It was just past the hour of eight and the light had that misty quality you get just before dusk, where everything seems grainy and not quite of this world. My mother suffers greatly from asthma and I had accompanied her up on deck so the sea breeze might relieve her breathing.
Sailors know your eyes can be treacherous at this time of day, and Mr. York our loyal and wise Captain was standing firm at the helm – eyes fixed on the horizon. But even he didn't notice the ship until it was almost upon our bowsprit, its black sails seeming to appear out of the fading light like a ghost ship. Indeed many of the younger hands thought that was exactly what it was, and the deck looked likely to be taken over with panic. But Mr. York sagely noted the Jolly Roger and quickly called his men to order;
"Bo' sun, unlock the arms chest! To attention men! Gordon – set the foresail and turn her about! I mean to outrun them!"
My father, no doubt his evening brandy disturbed, strode across the deck and immediately took stock of the situation.
"Pirates eh? Well by golly York – we'll send 'em away with a sting in the tail, what?"
"My lord," York coughed gently "You and your family should get below decks, I don't think we'll come to blows – the ship looks old and in ill repair, but it would be better for you to be out of danger."
"Nonsense, dash it York, I didn't think I'd see the day when an honest English sailor would run away! We'll stand and fight my man – and that is an order!"
I heard the quiet sigh from my mother that had little to do with her bad breathing. All my life she taught me the duties of being a good wife and as I grew older I saw these could be a great strain on her.
"Mr. York, my dear husband is quite right – honour must be upheld."
"Damn honour my lady!" My mother visibly flinched. "We have not more than six working cannons, and my men are not trained to fight. I tell you we must fly – and fly quickly!" For it is true, the pirate vessel was gaining on us uncommonly fast. The men had stopped working, unsure to carry on without my father's consent. I could see the silhouettes of the pirate crew in the quickening dusk. It was too late to run.
"To the guns!" York bellowed, with a sideways glance at my father "You will at least do me the honour of getting below deck, out of harms way." He hissed as he returned to the helm. Father didn't move, but firmly ushered my mother and I into the deck cabin.
Almost immediately the doors were shut, all hell appeared to have broken loose on deck. I felt the ship turn and fire a swift broadside to the pirates – they returned the blow quickly and there was the sickening sound of wood ripping and splintering beneath us. Mother and I huddled together under the table, which was still laid with the remains of our evening meal. My mother's breathing became quick and frantic, I held her hand tightly and stroked her palm in an effort to calm her. Over her rasping breath I could her a number of sharp whooshing sounds, followed by a dull thud, which I took to be the sound of canons – it was only later I realised it was grappling hooks being thrown from the pirate vessel and attaching themselves to our rail.
The deck was full of strange voices and our cabin shook with the thud of heavy seaboots. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, all was silent and I heard one extraordinary voice begin;
"My good men, we thank ye for your hospitality – I regret this meeting has to be so, restrained," There was a ripple of low laughter at this. "However, we will soon be out of your way. Boys – take what ye can!"
"Give nothing back!" Was the terrible answering cry, and once again there was the crashing and banging of boots. I knew from the stories what they would do – strip the ship of supplies and leave us, at best, stranded and alone, if not slit every one of our throats and set light to the powder magazine.
I knew my mother was thinking the same and I could feel her small body, slender as a harp string, trembling terribly next to mine. For a long time we sat under the table, listening intently – just as I wondered if we should venture out, the door was flung back with a terrible crash. My mother let out a loud gasp before I could cover her mouth with my hand.
"Who goes there?" I heard something heavy crash down onto the table, looking up instinctively I saw the tip of a cutlass blade. Our table was made from Jamaican-aged eighty year old teak and the top was nearly three inches thick. I could feel my mother's breath, uncommonly fast on my hand, her eyes were rolling horribly, showing the whites and her body trembled faster than a mouse's heartbeat when you catch it in a field. Seeing her so, I knew I had to be strong, though inside I was as petrified as her.
"T'is only me, sir." I swiftly crawled out from under the table, being careful to let the cloth drop quickly, hiding my mother from view.
"'Ello petal." The man was almost spherical in shape, sweat made a sickly sheen on his bald head and dark patches on his red shirt, which was open to the waist. He had a brace of pistols tied across his chest with a sash, and a short, curved dagger in his hand. When he smiled I saw he only had three front teeth left – and those were either blackened or gold. "You'll be a-coming along with me then, and I reckon I'll have found the prettiest prize of the day."
"Certainly not!" I snapped before I could help myself.
"Look petal," He grabbed me firmly, but not painfully, on my upper arm. "There's ways and means for things to be done, so I think you'll be wanting to come along quietly, like a good girl." I met his rheumy eyes and felt cold sweat trickling into the back of my stays. Above all – I knew he couldn't find my mother under the table and I had to get him out of that room fast.
"Sir." And I stepped forward, though my foot trembled as I did it. He grabbed me tightly around my upper arm and hissed in my ear.
"Now, no clever business." And with that I was dragged out of the cabin.