A Neverland Tale - HOOKED (eng)

Chapter 2.2 - Filou

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All questions asked
All phrases rehearsed
And all chances are given away
We are the last of a world
From which there is no way out
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(1)

Who did not know them: pirates.

The hellhounds of the underworld, plunderers, and bandits of the sea. The rats of the seas who feasted on the possessions of others and then squandered their valuable booty or wages in the harbors, be it in alcohol or women?

Everyone knew the stories of the rough dogs who were dragged by the sea, capable of toiling for many weeks and months at sea and then discovering new islands and plundering the treasures of new or old worlds. No one was safe from them, especially merchant ships were their preferred prey. Richly laden with expensive goods, precious items that were not only gold and silver but also goods such as spices, black powder, or tobacco. Some goods were valuable smuggled goods, which they could sell at even higher prices at the ports.

Since the crown and country levied heavy taxes on many of the cargo items, piracy received a new boost and illegal trade flourished. Everyone seemed to be looking for a way to avoid paying the tax. All legally imported goods were subject to import tax, whether it was tobacco, French wine, or Venetian glass. Thus, many merchant ships increasingly tried to dock somewhere along the coasts instead of in the big ports.... and were forced to leave the more secure sea routes.

Some of the smugglers used other, clever methods. They filled large barrels to the top with salt, together with a little merchandise, and then threw them into the waters of the sea at a chosen spot. The barrels sank to the bottom of the sea and it took hours for the salt to dissolve. When that happened, the barrels would rise again and float on the surface of the water - ready to be collected. The risk was that the current was misjudged or that the precious cargo was picked up by others beforehand. And what was the saying? Flotsam belonged to whoever grabbed it first. Ah, it was a wild, adventurous time. Stories abounded and many children dreamed of a life as a pirate, free of laws and morals, with a saber in their hand and treasures on deserted islands.

Nowhere could these stories be truer and at the same time completely false than in this place. And he had to know it: for HE was a pirate. But among all the pirates, the young man they called 'Filou' might even stand out among the crude characters of the crew. At first glance, most people could only think of one word for him: strange. Strange in the sense of 'somehow not quite fitting in' or 'out of place'. His skin was tanned and testified to many days with little clothing under the direct rays of sunny Neverland. He wore his shoulder-length hair of a raven-black color loose, as was the tradition among his people, and even if the feathers and beads had disappeared from it, his origins were still visible at the latest from the barely faded markings on his copper skin, visible here and there under the white linen shirt.

'Once a Native, always a Native', the pirates of the rough pack of hellhounds under Captain Hook's command had said to him in the beginning and spat disparagingly at his feet. Today, they would probably rather freeze the underworld of their discarded faith before they did that again. Not because the young man spread fear and terror among the crew.... at least not only. It was true- he had grown up among the savages, natives, or even 'Indians'. His appearance would always testify to that. And yet, he had not been a native for a long time. In fact... he probably never really had been. He had never really belonged and never really fit in. Filou, who was still called Cheveyo at that time, had quickly learned that the question 'Why?' was not necessarily received positively in the tribe if one questioned old traditions.