1. Just a Hop, Skiff, and a Jump Away #3
As if by some magic, the bits I’ve been struggling with, the missing pieces in my research start to fall together.
I see the ghosts of a crew moving about, zipping between barrels, running up and down stairs and climbing ropes to the tops of masts.
I pull out my pen and notebook and begin jotting down bullet points, laughing as I fill in an entire page before flipping it over and starting on the next. Louise was right; this is helping.
Folding the journal closed and tucking it into my back pocket, I turn and tentatively step up to the railing, pausing as I look out over the water.
It’s eerie and silent, the ship rocking gently.
It still smells a bit like fish on board, but the odor is slightly muted.
If I don’t look directly down, it’s not as bad, so I look straight ahead, focusing on the buildings and landmarks along the Thames.
I run my hands over the railing, its freshly stained wood smooth beneath my fingers as I glance over the netting and in between the long beams where the center of the deck dips down into a lower level.
Surrounding it are thin strips of rope that stretch to the quarter deck and to the wheel waiting patiently for command, and to the poop deck up above.
Squinting ahead, I see the forecastle in the front by the foremast.
Pulling out my notebook again, I sketch a messy illustration.
“Thank you again, George,” Louise says from somewhere to my left. “I know this isn’t my wheelhouse, but this is a real treat for my brother.”
She snickers, but neither George nor I acknowledge her pun.
I nod my thanks to him, crossing the ship to run a finger along the mast in the back, my steps surer than they were a few minutes ago.
It’s strange to stand on this piece of history.
A replica, maybe, but still, it’s a reminder of a place where real people sailed and slept and fought and died.
Not that I’d ever want to be a pirate, not really, but the freedom they must have felt out on the water, what does that feel like?
“So,” George starts, crossing to me, “you like pirates, I take it?”
Smiling, I turn to him. “Something about the adventure, you know? The freedom. I’m writing a book, but…” I trail off, laughing awkwardly. He doesn’t need to hear my life’s story. “Louise was saying something about a model?”
George smiles, and I finally pause to take him in.
He is an older man in his fifties, his graying hair thinning along the top.
He’s dressed like an eighteenth-century merchant in a brocade coat and pants that stop just below his knees.
His black leather boots are freshly shined, and there’s a hat tucked under his arm.
He hobbles a bit as he comes near, leaning the better part of his weight on his right leg.
“One of your sister’s colleagues discovered the wheel of the original ship off the coast of New Providence in The Bahamas hanging in a museum.
As you probably know,” he says, glancing between the two of us, “most pirates at this time sailed the Caribbean, zipping between ports along the New World. But as the decades went on, English officials and locals started anti-piracy efforts.” He pats the mast affectionately.
“The beaut this ship is modeled off was a semi-famed pirate ship with a nasty crew aboard it for some fifteen years before they were finally gunned down by a group of privateers working alongside the British navy.”
“Fifteen years,” I whisper in awe, making a note. “That’s a long time to be a pirate.”
George laughs. “It’s highly unusual, that’s for sure.
But a lot of men believed in the cause, in fighting against the British and living a life of freedom.
It was a difficult time to live for the average person, with harsh working conditions and widespread poverty.
Some were turned away from society with no other options; others joined because they thought they’d find glory aboard a ship and with a crew such as this.
” He sighs, leaning against the mast. “Most pirates only lasted a few years on the water, caught because they got cocky or became foolish. Once your name is known, it’s even more difficult to run, so the more notoriety you had, the shorter you sailed.
Not to mention crews would get fed up with captains.
Mutinies often led to the slaughter of entire crews. ”
I nod slowly, looking out over the deck as I close my notebook. My gaze lands on the wheel, my fingers itching to tighten around it. “So the wheel was found? Where, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It’s said the wheel was found buried in the sand some three hundred feet inland by a local.
They put it up in a local maritime museum.
Wood rots relatively quickly, and in warm waters it doesn’t last very long, so no other remnants of the ship were found, but we were able to scrape together some sketches from maritime illustrations and stories about the ship and the crew.
Along with a few sailors I know and a crew of carpenters, we were able to re-create the ship from the model Louise’s colleague created. ”
I lick my lips, peering up the length of the mast. “Not that I’m looking to go out on the water, but does she sail?”
George laughs. “What kind of ship would she be if she didn’t?” He motions to a set of stairs just behind me. “Come. Why don’t I give you a tour?”