"Though you are a sneaking puppy, and so are all those who will submit to be governed by laws which rich men have made for their own security; … They vilify us, the scoundrels do, when there is only this difference: they rob the poor under the cover of law, forsooth, and we plunder the rich under the protection of our own courage. Had you not better make then one of us, than sneak after these villains for employment?"
- Black Sam Bellamy
France, 1799
"Run away, my son. Don't die for someone else's cause."
The father kneeled at his son's level, holding his shoulders, the last embrace they would share. The pier beneath them creaked and groaned with the rising tide, water lapping against its wood planks.
"Will I ever see you again, Papa?" said the boy.
The father shook his head.
"Is the boy ready?" the Captain interrupted.
Next to them floated a longboat. The Captain stood waiting, a rower at the ready.
"One more moment, Captain Gore," the father spoke, in English. He spoke to his son in their native French.
"Find your brother. He has made a life for himself in a free place, away from the monarchs and the revolutionaries. A new Orleans."
The sounds of pounding hooves could be heard over the din of the docks. Shouts and cries heralded their arrival. No longer able to hold onto his boy, the father led him to the water's edge. The Captain took the boy into his custody, hoisting him into the boat.
A moment later, three men on horseback, wearing blue jackets and white pants, came crashing into the docks. They reared up in front of the father. He placed himself between them and the boat.
"Citizen Lafitte!" shouted their leader. White epaulets and a red neckerchief crowned his shoulders. He held high a piece of paper.
"We have a warrant for your arrest. You are accused of flouting the law, engaging in smuggling."
The father stood defiantly.
"Is it against the law to bring the people what their government cannot, or will not, provide?"
"The people are the government. You take from the people," said the leader pompously. He waved to his men. Dismounting, they drew swords from their belts. The father held his hands in the air, surrendering peaceably.
The boy tried to step off the boat. The Captain grabbed him by the arm. He shook his head.
The officer now took notice of him.
"Is this boy a relation to yours?" he addressed to the father.
"By order of the First Consul, all young men of fighting age must present themselves for national service to our glorious revolution!"
"No relation whatsoever," said the father. "I don't know him."
The leader of the soldiers considered this for moment.
"Just an imbécile cabin boy," spoke the Captain to the soldiers, breaking the impasse. He struck the boy upside the head. "No sense at all this one, my good sirs."
"Take the boy," came the officer's reply.
The soldiers attempted to board the boat. The Captain kicked the pier, pushing the longboat just out of their reach. He tipped his hat to them. The head soldier glared at him.
"Good luck to you, sirs," said the Captain. "Chop off some good aristocratic heads for me, will you?"
The boy watched his father being taken away, until the shore disappeared behind the fog. He turned and faced his new captor.
The Captain wore a long blue coat. Upon his head sat a tall, wide-brimmed hat. Flat at the top, a long feather poked from the side. But what drew the boy's eye was the thick ginger hair cascading out from the under his hat, climaxing in a long, unruly beard.
He looked at the captain, tears forming in his eyes.
"Why didn't he fight back?" shouted the boy. "Why didn't you try and save him?"
The Captain, not one for empathy, could not muster words. He tried to console the boy.
"Yer father did a brave thing," he finally said. "You'll understand some day."
After his outburst, the boy's anger found no outlet. Nor could there be any chance of escape. Realizing any further action would be futile, the boy sat across from the Captain, his resolve dissipated.
They sat staring at each other in silence. The mist changed to rain. Drops flowed down his face, mixing with tears.
Out of pity, the Captain removed his hat. He placed it low upon the boy's head to cover him from the elements.
"What's your name?" he said to the boy.
The young man looked up at the Captain. The hat sat lopsided on his head.
"Jean. Jean Lafitte."
Jean looked up in his oversized hat, inconsolable.
"They wouldn't leave us alone. He wouldn't do what they wanted, so they took him away."
"Ay, boy," said the Captain, leaning closer. "But heed me this, for it be true…the sea is freedom."
The Captain reached into his jacket. Pulling out a book, he handed it over to Jean.
"Where you're going, there was once a group of men who ruled the islands. The seas were theirs, beyond the powers. Where they willed, they roamed. When I was your age, one of them gave that book to me."
Jean looked down at the weathered old book.
"A General History of the…" He read the cover, stopping at the final words.
The sound of a bell ringing filled the air. Looking up, Jean saw a ship appear in the fog. It towered over the small crew in the longboat. All sails ready, the crew hung along the rigging, wraiths in darkness.
And above it all, obscured to the eye, a black flag.
Looking up at the Captain, with hat removed, he noticed now scars carved upon his head and face. When the man smiled, multiple gold teeth shimmered.
"Pirates..."
He opened the book. A signature adorned the back cover.
Property of Captain Jack Sparrow