A Pirate's Exile

The night air was chill as I huddled myself behind the collar of my wool coat, my pipe held firmly between my teeth. The puffs were crisp, seeming to float for miles before they disappeared in the November cold. So still sat the night that I could hear the surf lapping the shore half a mile away, and the chug of the ferry at it's moorings in the small harbor.

In my pocket, I held clutched in warm palms a simple note.

I had found it tacked to my door with a small nail, less than happy to see the tiny hole it left, given that I was renting the two room apartment. The curiosity of the note quickly overtook my anger though.

The paper was aged, like an old parchment more than the recycled stuff we're used to.It felt good to my fingers, as only a writer can know when paper feels good or bad. The handwriting was legible, but of a style I was unfamiliar with. Things were spelled in a queer manner, like reading from an old bible.

"A story I have for you. Greet me at Donovan's at nine o'clock in the evening on the morrow."

I stared at it for a while, thought about throwing it away, but then decided that it might be worth a try. What the heck.

I was writing for the local paper there in Ludington, Michigan, a pleasant little town along the western lakeshore. It didn't pay too well, so I did some freelancing and contract work with magazines and other small interests that could pay my rent. It was a small life, but I liked it. I needed a good story anyway.

I pushed on the door of Donovan's, and stepped inside.

My face was flushed with warmth as I left the cold outside. I could smell cigarettes and liquor, hear the sound of small talk around the bar, intermittent with the voices of Sportscenter from the television above the bar.

I found a seat closer to the door then reached in my pocket for more tobacco. Riley came over to greet me, placing her elbows on the bar.

"Hiya," she said, her smile flirting. She did that with all the guys, but it got to me. She was beautiful, with green eyes and freckles on her cheeks. Blonde hair fell to her shoulders, which were shapely in the sweater she wore. I blushed a bit, trying to hide my obvious crush.

"Hi." I managed. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Just working, you know how it is."

"Sure."

"What can I get ya?"

"Beer."

"Right. I'll be right back."

Before she left to get my drink, she bent close. "There's a man here waiting for you, Jack, in the back corner booth. Said you had a meeting." I looked in the direction she pointed, looking for who I hoped was the secret note writer.

He wasn't there. Maybe he'd gone to the restroom.

Riley returned with a mug of Guinness, which I carried to the corner booth and sat, taking a sip. My pipe had died and I began packing it again. It occurred to me I hadn't asked her for a Guinness, she just knew that's what I wanted.

The light above the table seemed to darken a bit, though I didn't readily notice it, just registered it in the back of my mind. I looked up from my pipe to get my lighter, and there sat my man. The light flickered, then came up again.

He was old, old like I had never seen. His face was darkened, tanned by a thousand summers and full of wrinkles that spoke of rough living. He too held a pipe between his teeth, puffing slowly with each breath he took. It was a beautiful meerschaum, engraved with a skull, once pearl white, now dark brown from years of use.

"Jack W. Raines?" He asked. His voice scraped like sandpaper.

"Yes. That's me. How can I help you, Mr., umm...?"

"Black; Everyone calls me Mr. Black."

"Ok, Mr. Black. You said you have a story for me?"

"Aye. Of sorts." His face showed no expression, only his lips and his one good eye moved. The other was glass, peering endlessly and unblinking.

"Ok," I said. "Let me get my recorder out." I went to reach for it, but his hand was suddenly about my wrist, his grip tighter than I would have imagined him capable of. I met his stern gaze and noticed his hair still held some color that hung below his wool cap, ragged and unwashed.

"Nay. Just listen." He released my hand which I slowly moved back to my beer, taking a gulp of it, trying to hide an onset of nerves.

"There once was a ship, and beautiful. She was long and fast, a slaver with three masts and thirty guns, fifteen to a side. Not in all of the seven seas was there such a ship, the envy of pirates and the King himself.

"She was commandeered by a young captain, a noble man with high spirits. He hated the British rule with it's codes and aristocracy, so he staged an uprising. He warred with the British on the sea, to bring them into capitulation, to cleanse them of their damned ways and means. He was a fierce fighter, this young man.

"He had the world in his palms, all the riches he could dream of. But he loved a girl."

I smoked slowly and with calm, soaking in his words, watching his one eye twitch with what seemed to be excitement.

"She was a colonist, the daughter of merchant by the sea in Massachusetts. Though this captain loved his ship more than was possible to love any tangible thing, he loved this girl more, and ne'er a battle he thought nor a ship he razed without her name on his lips.

"So, when satisfied with himself, having attained great riches, more than he had e're dreamed of, he went to see her, taking his ship and crew with him. They would disperse into the New World, making their comfortable fortunes last while hiding among the colonists.

"But Fate would not have it."

He paused for moment, blinking, biting on his pipe.

"A storm arose, of likes that Jonah suffered in the Holy Book. The men tried to save their riches but to no avail. The captain had feared such a happenstance and was prepared. He ran to his cabin and grabbed a small chest full of jewels, pounds, franks, and d'blooms as the ship ran aground on a sand bar. It heaved and cracked. The masts began to topple as he and the crew jumped into the waves to save themselves.

"He would not let Fate have his love.

"So he swam and stayed afloat despite the storm and the treasure. He woke in the middle of the night, cold, wet, and fierce as ever. He gathered himself and left to find his bride.

"Find her, he did, on her death bed, delirious with cholera. They kissed and she died there, as did he, though he walked out without a scratch. He left the town and gathered his treasure where he had hidden it and left to wander.

"Wander he did for miles and miles, greeting indian and mountain with sorrow. It seemed the whole world felt his grief, except for Fate."

"He continued to walk, unconscious of how far his legs had carried him until they gave way beneath him. He fell to the ground and, at last, wept for a whole day and a whole night. All nature was quiet. No coyote howled, no bird chirped, nor bear grunted as they heard his agony. Finally, he fell asleep, hoping he would die."

I had nothing to say, finding myself wrapped up in this terribly sad story. Part of me chuckled silently, though. There was no way this was true. This was the ramblings of an old man who escaped from the old folks home down the street.

"Nay. I see the doubt in your eyes and your heart. Listen to me, boy-oh, for I speak naught but truth to ye."

I went to take another gulp of beer, but it was gone. So I just set it down and listened as he spoke again.

"On a sweltering afternoon, sunburnt and near dead, he woke up to man standing before him. The man stood in simple clothing, the likes of a tanner or a blacksmith. His hands were old and weathered, but his face was young and new like a youth's.

" 'What have ye to do wi'me?' asked the bereaved captain.

" 'I am Fate. Ye have fought me sore, and I have punished ye for it.'

" 'What have I done to thee, damned apparition of cruelty!'

" 'Thy thefts took the dreams and hopes of the commoners, the ones ye meant to protect and free, and this was known to thee. But I am merciful.

" 'How?'

" 'I will strike hands with thee in surety if thou shalt agree upon my terms.

" 'And the terms?"

" 'Ne'er again sail the seas, nor touch those great waters wherein ye hath caused much grief to the common man, and I will restore to thee thy love.

"Without hesitation, the young man replied 'Ye have yer terms.' And the two spat and took it in blood on parchment.

"I carry the parchment here."

He supplied the paper from within his coat, placing it on the table before me. I looked to him then gently reached out and took it in my hands. It was of the same type that had been tacked to my door, old and musty, yet perfectly preserved. I looked over the words, written in beautiful calligraphy like I had never seen.

He was to never again touch the sea, but he would find his love lying on the shore of what seemed to be an ocean, and there he must bury his treasure near where he found her and live out his days as an honest man, as the people he had stolen from.

"But Fate is a trickster," he said, a small flare of hate in his eye. "And he had deceived me."

It was him? The whole story was about this old man? Impossible.

No. This wasn't real.

"Ye still doubt me. I know what yer' thinking, even now as ye cannot believe the very words of my mouth and the proof before ye. Let me finish my story and I shall have thy confidence."

"Alright," I said. "Go ahead."

"Fate had deceived me, and I signed that paper without reading it whole. Not only did he let me see the hearts of men, but he granted me long life, life long enough to see my dear love die once more. I have now lived out these long years alone, sailing on ship after ship around these lakes. Death is near now, and I wish to repay fate for his evil to me.

"I wish to give ye my treasure. I have never forgotten where it lays."

He let the words sink in. I was astonished and skeptical. What else could I be? This was absolutely preposterous. There was no way this was real.

Still, I had nothing to lose.

"Alright. Show me your treasure."

He nodded, pulling his pipe from his mouth and placing it inside his coat. We rose and I followed him out into the night.

We walked down Ludington Avenue towards the shore, I following just barely behind him, step for step.

This was crazy. Maybe he was just some crazed old man trying to lure to me a quiet place where he could kill me. Maybe he was simply out of his mind. Whatever. I could take him if he tried anything, and I was somewhat interested, to be truthful. I had studied pirates since I was a child, and this, like all the stories and books I read, had pulled me in, even if it wasn't real. History is made of legends and stories, many of which are fact, some of which are so unreal that we cannot believe them. That's what makes them legends.

Nearly all of the famous pirates had met a criminal's end, whether it was the gallows or the rack. It was said that Blackbeard died in combat, his head being severed off in a sword fight. Purportedly, his headless body swam several miles, circling around the ship until it finally gave up the ghost. Who's to say such things are fact or fiction?

Regardless, I could write one heck of a story from this.

We came to shore line, and he turned to the north, walking along the lapping surf, our boots leaving prints in the sand.

We walked to a particularly tall sand dune, one with a great tree atop of it. We struggled through the sand to it's height, and hidden behind it, in a small hollow, was a tiny cottage.

"I built it with my own hands, here where I found her so long ago. I was the first white man to see these shores. I love them, they're all I have left of me.

"It's all yours, boy-oh."

He then turned to the tall oak tree and began to dig. He didn't dig very deep, just a few feet and he unearthed a small box. The lock had deteriorated and he simply pulled it apart, then opened the top.

My heart skipped a beat as old coins and jewels danced in the moonlight. He set it in my hands as if it were nothing at all, and then walked toward the cottage. I followed him inside.

He reached inside an old desk and he handed me the deed, had me put my name down as the new owner. He gave me a small tour of it's two bedrooms, told me of its quirks and how to repair the various things that often broke or went on the lamb.

After a moment, he reached in the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, opened them and said, "I am about to die. Comfort a man in his last moments. I wish to not spend them alone."

We walked back up past the tree and sat underneath it in the sand, letting the cold breeze chill our whiskers and keep our drinks cold. The moon shone bright as only it can in the fall, highlighting the silhouette of a tanker making it's way south. A fog was rolling in slowly from the north, and he eyed it warily for a moment, then took a gulp of beer.

"I loved her, lad, more than life itself. I care not to spend another day away from her. She waits for me. I have seen her sometimes in the dark of night, standing at the edge of my bed waiting for me.

"I think maybe, that's all there is, boy-oh. Fate is a bastard. He won because I let him. The holy book says that God is good. Fate shall ne'er again have a victory, for I go now to Abram's bosom. There is only to love in this life, God and those about you."

I said nothing, only listened to his crackling voice, pondering his words.

"That treasure has nothing for you but to make you comfortable. I've lived without it and have never felt discomfort."

The fog had moved closer, now surrounding the bottom of the dune, obscuring the water below us. He stood up slowly.

"Thank you, lad, for your kindness. Remember what I've said to you."

And with that, he made his way slowly down into the fog. His pipe and unfinished beer lay where had sat. I picked the pipe up and letting the tobacco and the sea fill my senses. I placed it in my pocket and lit my own.

"I am Fate."

I turned behind me to see a man standing there, just as Sam had described him to be. I did not reply only stood to stare him in the face. He was shorter than I, which was fitting, I thought, after what Sam had told me.

"I will strike hands with thee in surety if thou wilt agree upon my terms."

I smirked, and placed my hand upon his shoulder.

"Go to Hell."

With that I walked back to the cottage and shut the door behind me. I looked out the window and he was gone. I smiled to myself.

I went back to Donovan's and found Riley. We kissed that night on the pier beneath the moonlight and then watched to sun come up.

The old man was right.