Captain Bloodlet and Pigeon’s Blood Ruby, (Love of His Life)

The Royal Navy British ship HMS Mary Rose built in 1509 had endured the harsh seas of the Atlantic. She was a war ship sailing the seas in the year of our Lord, 1531 providing protection to English commerce. Despite her worthy crew and cast iron cannons she was not quite the match for a small flotilla of pirates led by Captain Bloodlet. A fierce battle had ensued during a foggy night and stealth of night; the weakened Mary Rose was boarded by the pirates twenty five miles due east of North America, latitude 37.5 degrees West. A deadly battle ensued aboard ship resulting in Captain Jerediah Homestock, aka Bloodlet Jerry, commandeering Her Majesty’s ship. He and his men forced all hands to walk the plank with the exception of the Captain, his first mate and the cabin boy.

These persons were to be used for ransom. “They shou’d be werth a guinea or two, Id’s sus’peck,” Bloodlet had boasted.

The prisoners were kept in confinemt below deck and would at times be brought to Bloodlet’s cabin for the rogue’s entertainment.

“Well, well me Lassies, welcome aboard. Me ’opes ‘uve enjoyed yer stay, thus fare.” He laughed hysterically. “If’n thar’s anythin’ yer purdy ’lil herths desire, speak ye de werd, aye, Capin?”

He sarcastically addressed Captain Daniel McClintock. Captain McClintock looked bedraggled from lack of sleep, but mostly from humiliation. It was a supreme insult for his being made to stand in his former cabin with the likes of this rogue pirate.

Captain McClintock purposefully ignored his captor. He felt he would wretch the contents of hardtack and salt fish he had earlier eaten. Bloodlet reeked of sweat, rum and foul tobacco. His face was close to his prisoner. He could almost count the thick hairs which protruded out of the pirate’s nostrils.

“Well me mate . . . looks like de cat’s got yer tongue. No matter. Now, now, dohn git yer feathers arufflin. I got me a propersition fer ye Capin. Navigate me ta Tahiti an’ I’ll consider givin’ ye an’ yer mates yer freedom. What say ye?”

Captain McClintock felt a surge of exhilaration, could this murderous rogue actually be serious? He noticed the thick, brown scar running from the pirates lower right eye, across his cheek, and down to the side of his thick, muscular neck. “Perhaps there’s a spark of civility left in his seared brain.” Captain McClintock knew Bloodlet had once been a Royal Admiral of the British Navy. He often wondered what reasons had caused Homestock to turn traitor to his country.

Captain McClintock had nothing to lose except his life. “Now, Sir,” he had respectfully maintained his formalities on his hijacked ship. “Navigation at this time of year from these latitudes is extremely dangerous.”

“Cohm now me Danel,” he addressed him by his first name, an indication of an appeal to McClintock’s sentimentality. “Yer not afeared, now ar ye?”

“Well Sir, of course not. I am a prisoner aboard this ship and my future prospects are not becoming. It is for lack of Sea Charts. You yourself understand the many reefs between here and the Islands, and that would be the least of our concerns . . . there’s the Cape, with its wind and 100 foot wave, icebergs . . .”

“An I ’ave no feer, nider, Capin. Shoud the ship splinter, ’tis of no concern.

Wees got de rowboats.” He laughed his characteristic manical laugh. His huge chest quivered spasmotically. Spittle flew from his open mouth past decayed teeth, landing as thick streaks on his unkempt beard. The spittle coalesced as he laughed and dripped profusely onto his barrel chest, staining his faded Royal Jacket.

“I be wagerin’ agains’t ye Danel. We make it ta Tajiti in one piece. Ye be the Royal’s best sailin’ man. A long journey for me to pick up the Pigin’s Blood Ruby. A big one she is an’ ‘er brood o’ rubies. Got treasure o’ me rubys thar. Me loves me Pigin Blood Ruby. She be fair lass she is, tho she be stone, she me heart, she is. Ya maytee, de Bloodlet, me an’ de Pigin Blood, love o’ me life! An’ ya, we shall be united, Danel!”

“Cabin Boy, goin’ git me an’ yer captain a jug o’ rum below deck, git boy, now, ’fore ye walk de plank . . . !” His booming laugh erupted suddenly again, reverberating across the ships cabin walls.

Oliver jumped through the cabin door and sprinted across ship’s deck disappearing through the deck hatch. Not long after he silhouetted back at the cabin door holding a large brown jug. “e’re y’ go Capin, Sir.”

“Et’s me lad, boy, pour yer capin a’ me a drink ’n one fer yerself.”

“How’s about me Bloodlet, am I yer snoot, aren’t I?” Pleaded the first mate, Roy.

“If ye agree to ‘elp yer capin. Git me thar’s an’ no shinanigan’s, ye can drink ’er up, otherwise, ye’ll be loc’t up agin or plain kilt!”

“Yessir, Bloodlet. If Captain McClintock sez the word, I’m in!”

Captain McClintock eyed Bloodlet for a moment, transfixed by his ponderous size. The pirate stood at six feet four inches with hefty muscular girth of legs and arms. His bare arms were covered with thick, dense hair. His fingers were thick with long, dirty fingernails. McClintock thought Homestock’s size a rarity for the average size of Captain in Majesty’s Navy. It was hard for him to believe he was once just that, standing there, ring in his ear and swashbuckler’s sword at his hilt.

A large wave struck the ship broadside causing the three mugs to slide to starboard. “Well, are ye gonna drink, or wha?”

“Pour the First Mate a drink Oliver.” Ordered the former Captain of the Mary Rose.

Oliver gathered the three mugs in a huddle and grabbed an empty one from beneath the captain’s dining table. “’ere ye are First Mate Roy, Sir!”

“Now, I herewith propose a toast to our venture, ’round the Cape ’Orn of Sow’h ‘merica, gennelmen, an’ yer oath o’ loy’lty to me, Capin Bloodlet. ’An a pirate’s seal is my wager to ye both, ye git us to Tahiti, ’erlive to me Redblood Ruby ‘n ye’ll share in the prize, ye will, an’som o’ the til! Ye’ll also liv’ ta take the booty o’ yer fill o’ de native lasses, y’ will.”

“And our part of the wager, Captain?” Asked Captain McClintock.

“Yer part is ta git us thar, ’n if ye fail, ye walk de plank!” His rabid laughter once again erupted, filling the cabin air with vibration.

“How ’bout me Captain Bloodlet?” wailed, 10 year old Oliver, who had already swigged his share of rum.

“Me lad, ye’ll walk too, unless ye prove yerself otherwise. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter again.

Now, let’s us drink up and seal de wager. Pour yerself another boy!”