The Alphaville Herald

YAAR! The Pirates of Sanchon

by Alphaville Herald on 26/10/07 at 12:17 am

by Tiny Newt

[the Herald's literary thursday tradition levels up with the resumption of the Pirates of Sanchon series - now a continuing weekly feature - the Editrix]

The captain and crew of the barque HMS Endeavour, a 400 ton SL replica of Captain Cook’ ship of 1860, find themselves press-ganged into fighting a series of sea battles aboard pirate brigantines purely for the entertainment and amusement of the pirate Admiral Benson Willis. During a sword swinging melee ashore the Endeavours become cornered in the old Ben Bow tavern. In the ensuing dust-up Clasico Cassini’s foot crashed through rotten floorboards to reveal a rusted strongbox . Back on board, the crew pried open the strongbox to discover an ancient map.

Later that evening, having successfully foiled an unwanted midnight visitor the crew realized their secret possession of the pirate’s treasure map has been discovered.

Gunner’s Mate Robin Sprocket worked furiously, mumbling to herself as she went about her duties aboard the HMS Endeavour.

“Look at this mess! Where am I supposed to find spare parts for
this junk?” Secretly she enjoyed the old armor. The smooth surface of the heavy muskets caressed the palm of her hand. The beautiful inlaid scroll-work amazed her. One shot, that’s all you get! she thought, shaking her head. In today’s world, one could spray one or two hundred rounds in the time it took to load, fire and reload these ancient firearms. It was all face-
to-face back then, none of this killing from a distance crap She picked up her sword and applied the cutting edge to her tongue. Ten thousand nerve endings testified to the gleaming steel’s sharpness. Satisfied, she wiped the long blade with an oily rag, careful to avoid the gut hooks along the ridge-back of her sword.

“Captain Newt…” Robin greeted the Captain with furrowed brow.

“Yes Robin?” he asked, hefting a pair of heavy muskets.

“It’s about this “shindig” you have planned, Sir. Do you really think the pirates will attend unarmed she asked. Having his ear, she rushed on.

“And our cannons!, Sir, they are woefully inadequate, to my way of thinking, she said.

“And what if they decide to show up en masse with their fleet?
Face facts Robin, even their brigantines outgun us. We are at their mercy, and they are well aware of it. As I’ve said before, I think they are all honorable men and women. I hope they will respond to our “Bon Voyage” invitation and attend, unarmed”.

“But Captain, what about the treasure map? Do you actually believe they will let us just sail out of sight with their map in your pocket?”

“I see what you mean, Robin.” The Captain raised the freshly oiled flintlock and squinted down the barrel, deep in thought. The navigator stepped up to the tear-down bench.

“Gunny,” sneered the Navigator.

“Sssiinnn!” Robin sneering back, hissing the man’s name. It was an old joke between them. Sin Trenton handed the Captain a brief, which he opened after wiping his hands.

“Plotted all the depths and lines of sight, Sir.”

“Excellent Sin, good job” the Captain said, appreciating the neatly drawn lines and the little nuances that made Sin’s cartography so engaging.

“Robin, dig out that map. Let’s have a look at those coordinates.”

Robin swirled and knelt in one graceful move, unlocking a lower gun cabinet door that exposed the ship’s safe. Expertly twirling the combination, she swung the heavy door open. She extracted the ancient oilskin pouch from the small, now lidless, case and handed it to the Captain. The Captain unrolled the pouch and eased out the scrap of treasure map. They still needed the missing piece to locate the treasure. One could look forever, indeed, be standing directly on top of the gold and never know it. But Newt had a plan he hoped would flush out the owner of the other half. It was time to put his plan in motion.

“Sin, plot us a course to this destination… Fifty-nine degrees, 45 minutes, 15 seconds North and One hundred-seventy two degrees, 15 minutes, 30 seconds West.” The captain read the bearings directly from the piece of the treasure map.” We weigh anchor Sunday, the 25th. We sail from Sanchon Bay on the high tide.” An electric tingle sailed through Robin. The excitement of finally getting underway and searching for the gold inflamed her brainpan. She reined in her emotions, knowing that one could never wholly trust the pirates, no matter what the Captain believed.

“I haven’t told the rest of the crew, so mum’s the word for now, right? He looked at both of them for confirmation.

“Aye, aye Sir,” replied the Gunnery Mate, Robin Sprocket, standing straight.

“Aye, aye Sir” said Sin Trenton, frowned – stiffening at the slight.

“And Mr. Trenton, keep that chart in the safe at all times,. We can’t be too careful. I’ll inform Mr. Cassini, Mr. Anaconda and Mr. Voss later.” he said, striding away. The warning “watch your backs” went with him.

Two days later, Sin Trenton completed the invitation and brought it to the Captain for inspection.

“Nice,” was all he said, before returning to the letter he was writing.
Sin turned away, disappointed. Usually the Captain was full of praise. Hadn’t he taken extra care with the awkward quill pen? …And he was damned proud of those swooping ascenders and sweeping descenders Besides, he had wanted to point out of the men-to-fewer women ratio of the invitation. “Nice?”…why it’s a bloody work of art that is…he groused. Back among his beloved charts, Sin was soon lost in plotting the new course. He visualized the barrels and the cases of golden coins they were to share. Did the Captain say over a ton? Having examined the map himself, he made the weight by his own calculations; well over three tons.

“Oh MY GOD”, He exclaimed as the realization sank in. “Why, I’d be a multi, multi millionaire! – even with the devaluation of the Linden. Looking both ways, he saw no one around; (nonetheless), he hunched a little farther over the chart with the secret course he was now plotting.

Sin jerked up with a startled expression. He heard the distant thump of cannon. “ALL HANDS ON DECK!” came the muffled cry from above.

“BATTLE STATIONS!” Something told him this was another one of Admiral Willis’ press-gang battles. He sighed as he strapped on his pistols, furled the chart and jammed it into the open safe. Slamming the heavy door, he sprang for the ladder. The clang of steel reminded him of his cutlass. Finally, checking the prime of his weapons, he scrambled onto the deck. Sanchon Harbor was teeming with pirate warships. All manner of styles and rigs, some old style, more of the new. Three giant Men-O-War crowded one another while the faster brigantines dodged cat and mouse between the bulk of the larger ships. Admiral Benson Willis’ black brigintine sailing close hauled behind a larger ship outsmarted a brig sailing close hauled on the other side of the same ship. As the unsuspecting ship cleared the stern she rounded up into the wind, Benson hauled downwind taking the more favorable inside line. The hapless brig, carrying too much square sail, caught the gusting wind broadside. The ship heeled radically, driving the leeward rail hull down. Her cannons now pointed uselessly into the sea as Willis veered to starb’d bringing his guns to bear. Willis opened up with a blistering broadside.

“PIRATE SHIP INCAPACITATED!”

“HANGING ON BY A THREAD!”

“BYE, BYE SHIP!” came the automated announcement from the sim.

The brig filled instantly with smoke and holes, it sank in a thrice.

“Excellent shooting, Lieutenant!” observed Willis.

Lt. Spike McCallister Kayvon nodded his head and waved.

Suddenly, a shore battery opened up on an old style ship before the poor bleeders had a chance to raise their sails. The sinking crew was dumbfound, never suspecting the rounds had come from shore. Commander Beverly Salming, in charge of five heavy cannon on the dock, blasted away furiously; she picked off the ducks one at a time. The kilt wearing pirate, Campbell Cockrane charged for some unknown reason directly in front of the port most cannon, just as Ms. Beverly pulled the lanyard of the cannon beginning the next salvo. The muzzle blast blew Cockrane twenty feet through the air cocking him headfirst into a dingy. Further out in the bay pirates, Malibu DuPont, (wearing a white tutu) and Lt. Shyraii Devinna aboard Lt. Kris Krisvez’s Brigantine SeaDog, racked up their first kill.

Endeavour’s Lieutenant Sin Trenton, now piloting the Old Zenetta, with Captain Tiny Newt high in the Crow’s Nest took repeated hits from Commander Salmon’s rapid fire shore battery. The vessel went down with nary a struggle. Again the announcement blared.

“PIRATE SHIP INCAPACITATED!”

“HANGING ON BY A THREAD!”

“BYE BYE SHIP!”

Sin and Tiny surfaced unharmed. Sin Treton shook his fist at the shore battery.

“CURSE YOU, BEVERLY SALMING!!” As if in answer to him, two well placed cannonballs splashed close at hand, showering columns of saltwater down on the heads of the swimmers.

[...the Pirates of Sanchon serial continue next thursday...]