Port of Errors

Chapter I

King William III sponsored Captain London Fouste as a privateer during the last few years of The War of the League of Augsburg
.
After capturing a highly significant Spanish vessel, sailing haphazardly through English waters, Captain Fouste was knighted Sir Fouste. Since that time, he has secretly turned to piracy and managed to keep this fact unnoticed by Royal authority. Assuring his status as a well-known privateer among the people of England, Sir Fouste was, for the most part, a very cunning and charismatic individual. If truth be told, not much else was known about Sir Fouste. His life was a mystery even to King William.

Sir Fouste was tall and built with a slender physique. He wore a filthy cloth patch over his right eye, tied at the back of his head with a simple knot, the ends of which hung low to the center of his back. His hands were always covered with the same unmistakable, faded black leather gloves.

While pursuing this enigmatic life of piracy, Sir Fouste was concurrently commissioned by King William to capture any vessel entering the English territories with the slightest appearance of piracy, mild or otherwise. He was given command over a large English frigate, which King William immediately abandoned all ties to, including the ship’s articles, symbols, and even his Royal name. Sir Fouste then renamed his frigate the Blue Raven and set sail, bound for whatever mispleasures he might dare to engage under the guise of his new commission.

Soon thereafter, Sir Fouste came across Scurvy’s Schooner, a small two-mast vessel captained by a vile little pirate called Scurvy, a name attained by way of the infamous disease which almost took his life two years previous. Somehow Scurvy survived unlike many others aboard his infested schooner. He was a scrawny man with a long crooked nose and a few black teeth intermingled with the many yellow. His clothes were tattered and his pants a little too large for his dimensions.

Scurvy was an expert marksman and master swordsman and controlled his crew through hostile means. A very clever man, Scurvy, through deceitful ways, often procured an unfair share of his crew’s ill-gotten gains.

Now, with an almost completely new crew and a history unbeknownst to most, Scurvy wandered into English waters, not at all intimidated by her laws. Deep within his vengeful eyes could be seen whatever ravenous providence he intended to endure.

As Scurvy sailed carelessly along, the Blue Raven appeared quietly beside him. Amid the apparent intrusion, Scurvy communicated with Sir Fouste through a series of gestures and flagging, which was carried out by a couple of deckhands.

With an understanding now in place, Sir Fouste looked distastefully upon his first mate. “Order the starboard cannons forward.”

Perplexed, his quartermaster questioned, “Cannons, Sir?” The only thing to fire upon was this schooner of no real significance or fortune.

“Challenging my command, boy?” replied Sir Fouste angrily.

“Never, Sir,” the first mate apologetically remitted, concerned for his own well-being, “I’ll do as you wish. I just don’t understand the order.”

“It isn’t your duty to understand,” exacted Sir Fouste, introducing the point of a small dagger to his quartermaster’s chest. Piercing his skin, he shoved the dagger suddenly through. “Never challenge my authority.” Sir Fouste then took it upon himself to call out the orders as his first mate fell dead. “Forward the starboard guns,” shouted Sir Fouste, “and fire on my command!”

No one dared say a word about their fallen first mate, who lay there with his tongue sticking loosely out of his mouth, like a dog. Instantly, twelve loaded cannons were pushed through the starboard gun ports.

Scurvy’s men caught sight of this possible broadside. “Scurvy,” cried one of his men, “I think we’re about to be fired upon!”

Surprisingly undaunted, Scurvy looked on with an arrogant smirk, “Then ready yourselves if ye be men. There be no reason for
trepidationedness
over a fine and well deserved death! ” Raising his sword in defiance, Scurvy exclaimed, “Ready you for this here atrocity, Maties!”

Scurvy’s quartermaster, Bones Henry, concerned for his life, aptly inquired, “Are we to just sit and await the attack or are we to fight? Where’s the bloomin’ order?”

Scurvy quickly turned to Bones with a nasty scowl, “I give the orders here, mate! Patience! Now, keep her steady as she goes and prepare yourselves for a proper broadside!”

The Blue Raven then abruptly engaged Scurvy’s Schooner. “Fire,” shouted Sir Fouste. All at once twelve cannons roared in one resounding blast, echoing with an awesome reverberation. The schooner took a damaging broadside blow to her weaker starboard hull. Luckily, no other damage was sustained. Though, five of Scurvy’s men lay dead and several wounded.

Calmly, Scurvy turned to his crew. “Stay your course and find me land quickly, before we’re sunk.”

His men could hardly believe what had just transpired as they quickly fled the sudden attack. Sir Fouste gave chase for a moment, allowing Scurvy to escape by means of the shallow waters, which surrounded the small inlets nearby a well-known island deemed,
Port of Errors
.

A distinguished pirate haven of sorts, Port of Errors fell just outside the jurisdiction of all Royal governments – an unwritten no-man’s land. The weather was always perfect and frequently produced an overly desirable ambiance. Actually nameless and lawless, no man came willingly to this small island town unless by some foolish trade or misfortunate alteration in direction. Pirates and privateers alike chose to cruise out of Jamaica from the Caribbean for months at a time to enjoy what Port of Errors had to offer. Local pirates infested Port of Errors – a kind of Tortuga of the Eastern Atlantic.

Scurvy quickly made his way over the broad reef, toward Port of Errors’ shallow harbor. He knew it was impossible for vessels of considerable size to sail all the way in to port, leaving them too far out to successfully engage him. The tactic of using such a reef was most often used by pirates for an easy escape upon royal intrusion and one that Scurvy was now going to make use of.

Port of Errors was governed unofficially by a hearty and hefty little spud of a man named Darcy Wenham. He wore tightly fitted clothing that enhanced his robust portions to an awkward exaggeration. A self-proclaimed landlubber, he never willingly took to sea on account of his fear of sharks, due to an incident in his earlier years. Wealthier than any other man on Port of Errors, Mr. Darcy, as everyone affectionately referred to him, continued to obtain his riches through bartering and dealing with such fiendish pirates as Sir Fouste, Scurvy and many others.

Mr. Darcy was a very worldly individual. He particularly loved to better the appearance of his boastfully large estate, which was centered atop the only hill with an overlook of the entire south seaboard, east and west. At the same time that Scurvy’s crippled little schooner made it’s way to the west side of Port of Errors, Mr. Darcy stood at his front doorway attempting to direct his servants as to where his expensive new door should undoubtedly be placed. “No! Not like that, you unintelligible buffoons! Turn it inward! I’ll not have a crooked door. What will my guests think of me then?”

“As you ask, Master Darcy,” replied Mbe, the foremost of his four oversized but loyal servants. Directing the other servants, Mbe quite loudly demanded, “Pull it off! We must do it again! And we will keep doing it until you get it right, as Master Darcy intends!”

The three frustrated lower ranked servants could do nothing but look about in complete and total discouragement, indicating the unbelievable amount of time spent on this one project; taking, by no small means, the better part of their entire day, as always.

Then, with pronounced arrogance, Mr. Darcy explained, “The front door to any man’s home is the very first impression upon another. Remember that. And I will not have a pitiable door!”

His servants continued to fidget with the door as Mr. Darcy dictated the how-to’s of handling such a fine piece of decor in the most correct manner. Mr. Darcy smiled pompously with delight as his masterpiece began to come together.

As Mr. Darcy glanced out over the horizon, he caught sight of Scurvy’s sinking ship approaching the west side of the island.

“Oh, no,” he grunted, “why me?” His servants appeared confused as they placed the door in what they thought might be the perfect setting. While his mind weighed on Scurvy, Mr. Darcy shook his head, carelessly vocalizing, “Why me? Drop it, man.” Just then a large “Thump!” abruptly sounded behind him. His servants had taken his last statement as an order and simply dropped the door. Mr. Darcy turned around to find his precious door falling toward him. The door smacked him in the face, forcing his now flaccid body to the porch. Sandwiched between the floorboards and his door, which was now cracked, broken and damaged beyond repair in his opinion, Mr. Darcy incoherently moaned, “Scurvy!” His voice began to fade as he drunkenly continued, “This is your doing.” And everything went black.

Scurvy continued to guide his defeated little schooner toward the west side of Port of Errors; however, taking on too much water to go any further, his ship began to sink where she sat – several hundred meters from shore. The crew had no choice but to enter their longboats and row in as their schooner sank. Smiling surreptitiously, Scurvy was hopeful that word of this sudden engagement upon Scurvy’s Schooner by the Blue Raven would reach every ear on Port of Errors before the close of the day.

Surprisingly Scurvy, an ugly man by all accounts, had a beautiful daughter named Isabel, a stunning young woman who stepped onto the soft and sandy beach with him and his unsightly crew. Although women were restricted from sailing aboard active naval or pirate vessels, Isabel often accompanied her father on particular ventures that might necessitate her specific gifts and talents, such as her attractive appearance.

Port Lorne, another infamous island town and the most visited international harbor in the Eastern Atlantic, had been Isabel’s home for all of her adolescent and adult life. Whilst living on Port Lorne, Isabel discovered much about her
assets
in a world of self-indulgent men.

Knowing she could get anything she wanted by way of her looks, she often wore long gowns that flowed gently to her toes and accented her feminine shape. Her hair was long and mildly messy, lightly bleached by the sea and sun, which also darkened her soft, perfect skin. Her lips were full and chapped unusually red, but made soft and moist through her use of island cures. Her vast, emerald eyes were innocently sensual, but temptingly sweet. She stood about five and a half feet tall with an appealingly slender build. Isabel was a very striking young woman, a welcomed pleasure to any man’s eye.

She often made certain she was heard, speaking her mind intently. Finally aground, she articulated spitefully to her father. “There better be a good explanation for this!”

“Come now,” said Scurvy, with a twisted smile, “let’s take a stroll, shall we?”

“Where to?” she replied, continuing on in the same frustrated tone, “My belly fancies a fine dish. We don’t need to talk. What we need right now is food, dry clothing and a way off this island.”

Motioning off with a nod of his head, Scurvy insisted, “Izzi, walk with me. Please.” And enduring on in the same fashion, at a whisper’s pitch, he stipulated, “We need to talk and the sooner we
conversate
the sooner you’ll find yourself off this rock.”

“Then talk,” she quipped with a sarcastic roll of the eye.

“Fine,” she stubbornly agreed. “But you know we don’t belong here.” She quickly turned about without saying another word and began to walk at a brisk pace.

Scurvy turned up his eyes, threw his hands in the air and speaking to himself, questioned aloud, “Why me?” He then began to follow his obstinate daughter in a wretched haste, as Bones led the rest of his crew to a local marketplace where the tavern was located.

Mr. Darcy awoke from his unconscious state, slowly opening his tired eyes. He was dazed and unsure of what happened, “Why the… where am I?”

After the initial shock, Mr. Darcy glanced out toward the broad seaboard from his lofty inland position. He could see Scurvy and Isabel walking along the seashore, while the rest of his unsavory crew wandered into town. They had an appetite and only strong drink and wicked pleasures could satisfy.

Chapter II

John Drake was another well-known pirate captain. He and his mischievous crew were known to occasion Port of Errors quite often. The plundered wealth that pirates often brought with them to Port of Errors was greatly anticipated by the local businessmen, thus warranting a favorable welcome to most every buccaneer.

Captain Drake’s quartermaster, Black-Hearted, was often tasked with trading and bartering with the local businessmen. By way of appearance alone, Black-hearted was intimidating, ensuring a higher margin of profit for Saint Drake, their inaptly named sloop.
His hair, black as night, hung low to the center of his back, held up by a bloodstained rag tightly fitted, fixed with a sloppy knot which was tangled through his dirty wool-like hair. He wore proudly, a hat that boasted six distinct holes ripped through, torn and frayed with time, though oddly an equal measure apart. Black-hearted was the stereotypical pirate in word and deed, as well as his looks.