Black Sam - Prince of Pirates

Fifteen - SET SAIL

Fifteen-SETSAIL

August 1716

Sam sat in the captain’s cabin writing by candlelight. He carefully penned out a page of text and then folded the letter. At the seam of the folded parchment, Sam dripped hot black wax and pressed it with his ring. In the seal, a single Scottish thistle was now embossed. He waved the letter back and forth to cool it. He stood, threw on his coat, and dropped the letter in his outer pocket.

On the top deck, the crisp, bright new sun had just made its way above the horizon and shimmered across the calm morning sea. Sam had been on the ship since before dawn, eager to take up his new role as captain of the Isle of Lewis. Paulgrave had purchased the vessel from an old sailor originating from Scotland. Sam fell in love with the ship the moment he heard its name. He felt a certain kinship to anything that hailed from his Great Britain. He had left his homeland to get away from her politics, not her soil.

Sam put his hands on the bulwarks and felt the worn wood sliding an appreciative palm across its grain. With the sun warming his face, he looked up to take in the beauty of the morning. One would need to exert considerable effort to be unhappy in this moment. He looked over his ship, getting to know her before the other men arrived.

He stood by the wheel, fingers feeling the worn wood grain of each handle. Although nervous, he was ready and anxious to head out to sea. Sam had dreamed about this day since his father had taken him on his first voyage as a boy. The clouds in the sky formed into familiar shapes. However, the imagery that fed his dreams as a child of becoming Captain he no longer needed. Today he would realize that dream. With that realization, came a sense of responsibility. The success and safety of this ship and her crew rested solely in his hands.

Pulling out a handkerchief, he dabbed the perspiration from his forehead. It seemed to have warmed up rather quickly. His throat tightened as his stomach muscles contracted. He moved to the side and leaned over the rail. The heave was so violent he expected to see his insides launch into the sea. After losing his breakfast, he wiped his mouth with the handkerchief and looked around the dock. All clear.

He wiped his damp palms on his coat, took a deep breath, and tried to calm his nerves. His men would need a leader, someone from whom they could draw strength and rely on. From his pocket, he pulled out the letter he had written. He studied it for a moment then looked toward the middle of the boardwalk.

A short, middle-aged man was just arriving at a small podium where he would conduct the comings and goings of all ships.

Sam stood on the dock facing the soft, stocky man behind the podium. “Pardon me, Sir.”

The man looked at Sam with a stone face over his spectacles. “Yes?”

“My name is Samuel Bellamy.” He offered his hand.

The agent looked at it then back at Sam. “What do you want, Mr. Bellamy?”

“I’ll get right to the point Mr.…?”

The agent rolled his eyes. “Pintelute.”

“Mr. Pintelute, I’m leaving on a voyage this morning.”

“You don’t say.” Mr. Pintelute adjusted his spectacles.

Sam ignored the obvious sarcasm. “I was hoping you could deliver a letter for me.” He handed the letter to the man.

“Oh yes! I would love nothing more than to take time out of my busy schedule to deliver this letter, for a man I hardly know, to a person I know not at all.” The man looked down at the podium and shuffled the bills of shipping.

Sam dropped three coins in front of the man. The sullen Mr. Pintelute snatched them up, shoving them in his pocket.

“And where would you like it to be delivered?” The port agent asked with a fresh and cheerful disposition.