister added merrily.


Jack Sparrow grinned at the memory of his childhood. Granny Grace, God bless her black Irish soul, died in her sleep with a bottle of rum in one hand and a lit pipe in the other. At least Jack hoped that was the way she went. Dying in a fire caused by smoking in bed was a bit of a disgrace after a life spent dodging naval ships and pillaging on the high seas. His old da was as salty and gnarled as always. However, he supposed that if his sister and her brats dropped over at Shipwreck Cove, he would regal them with piratical tales in all their blood-soaked glory.

He glanced down at the youngster drowsing against his knee. The whelp's pup really enjoyed hearing the tale about his granddad, the Kraken and the Locker. Jack was glad that things worked out well for old Bootstrap and the whelp in the end. Next time, he would tell of Blackbeard's gruesome demise. Little boys loved that gory stuff. But he would have to be sure Lizzie was out of earshot.

A cough drew his attention. "You had to tell him about you being eaten by the Kraken, did you?" Lizzie chided gently. She placed a fresh rum bottle on the table and poured out some tea for herself. "He could have nightmares," she said as she scooped up her little son into her arms and settled him in his little cot.

"No nightmares for 'im. Only dreams of adventure, Lizzie," Jack grinned, lifted his bottle and gulped down his rum.

Author's Notes:

Teague's children are so darling, aren't they? Happy New Year.