My First Story

Davy Jones: Cabin Boy



(1630)

A burly figure strode along the decked quayside, his crimson frockcoat flapping in the wind. A hook gleaming in the bright sunlight, was in the place of his left hand. One eye, his left, was obscured with a black patch; the other had a greedy look about it. Every step he took, he was forced to drag his peg leg behind him. His face was contorted with a scar running from right temple to left cheekbone. He seemed to have a constant scowl about his person, glowering at every person he walked past. With a cutlass encrusted with dry blood, and a pistol with a worn handle, he was obviously not to be messed with.



“Where be ye, Davy?” he growled loudly at nobody in particular, his wooden leg knocking against the cobbles as he trudged up the street. “JONES!” He yelled looking around “WHERE ARE YE?” his voice rebounding off the surrounding buildings. The crowd jumped back in surprise, unwillingly allowing a terrified looking boy to scamper towards the man. Davy was a scrawny boy, he had no meat on him, gaunt looking with an unkempt air. Despite this, Davy was very agile and ‘sticky fingered’. “Ye be reci’in a floggin fer yer sluggish pace” The man said, as the back of his hand connected with the side of Davy’s face with force. Wincing in pain, Davy stumbled backwards, falling on his rear.



Due to living in the poor street conditions fourteen year old Davy Jones was very skinny, malnourished and he was quite short for his age. His shoulder length black hair was in its usual messy state, his green eyes had the look of a hardened street orphan within them, and his skin was heavily tanned from the long hours out in the sun. The filthy rags draped around his skinny body were no longer recognisable as the items of clothes they once were. The soles of his feet were hardened from walking barefoot all his life. He looked, and smelt, as if he had never had a wash in his entire life. He knew the street like the back of his hand and was second to none when it came to pick pocketing. The other street kids knew never to argue or get into a fight with him; despite this, Davy still came to nothing next to the gentleman of fortune standing over him as he lay sprawled over the cobbles.