Tales from the Eternal Tree

Higher Seas: A Pirate Shanty

 “Reel em in, boys,” Captain Jasper Mackenny shouted with a jovial tone grasping the helm of his ship with wayward handling. “Mr. Striker, give us an opening, clear that deck!”

“Aye, Captain,” Ezra Striker replied with a salute vaulting over the railing of the quarterdeck landing amongst a furiously bustling crew of sea soaked men. “Hold fast, mates, keep on the guns and aim high,” he shouted taking a musket from a gun rack against the rear mast. “Take out those sails!”

Ezra was a younger, colored man with well worn features and a few golden piercings in his face. A mess of long dred locks whipped and threw themselves about as he moved. He had dark blue eyes both with a fierce expression. He was shirtless with only a worn brown vest hung open over his muscular torso. Various tattoos graced the skin of his left arm and right pectoral. His dirty trousers were bound to his waist by a stripped sash and belt carrying a single saber and four flint-lock pistols. He wore no boots on his feet, just linen bindings.

Mackenny's ship, The Furrie, ripped through the waves alongside an English frigate, who was quickly losing speed from the onslaught of it's hunter's cannons. The Furrie was built similarly to the frigate, with a second row of cannons under the main deck. It's hull was stained ebony by the excess gunpowder, but the wash of the sea against the hull allowed for the dark tones and crimson accents to show through. Crimson sails billowed in the coursing wind, untattered and crisp as the day they were first stitched. The Furrie's figurehead was of a winged ram skull with chains drawn back into the fore-peak and ramming head, which bore through any wave it came across.

Mackenny pulled the wheel towards their quarry. “Ease off the wind, they are giving way!” he shouted drawing one of his two sabers slung from his belt alongside two other pistols.

Jasper Mackenny was a younger man, face barely touched with age. His deep brown eyes sat low under a sturdy brow. His auburn hair was long, sweeping off his shoulders under a crimson bandana and three cornered hat. He wore a loose stained untied white shirt tucked into two belts and dirty trousers that came down and into leather boots. A long grayed coat completed his ensemble with a belt over his right shoulder carrying two flint locked pistols on his chest, one at his hip, and one slung behind his shoulder.

The English frigate was not prepared for the brush of the hull of the Furrie. The crew of the HMS Dalton lost hold of their rigging and the sails rung free from their bearings. From the impact, the ship began to turn and flee at a very slow pace from the Furrie. Explosive barrels were released from the stern in order to deter the Furrie from giving chase for a moment.

Mackenny turned the ship away from the floating bombs and pulled the ship completely around. He looked from his helm at the ship slowly drifting away with the current nearing a tall rock formation protruding from the water. The sun yet sat high in the sky though slowly making it's way westward over the water. The sea caught the water and cast itself over the scene of the burning and disoriented ship fleeing the Furrie.

A beautiful woman with dirty blonde hair and green eyes made her way quickly up the steps to the quarterdeck. Her face was young and fair with full lips and raised cheek bones. She was dressed in a dark colored corset with loose white sleeves and a necklace around her neck. Her three quarter length trousers ended just above her leather boots. On her hip was a wide belt carrying two pistols and an empty saber sling, she held the saber in her hand.

She approached Jasper removing a three corner hat with a large feather from her head and placed a hand on his right side laying her head on his left shoulder. “What now, Captain?” she asked looking up at him with bright eyes. “Don't tell me the infamous Captain Mackenny is going to let this uarry escape.”

Jasper looked at the woman with a warm smile. “Of course not,” he said. “Tonight we shall drink and revel in the spoils of this catch!” He took hold of the wheel turning the ship towards its quarry. “All hands to stations, ready the grapples and the mortar, Mr. Striker.”