The Pirate Morgan

 

Allen stood upon the prow of “ The Cerberus” with a serene expression crossing his face. The rising sun blazed citrus orange upon the deep aqua water of the Caribbean, creating the most majestic scene ever to grace God's Earth. A strong wind blew the salty sea air into Allen's sun-baked face and whipped around his mop of deep chocolate brown hair. His eyes were as green as the tossed sea and twinkled with an inexhaustible light of joy and passion. He watched this feat of nature every morning and found it more beautiful every time than the day before. He considered it an atrocity that some went their whole lives without watching this miracle.

“ What a pity.” he whispered to the ocean.

“Captain!”

Allen swung around a rope and landed upon the main deck, Steven, his first mate, was waiting for him. Steven wasn't a small man by any means; he bore a belly that suggested he was overly fond of rum and loved his roast pork. His beard hung down to his broad chest and his hair was flecked with steel gray. He was the only man over forty on the ship.

“ What ho Steven! What brings you up here so early?”

Steven looked about a bit nervously at the calm ocean. “ There be rumors of prates hunting these passages sir.”

They held each others gaze fro a moment before breaking out into wide smiles and Allen laughed loudly, the sound amplified across leagues of crystal water.. Allen clapped his closest friend on the shoulder and gazed up at the ebony Jolly Roger flag flapping violently in the strong wind.

“ It wouldn't due to run into any of that sort now would it.” Allen chuckled. He walked down below decks and flipped over one of the hammocks, with the crew member still soundly snoring inside of it.

“ Wake up you lazy dogs! Suns blazing above and the ship still smells like rotten fish! Get moving before I keel haul ya!” Allen shouted along the ship.

The young crew obeyed rapidly. All sixty of them rushed out of bed and out on the deck and began the various duties. Some tripped over their bare feet and others slammed against the wall and fell to ran over by their fellows. Allen was known as one of the greatest swordsmen in the Caribbean, and he wasn't known for being kind.

Allen just smiled and sighed. His reputation as sinister and malicious was completely uncredited, but only two men on the ship knew that. Steven of course, and the gunner, James. They had met on the crossing from England several years ago when Allen had been at the young age of eighteen, and full of dreams.

Allen rubbed his shoulder where whipping scars still showed angry white across his back. Their former captain was a ruthless old viper who had taken out his frequent bouts of rage upon his crew. Pushed beyond all decency a man may have, Allen led a mutiny against the captain and took the ship, defeating the captain himself and shoving him off on the nearest little cay possible with a couple of his loyalist. He smiled at the memory of the many rich persons from England, fattened by too much food and drunken from too much wine in all their lace and wigs, forced to survive on that little island. He had seen to it that they were on a frequent shipping lane, so they had probably been rescued.

The ship they had captured was an ugly old sloop. Board creaking, hull leaking, and sails holed, it was possibly the most disgraceful ship ever to sail the seas, but, with a little ingenuity and bravery and a shipload of luck, Allen and his original crew managed to capture the fearsome frigate “ The Cerberus” and sink the old sloop. That was the start of his illustrious three year adventure as a pirate. Allen had fought Spanish conquistadors, French musketeers, English fencers, and a vast array of blood thirsty bounty hunter as well as other pirates and had come through it all victorious. The sacking of Tortuga and the changing of it to a free port was possibly the most lucrative endeavor, but the greatest was the sinking of the Marquises De Raphen. That was a matter of personal revenge that stretched back to when Allen had been but a child.

Three years later, Allen dropped off at Tortuga and holed up for a year to let some of the heat that he had acquired blow over, and to pursue a love that he had found there as well. He could not win her over some count coming from England though, and he found life rather dreary at port. He had missed the toss of the sea beneath his feet and the songs of his crew. So he took his ship and found a whole new crew. Steven and James had followed him and they had once again put themselves out into the great blue plain of the ocean.

It had been a long thirteen month voyage and it had been quite successful, as the gold, silver, gems, and goods stowed below stated. They were now sailing to Tortuga once more for a few weeks at port to resupply and sell off some of the useless items. Allen shook his head and walked above deck.

“Full canvas” he shouted. The canvas was unfurled and the blazing, crimson Dragon insignia illuminated the white sails. The morning gales instantly snapped the canvas full and sped them along, cutting a swath into the glassy ocean. Allen breathed a sigh of contentment as the ship obeyed his commands like a loving dog. He fell into the sway of the ocean and the wind whipping across his face.

“ Sails to East!” shouted the watchman up high in the crows nest.

“ How far are they Wailand?” shouted Steven.

“ About one mile sir, and closing fast!”

Indeed, there were bright sales off to the East . A small murmur was rising from the crew. A ship usually meant plunder, and lesser pirates usually ran with their tales between their legs at the sight of the crest on the main sail.

“ Can you identify it Wailand?” Allen shouted up the rigging.

“ Sir..............It's Morgan's ship sir!” Wailand said with a tremble in his loud voice.

The little murmur of joy became a large protest of fear and panic. Henry Morgan was the most powerful pirate ever to sail the seas. The crew looked to their own famous captain. Allen was standing silent and rigid. He showed no emotions openly on his face, but his insides were turning to liquid and his hands were shaking. Morgan had nearly killed him on their last encounter, and Allen the Dragonheart did not want to replay that deadly situation.

“ Load the guns! To battle stations! Prepare to fight and board!” he shouted with an even voice with so much calm that he surprised himself. The crew moved rapidly to follow the stern orders. Allen stood beside Steven as the guns were ready and Morgan's ship came ever closer.

Allen had his cutlass on his hip and a brace of pistols in his belt. Morgan's ship was barely fifty meters apart and well within cannon shot, but Morgan kept closing. Jason breathed in deep to give the order to fire the twenty guns along the port side of the ship, but a touch on his shoulder checked him before he said anything. He turned to see a pale faced Allen staring at him intently.

“ Hold until my command. Trust me.”

Jason cast a questioning glance at his friend and captain but held his tongue. Allen had only checked his order three times before, but all of those time Allen had saved their lives where Jason would have caused a severe miss.

The enemy ship was so close now, that it was possible to see the enemy crew scurrying like a swarm of roaches across their deck. Morgan's ship spat fire at “The Cerberus”. The cannon balls slammed into the ship with a sickening crunch of wood and metal. Almost everyone was knocked to the deck but Allen stood, swaying with the ship. Soon, the boarding party of Morgan's ship was preparing to swing over. They were about to come when Allen yelled.

“Fire All!”

“The Cerberus” lurched mightily as all twenty guns fired at Morgan. The men that were swinging upon their boarding ropes were sent flying into the water's below, and the ship's cannons were knocked off aim and loading interrupted. The deck level cannons upon “ The Cerberus” were reloaded quickly and Allen commanded his men to be ready to board.

“Fire deck guns!” Allen shouted. The deck cannons fired at such a time that, while Allen's own men were swinging over, that the whole of Morgan's crew was dropped to the deck or knocked off the deck entirely. Allen's crew landed quickly and flourished their swords and drew their guns. The fight started before the crew even knew it, but the young men upon his Allen's crew did not have the skill or experience to match with Morgan's hardened crew. Another man swung over unnoticed while the brawl went on. He drew his sword silently and thrust it into the back of an enemy crewman dueling a friend. The man fell to the deck with a shocked expression on his face and his opponent ran off to find another man to kill.

Allen strode across the deck easily, hiding his face beneath a hood of a cloak that whipped out behind him. He held his cutlass loosely and kept a hand on the hilt of one of his pistols. Another swordsman came rushing at him with the same fiery bloodthirst in his eyes. The desperate lunge to take Allen by sheer speed came right out.

Allen frowned in disgust and swayed easily out of the way of the long, rusted blade. He contemptuously thrust his own blade into the overbalanced novice. He retracted his blade and flicked the blood off the blade. He didn't even look back as he heard the dead man slump to the deck. It was a sound he heard a thousand times by now.

He pulled his flint lock pistol and squeezed the trigger. The gun kicked back in his hand and a man fell dead of to the side, freeing up one of his crew from his own struggle with death. The man, Carter by name, tipped his fingers in salute to his captain and went back into the throng of bodies to find another fight. Allen's other pistol came out quick to fire into a crowd of men charging out from below deck. One of them fell dead and tripped up the others.

Allen came on in a dazzling offensive. He had picked up another blade and was easily spinning them around the staggering men, knocking their off balanced attacks aside and cutting away at any unguarded flesh that they found. He twisted and turned as thrusts came in and his blades came back across to send out his own thrust to either side. Two more men went down with gaping holes in their chests to join the mounds of bodies that fell at the twin blades of Allen Dragonheart.

One man now stood in front of him with a broad-bladed sword, quite a bit broader than the twin cutlasses that Allen held in his hands. He could hear his breath coming in quick pants. The mounds of men on either side of himself were a testimony of his skill, but they had succeeded in scoring a few minor nicks and bruises on him. A large gash in his hip bled continuously. He looked down at it and at the blood dripping onto the deck. He smiled wearily at the proof of his own mortality.

While keeping one blade up and one eye upon his enemy, Allen tore a strip off of his shirt and tied it tightly around himself. He covered the wound as best he could with it an applied as much pressure as possible. He grunted in pain, but never let any more than that cross his face.

Once he was done, he faced his enemy with both of his blades held up. They circled closely and slowly, never letting their guard down and never making a move against one another. A desperate crewman broke out of the battle and charged at Allen's opponent. He didn't make it very close before the man's sword shifted and went up, across, and back into his guard position. The charging crewman fell to the ground in two pieces. His head in one place, and his body in another. Allen flicked his eyes down upon the decapitated trunk of the man and back to his opponent. The man was skilled, and fast with that deceptively huge blade.

The man smiled and charged fiercely bringing his sword down in a wild hack. Allen's blades crossed in front of him to intercept his sword easily, but the weight of the blow numbed his arms. Allen parted his blades, letting one fall low while the other thrust high towards the man's shoulder, but the large blade deflected the thrust while sending one to Allen's midsection. Allen twisted, wincing when the wrenching pain in his side flared. They fought for what seemed like ages. Attacking each other with increasingly complex patterns of swordplay, but neither one of them able to break each others defenses. Finally, arms burning and numb, side bleeding profusely, Allen sent his blades into a double thrust low which was caught by a perfect parry, but Allen changed his grip upon his blades and flicked them down onto his enemy's hands. The edge was not in the way, but the flat's struck the tough skin of his enemy's hands, knocking the blade from his grasp. Allen brought his blade to a stand still at his opponent's neck.

`However, Allen had not won. He stood with a blade at his opponent's neck,but his enemy stood with a pistol inches away from Allen's face. He went cross-eyed staring at the muzzle of the gun and dropped his swords. A shot fired close by and Allen fell into darkness.

He awoke in a stately cabin aboard a ship. He could tell because he could still feel the flowing of the sea below him. A man held out a bottle to him.

“ Rum helps with headaches.” he said gruffly. Allen accepted the bottle and signaled his thanks. He popped the cork from the bottle and took a long drought of the strong liquid. He sighed and moved to an empty chair that his host had motioned to.

“ So you are the infamous Allen Dragonheart hm?” the man asked as he took a sip from a glass of wine that was in front of him.

“ That I am, and now I want to ask you something. Why am I alive and aboard this vessel?”

“ You are alive because I wish it. You are aboard my vessel because yours happens to be at the bottom of the ocean. All of the plunder in it aside of course.” said the man clearly and calmly.

Allen sat back, an empty husk of his former animation. He felt as if the earth had fallen out from beneath him and he had fallen into hell. His ship, and most likely his crew, were sunk and dead, and here was a man assuring him that his plunder was safe.

“ What are you so aghast for mate? I thought you would enjoy the fact you still had your plunder” said the man inquisitively.

“ You be cursed to the depths.” Allen whispered in reply.

“ Hmm. So it was the ship?” the man asked.

“It was. It was mainly the crew. They served me faithfully to a one and you blew them to Davy Jones!” Allen yelled at him, standing tall from his seat. The man just eyed him for a moment before motioning for him to sit. Allen did so.

“ I can't apologize for what I did, but I can explain. My name is Henry Morgan.” he said and paused to watch the myriad off expressions play across Allen's face and then resumed. “ I attacked because I heard that you were one of the best next to myself..........”

“ And you wanted to get rid of the competition” Allen cut him off with a snarl.

“ No! I did it because I need a replacement!” Morgan shouted. Allen was confounded, it must have showed upon his face well because Morgan smiled. “ I made a deal with some.......... different sorts of beings that Henry Morgan would sail the oceans forever. This pact was completely binding in every sense, but I am known for my ability to find a loophole in any situation.”

“ The pact never said I would have to sale forever. It simply said that Henry Morgan had to. So you take my name, I take a different name, and you sail your fill and pass it off to someone else that can take on the duties of the name.”

“ So, you retire and I become you. A bit confusing and a sorry excuse for killing my men.” Allen replied coldly.

“ There was one man that survived. If you want I can have him brought in” Morgan said roughly.

“Yes”

Morgan grunted and went out the door. There was a shout and a jostling sound at the door as a young man in his teens was forced into the room. His dark hair splayed across his face and fear sparking in his blue eyes. Allen knew the man. It was Steven's son Jack. His dark hair and pale face reminded Allen of his father and a raven or another sort of bird.

Allen stood and said.

“ Be still sailor. Do you want to sail as your father did. Answer me now!”

Jack looked at the floor and then squared his shoulders and looked Allen straight in the face. He then said.

“ Yes sir!”

Allen nodded at the exclamation.

“ Welcome aboard.”

At Tortuga, Henry Allen disembarked forever and Morgan picked up an entirely new crew. Henry Morgan sailed to the Caribbean his sea green eyes twinkling and chocolate hair blowing across his face. To this very day, it is said that a Henry Morgan still sails the seas. With many faces, voices, ships, and personalities, but the same Henry Morgan.

Author's Note

Any comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.