Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger (Book 1)

Barbossa and the Storm

Chapter Eighteen -- Barbossa and the Storm

"T'were many years past," Barbossa began, "when I crewed fer Henry Morgan. We had made prize of a brigantine, an' Morgan sent me over with ten others t' take her to an inlet towards the west fer cleanin', while he cruised t' Jamaica t' make a good market with the rest of our booty." I felt a small glow of admiration as I looked at him, imagining him younger, but still with his commanding ways; so skilled and trusted that the great Henry Morgan gave him charge of the brigantine.

"At first, we sailed with a fresh breeze, but the next day the glass began t' fall, an' by afternoon, t'were well-nigh unreadable. All this time, the wind were blowin' louder an' louder through the riggin', whinin' at first, but it came on at last like a thousand madmen howlin' with rage. Ye never heard a sound like it. T'is a noise like the voice of a Fury speakin' t' ye – it knows where y' are, an' it calls ye by yer own name, threatenin' an' cursin' ye," he said in a tone that made me shudder uneasily.

"The waves were breakin' higher an' higher, comin' at us from every direction; and as the tops rolled over an' crashed all round us, they made a loud, boomin' noise like the storm was cannonadin' the ship with great guns. The wind was tearin' at the tops o' the waves, sendin' foam an' spray flyin' through the air; but it strikes ye like serpents' teeth bitin' ye, or scores o' sharp nails bein' hammered into yer skin, on account o' the force o' the wind.

"We could scarce hear our own voices as we shouted t' each other, an' with the canvas all torn to flinders there weren't naught t' be done. All our cargo tore loose," he said, waving his hand at the crates battened to the deck of the Pearl. "The boxes and barrels on deck went t' smash' all around us, with pieces of iron an' wood flyin' like daggers through the air. Some o' the men lashed themselves t' the masts, an' we all held fast fer our lives, cursin' the luck that brought us t' this, an' knowin' our time was up."

So they had all despaired of their lives, I mused, even this bold and daring man standing beside me. And he knew, as I did, what it felt like to face violence utterly beyond one's control. He must have felt so helpless, so filled with dread, as if Death itself had become master of his ship.

I nestled my hand a bit closer in his.

He hesitated a moment before recounting the next event. "One o' me mates," he told me, "An old seadog, lost his head as he stood on deck. A barrel stave took it off, neat as a cleaver." He paused and stole a quick glance at me. "Then the wind swept his headless body from the ship an' away into the storm."

I was sick with horror from his description of this waking nightmare, and also from the realisation that Barbossa himself could have met the same end.

He went on, calmly recounting the final destruction of his ship and crew. "More men was carried off the ship by the wind, flyin' into the sky like eiderdown. I held on t' a hatch cover as the ship broke apart an' was flung into the foamy water. I was that near t' drownin', with so much water in the air ye could hardly draw breath." He shook his head, frowning as though barely able to credit his own survival.

"I managed t' keep afloat, though I thought meself lost to the sea. I hung on t' the main hatch cover until I could drag meself onto it an' float, half in the water, and too battered t' notice that the ocean was drawin' down a bit, hour by hour. That night, the sea spewed me up on a small island. I couldn't shift meself from where the storm tide had dropped me, so dead tired that I fell asleep where I lay. I had nothin' with me from the brigantine, and all her hands killed or drowned except me."

I concentrated my gaze on his hand, thankful that he had survived.

"The next day I took stock o' me situation an' thought I would be endin' me days in that very spot. I had no provisions nor means of escape, an' with each breath I could number the ribs that was cracked by the storm. Me hip and leg were twisted about," he turned to me with a bitter smile, "an' now ye know how Barbossa got his limpin' stride. All in all, I was a sad damned dog, starvin' an' waitin' t' die."