Authors: Steve V Cypert
“So,” snapped Davy, placing a small dagger to his throat, “why are you so interested in me?”
“The only reason I’m here right now is that I know how you fell about the English rule. You hate it as much as I do.” Davy pulled his dagger from the stranger’s throat. “Go find your father and do whatever it takes to get even. But take time to plan well your retribution. Find the right sort and they’ll know what to do.”
“What do you mean by the right sort?”
“If you want the right sort of revenge, there are those who would take your side. Seek them out and become acquainted, as it were. Without them, you’re all alone. For starters, you’re in the place. For there be pirates a plenty in these parts. Go on account, as I. Find your father and perhaps we’ll meet again. Aye, I’ll be seeing you around.” The mysterious stranger then stood and walked away, leaving Davy to his thoughts.
Davy’s mind grew clouded with his thoughts of revenge. But, he seemed to find solace in what was said. And now, more than ever, he felt that vengeance would fill the hole in his heart. He would now leave everything behind to go on account with a vessel of fortune; to go on account with a vessel of piracy.
Now searching for a vessel that may perhaps fulfill his particular needs, he came upon a few men dressed in attire that seemed to fit his expectations and they acted the part well.
A large man grabbed Davy from behind. His name was Gunther and he seemed to be a leader of some sort among this particular group. Confronting Davy, Gunther tested, “Who might you be, matie?” Before he could answer, the rest of Gunther’s shipmates surrounded him. “What do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me?” asked Gunther. “Are you mad, boy?”
“Take your hands off of me,” He demanded.
Davy was pretty sizable for a boy his age. Before Gunther had a chance to move his hand, Davy took a small dirk from his belt and jabbed it through his forearm. The rest of the men immediately tackled Davy to the ground and commenced to beat him, but only for a minute. Two of the men then pulled Davy to his feet, at which time Gunther ripped the dagger from his arm, hollering, “I asked you a question, boy! Who are you?”
“If your men don’t let me go right now, it’s you I’m coming for; I don’t care if the lot of them run me through.”
“
That works for me!” Gunther interrupted, lunging forward with Davy’s own dagger.
Davy shifted his weight slightly, avoiding a fatal assault. He was, however, struck in the shoulder and quickly dropped to the ground. To ensure Davy wouldn’t follow them, they beat him until he was unable to stand. “That’ll teach you to follow me, boy!”
Eventually Davy was able to stand on his quivering legs. He took a deep breath and leaned forward, bleeding from his lips and nose. His left eye was swollen and bruised and blood was dripping from the wound on his shoulder.
He then unwisely ventured off in the same direction as his assailants and found them drinking outside a tavern on a large wooden table. They didn’t notice Davy approaching from the shadows. He reached for the closest man, pulling two pistols from his belt and cocked them both as they all turned to face him. One of them reached for a pistol but Davy shot him in the leg without hesitating or blinking an eye.
“You only have one ball left,” stated Gunther. “But there be four of us and only one of you.”
“I don’t care who comes at me first,” replied Davy. “It’s you I’m
here for.”
Gunther’s shipmates looked to him as though to await an order.
Davy smiled with a
dare-me-to-do-it
kind of wink. “
Why not
?” he whispered to himself. Imprudently, without a second thought, he fired a round into Gunther’s shoulder, shattering his right collarbone. Davy could have taken the opportunity to run since all the other men just stood there in awe watching Gunther fall back, shouting out in pain. Instead, Davy stood there with a blank countenance, uncaring. Dumbfounded, Gunther’s men didn’t really know what to do.
“I request a parley with your captain if you please,” stated Davy, matter-of-factly. Gesturing to Gunther, Davy continued, “I’m quite certain that’s not him. He’s too much a fool.”
Without saying another word they walked him to their vessel, escorting the two wounded men along with them.
“Permission to board,” shouted one of the men.
The Captain walked up to the gunwale and invited them onto the main deck. Once everyone was aboard the vessel, Davy stated, “I wish to join your crew.”
“He shot two of us, Captain,” said Gunther, now dripping blood from his neck. “Let me cut his dirty little throat!”
“Don’t you tell me what to do!” shouted the captain. “He then turned to Davy. You wound my men and ask to join my crew? What? Did you think I was just going to smile and welcome you aboard with open arms?”
Davy thought for a second. “Well, why not?”
“What would give you such a fool idea?”
“I only wounded them. I could have killed them just the same. I never back down from a fight. I’m sure you can use someone who can fight. I’ll be loyal to you and you alone. But, if you want my services – this man,” he said, pointing to Gunther, “this man will need to go.”
The captain laughed and walked over to Gunther. “Sorry, Mate.” He then stuck Gunther in the gut with his knife, without a second thought, and flung him overboard. “He’s been trouble ever since he signed on. My name is Captain Drake and you will call me Captain Drake. What are we to call you?”
“My name is Davy De Paul. Davy suits me just fine.”
“Well, welcome aboard Davy De Paul.”
The months passed into years and Davy moved up in rank and authority. He soon held the position of quartermaster and grew to love the many battles and bloodthirsty adventures he experienced. Davy’s reputation intensified, becoming colder and more rampant. The name of Davy De Paul was no more. People soon referred to him as,
Davy the Black-Hearted
,
which soon shortened to
Black-Hearted
.
Void of Royal authority, Port of Errors quickly became Saint Drake’s most favorable stopover, pulling into port as occasion would allow. Black-Hearted’s leisure glance over the occupied harbor, demanded respect. On Port of Errors he was on top of the world and felt as though he owned the whole of it. As always, a rotting corpse awaited him on a gibbet at the end of the docks, reminding him of his sure fate, though not on Port of Errors. Piracy was a welcomed trade on Port of Errors, bringing to the island a wealth of goods and gold. Only fools and liars were found dangling at the end of a rope on this island – unless the wrong sort of individual was insulted.
Akin to every other man at sea, Black-Hearted reeked of body odor and traces of excrement. Though sunken deep within his skull, Black Hearted had eyes that revealed nothing but his cold and empty heart. His sun beaten and weathered face was scarred by battle. He carried a machete fixed firmly to his side, giving the impression that he was the vilest man that ever sailed these waters.
Most people knew of Black-Hearted. As he began walking through town, looks of trepidation from many of the men and women standing about gave him all the more confidence in his plight. Other people expressed admiration, mostly teenaged broods and other would-be pirates. Still, others stood imprudently fearless, but quickly backed down as he seemed to come too near.
While in town, Captain Drake took Black-Hearted to visit his typical stopovers, as he often had the past few years, dealing with Mr. Darcy as occasion would allow.
Saint Drake was often out at sea or docked beyond the reef at Port of Errors, which was the safest place for pirates in the Eastern Atlantic, considering no country owned Port of Errors.
Pirates ruled this island and here, Black-Hearted was prince among peasants and thieves – though, looking to be King.
Chapter V
The memories of years past were all but forgotten, as Black-Hearted slowly stood from his slumber. A sudden stir about the ship had awakened him. Several crewmembers were in a panic, congregating around the captain’s chamber.
“Drake’s dead!” shouted Darby O’Dell, a long time Irish member of Captain Drake’s crew.
Black-Hearted stormed over to the gathering crowd. “What’s this?”
“He’s dead!” repeated Darby.
“He’s bound to die sooner or later.”
“But his teeth were broke up and he drowned in his own vomit. Someone killed him in the night,” countered Darby. “He didn’t just off and die.”
“He was sick,” affirmed Black-Hearted. “We’re better off without him at the helm.”
“You have something to do with this, Hearted?” asked Darby.
Deeply insulted, Black-Hearted snapped, “Do you think I killed him?”
“No, Hearted,” replied Darby, backing away.
“If I did, would you challenge me?”
“No, Hearted, of course not.”
“Captain’s dead,” shouted Black-Hearted. “As his second former in command, I claim captainship o’ this here vessel and any man aboard it. If there be one among you who dare challenge me captainship, choose yur weapon and step up.” No one said a word. “It’s time to really make us a name. There be plenty of booty out there just waitin’ for the takin’. We’re going to be rich men.”
Stephen and Eric led the men in a respectable and proper cheer. Though, his crew did not trust him so much as they feared him. Black-Hearted insisted, “Gunner stands as quartermaster. All in favor says ‘Aye’!”
Sporadically sequenced, the crew shouted, “Aye.” And although it appeared unanimous, most of the men were too afraid to insult or counter anything he had to say.
The men had always feared Black-Hearted as Quartermaster. Although he was truly vicious, Black-Hearted was known for keeping his word among his crew. As Captain he preferred his men trust him above all else. There was an uncontested fairness in relation to the shares of booty, which kept his crew in check and Black-Hearted devoid of any unease regarding mutiny. Renaming Saint Drake,
Roger’s Jolly
, Black-Hearted drew up new articles, which were harsh and unforgiving for those who disobeyed, but very rewarding for those deserving. The crew agreed unanimously in favor of the newly formed articles, after which they were signed and placed where all could see.
In the few subsequent days following Black-Hearted’s official induction as Captain, Roger’s Jolly arrived back on Port of Errors. Making his way to Mr. Darcy’s estate, Black-Hearted approached the entrance, where Mr. Darcy was ordering his servants to place a new wooden door in its frame. It was a gorgeous door ornamented with gold trim and carved with fanciful designs all about. It had been about three weeks since the attempted placement of the last door, which his servants accidentally dropped on top of him, cracking it and rendering it completely damaged beyond repair.
Mr. Darcy was so impressed and proud of his door. “It’s solid English Oak,” he boasted to Black-Hearted. “She was made with two hundred year old wood and carved by the gypsies. She arrived just yesterday. Isn’t it the grandest sight you’d ever laid your eyes upon, Hearted?”
“Well, maybe not the grandest. But she is big.”
“Aye, there’re few things more pleasing to the eye. But just look at her, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Sure, Darcy,” stated Black-Hearted dolefully, “it’s grand.”
Just then Scurvy wandered up to them as they spoke. “I thought you might be here,” he stated, speaking to Black-Hearted. “I seen Saint Drake anchored beyond the reef.”
“No longer is she known as Saint Drake. I be captain now and she’s called
Roger’s Jolly
.”
“Roger’s Jolly? So, you’ve done it then. You’ve taken her over as I expected you might.”
“Fancy my new door, Scurvy?” interjected Mr. Darcy. “It was carved by the gypsies. Two hundred years old, she be.”
“Carved by the gypsies, you say?” Black-Hearted chided. “I’m willing to bet it’s not even oak.”
Fishing for any amount of praise, Darcy insisted, “Well it
looks
respectable, does it not? That’s what’s important.”
“Aye Darcy, sure it does. If there’s one thing about your place, you sure picked a fine plot of land,” affirmed Scurvy. “When I die, I want to be buried in a good spot out back.”
“Darcy, never mind the door,” demanded Black-Hearted. “I’m in need of your help. As you know, I lost everything I owned and everyone that meant anything to me in one day to the English swine. I’ve lived over half my life with vengeance in my heart and now with a crew of my own I mean to claim my revenge.”
“So, what will have me do?” questioned Mr. Darcy.
“I plan to take me an English frigate and make use of it.”