text: He burped. Not very loud, as he was struggling to keep straight, but the stench of alcohol made it clear he’s been here for a while. &#x200B; “Ye know, kid, many a seaman think a capn’ should fight better ‘gainst his old ship, but every capn’ knows better. Some good sea dogs might think his captain pities the ship, but that ain’t it. Mates and masters start to get it, aye, but only capn’s fully grasp it: ships be jealous. They ain’t a little, no, they got pangs o’ jealousy, they’re wretches. Been a first mate meself, only twice I seen the hardiest men wet themselves over easy battles. Capitain Hecter himself got near dead when fighting old Margahole with the Gray Shroud. Now, Margarita at her prime was a sight to see, but even then it would hardly be a match to the Shroud - those gray sails were something else, and that fleetness while carrying those cannons was something uncanny. Margarita was abandoned after a successful raid got her slow and bruised.” &#x200B; He took another gulp. Went down like water. &#x200B; “We was ready and thinking none too stupid to face us, and that old tub showed up, more holes than a doily and not even all the cannons there. Capn’ knew it better than his own arse, so we thinking, eh, that should be easy. Then I saw ‘im piss heself, right there, white and frozen as if not in a hot Caribbean noon. What I wasn’t seeing was the nimble the Margarita got. I swear you she looked like the holes were fixed, though we could still see’em all there. And cannons fired far as we never could and damn, they got good too. Captain Hecter lost his left arm before we ploughed our first ball in her broadside. By the end of the day, Captain had lost his legs too, and the Gray Shroud took a beating like it fought a man-o’-war. And that’s why Sir Hecter got his rum company. The captain has always been good with rum, made his own stuff and knew what we seamen liked, and it was a better trade for one without legs. But I digress. Here, kid, I was to talk about jealousy.” &#x200B; He spit at the ground and took such a large gulp it looked like he drank air. &#x200B; “Thar be a ship called Ivory. Or was it? Nah, the Elephant. Ah, hell, what do we care. She traded in ivory, raided mostly, I be calling her Elephant. Thing’s worth a fortune. Ivory I mean. Done Capn’ Cyril filthy rich. But riches be good for none when ye time’s come. Mayhaps be bad, even. Make’em stop seeing. And when’em see no more, crap happens. See, Capn’ Cyril was a first class raider. Heard o’ some nice guns up in America and came for grabs. Sailed north all the way to the summer ice ‘fore ‘em, and found some nice ship flying the Union Jack there too slow and too protected for her own good. Had to be it. A damn bloody massacre ensued, ‘cause Cyril wain’t no brave fool. He got ‘em at night and rid himself of a few lighter scouts before they could even see ‘im. After hearing the boom, they ran, but none too quick. The Elephant sunk a frigate before all were at their posts, but the others got ready and sailing and shooting. Quite a load of iron flying everywhere, the frigates shooting and a galleon fleeing, but those dark sails made the Elephant nigh invisible at night. Cyril got a frigate to shoot the other, and mercilessly broadsided the survivor. The last frigate stood blocking the way to the galleon, or was it a carrack?, and was so violently rammed down when trying to shoot that even the cannons went flying. And that’s when the boom came” &#x200B; He got the bottle again and started swigging like it was fresh water after he was stranded and rescued, and no one could tell if not for the smell of rum. “Whoa, easy there!”, I said. &#x200B; “Bollocks. No use in easy, kid. Ye be no legend if facing easy, innit? And Cyril seen raining fire. Agh.Bloody mess, worst than me. Elephant be lit then, I’ll be damned, but wasn’t stopping none. No, none. Bloody sailors musta pissed’emselves. But shoot and boom and raining fire once more. Cyril seen mortars, but not that. That be witchcraft, thar be something in the carrack. So see he must and see he did. He was taking a beating, aye, but he was reaching her alright. A few well aimed angels and the main mast was down. Galleon was already slow, took all she had to keep moving, snail like and at all. Course they reach ‘er, and they beat ‘er, and they board ‘er. Bloody mess kept on and on and on, and gunpowder and steel were loud as a party, a damn long party. I know nay how many died from Cyril’s crew, but none Bretons live to tell, none but a prisoner kept there who thought a miracle she got released. She was a scoundrel, aye, but hell if any knows what she did to be locked. But Cyril, oh she got him good. He was flying high after that victory, but the wench made him forget all. ‘Course he got all that treasure and them guns, but the wench got to warm his bed every single day after. That’s when he made the big mistake. He told the whole crew they were to be wed. And the first mate would be the one to wed them. Now the first mate was a wary fellow, and though burly as can be, he was in no way a stupid man. He tried to warn off the captain against such a thing, saying he’s never seen a successful ship driven by a married couple, but Captain Cyril was having none of it. So it was, kid, and they wed. That night the mate sure as hell was the last one sober, and the only to see what looked like a gale starboard. He thanked God almighty they were anchored, and went to see the night’s watch. The crow’s nest was empty.” &#x200B; He drank again, finishing the bottle. By the looks of it, there wasn’t much left. &#x200B; “The watch was pissed drunk and passed out on the deck. Oh he was gonna taste some flogging, aye, but that was matter for the morrow. Some storm forming starboard and some dark heavy feeling made the mate as restless as he felt the sails to be, raised as they were. Then they weren’t. Ship was shaking and no one on the wheel, sails suddenly down and you could swear the anchor had never been dropped. Ship began to turn and sail windward, into the storm, and better than if the first mate himself was driving ‘er. Things happened fast, and no one could help but to hear a devilish cry, as if some angered, betrayed woman had just enacted her furious revenge. And right in the middle of the storm, it was all anyone could do to hold on. The mate was the first to be thrown overboard, as the Elephant used the very wheel he was struggling to control to overpower him. He surfaced and caught his breath in time to see the just married lass being hurled to nothingness, and the ship calming as if a furious beast giving up life after a rough hunt. No one could control the ship in that storm. The only one able was at water, now maybe half a league away. They crashed and sunk right there, cursed by their own vessel, and not a single one of those souls was free from her curse. The mate wrote it all in a letter and threw it in a bottle to sea, and that’s how me grandpa learned of the tale. Said he died soon after.” &#x200B; He actually managed to sip something more from that bottle. &#x200B; “So, kid, hear this: sail north of the Jack Bay close to Little Inagua at the wrong time and ye might still hear their screams in the storm. And don’t dare go near ‘em, else they’ll drag you with’em. There always a red lightning coming from that hellish ghost weapon they stole, and you can’t hide, as the captain’s always searching the sea around for that lass he lost. Now you know, kid. I’m getting another bottle. Wait for me here, ‘twas nice talking and I got a few stories more to share. Damn rum can’t keep me drunk for a full minute anymore. One day I hope I’ll remember the name of the ship.” &#x200B; “Don’t try too hard,” I said, “or you might have a stroke.” Once he was gone, I walked away. He seemed indeed incapable of keeping drunk for long or ceasing to talk. Sure he’ll find someone else to bother with his lies and won’t even notice it’s not me. Captain Hecter’s first was actually called Slingshot, a quick and steady brigantine. The jealous ship was called Lady Margatia, after Captain Cyril’s mother. Good thing its name’s been forgotten. There were survivors from the galleon raid, else he wouldn’t have this tale to tell as I never wrote about it. He also got the shipwreck place wrong, but Lady Margatia is indeed jealous and never much liked waiting, so before she wondered, it was time I moved.