My Strange Adventure at Sea
by James Rumpel
part 1
I approached the door of The Skull and Bones Inn, stepped over the motionless body of a drunken sailor and hoped that alcohol was the cause of his comatose state and not some form of physical violence. Of course, my foot landed in a puddle, soaking my newly purchased high boots. I looked completely out of place among the ruffians and buccaneers of the city’s port section. I was of noble birth and a graduate of Oxford. Merely donning the garb of the local denizens would not suffice to cover my noble demeanor.
It had cost me a great deal of money to obtain the location and password to this particular establishment, but this was my chance to prove my father wrong, to show him that I could make a name for myself as a writer. I knocked twice, paused, and then twice again. The door opened slightly, wisps of smoke and a few unidentifiable smells slipped through the opening as well as a gravelly voice. “What do you want?” it asked.
“The sea calls to me,” was my rehearsed reply. I noticed a distinct crack in my voice.
The door swung open and a burly gentleman wearing a stained shirt motioned for me to enter. He looked at me suspiciously.
“What brings you here?” he asked.
“I have come to talk to Captain Hook. I have a proposition for him.”
The man laughed: “I don’t think he would be interested in anything you have to offer.”
I opened my mouth to reply before the hidden meaning of his statement dawned on me. I readjusted my response. “He could find my offer very profitable, and it will not be a difficult task.”
“Hold on. I will see if the man you’re looking for is here.” He gestured toward a filthy table near the door. I took a seat, trying my best to avoid touching the grimy surface with the sleeves of my new white blouse. My greeter went to the back of the establishment and knocked on that wall’s lone door. I watched as he carried on a conversation with whoever was on the other side. After a couple of minutes, the man returned, shaking his head.
“I don’t know why, but he’ll see you. Follow me.”
* * *
I found Captain Hook to look exactly as the stories described him. His bushy dark beard had just a touch of gray. His left eye, the one not covered by a black patch, was blue as the ocean itself. I found myself staring at his hook hand and his peg leg more than was socially acceptable. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind.
“Have a seat,” he called, pushing a wench from the chair beside him. “So, how can a fine dandy of a man like ye fill my coffers?”
Even though I had practiced my pitch many times, I found myself stuttering and stammering in the presence of the pirate legend. Eventually, I got the words out. “I am an author. I want to write a book about your glorious exploits. You are a bit of a hero to many people. They would love to know your story.”
Hook’s laugh echoed throughout the room. I searched for some clue as to whether it was a laugh of amusement or one of derision. “The truth isn’t always exciting or pretty, me boy. How does your book make me money? And how do I know ye will represent me interests positively?”
“I promise to give you seventy-five percent of all profits from the sale of my book. I don’t need the money; I need the fame and reputation that the book will provide. As far as representing you in a positive light, I guarantee it. You can have input into everything I write.” The smile hadn’t left Hook’s face since we had begun our conversation. I took it as a good sign.
“Oh, I like the idea of me exploits being written for all to see. But I don’t think it’s fair that I should have to do the telling and ye simply relaying me stories. I like ye, lad. Ye showed a lot o’ spine coming here. Let’s see how much ye really have. Here’s me deal. Ye can write your book and I will take eighty percent of the profits. However, ye won’t be retelling what I tell you, ye will be tellin’ what ye see with yer own eyes. Ye will accompany me on me next voyage. If ye survive, I promise ye will have a jolly good tale to tell.”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m not much of a seaman. I—”
He stopped me, placing his hook against my chest. “Ye either agree to join us on our little voyage or I’ll let me men decide what to do with someone who trespasses into our private sanctuary.”
A dozen sailors had gathered around the table. I had no choice. “I... I... would love to join you on your next voyage. When do we leave?”
* * *
A week later, I sat in my small corner of the mate’s cabin. Hook had given me a barrel to use as a table and a smaller keg to serve as my chair. The first five days of the voyage had been uneventful and, quite honestly, boring. I had managed to write a few paragraphs about the duties of a pirate ship captain and crew. I was certain it was not the type of material that was going to produce the sales I hoped for. Perhaps my father was correct. Maybe I should have given up my dream of writing and joined him in his architectural business, not that he would ever let me forget my failure if I crawled back to him.
It was too late to get out of this adventure so I made the most of it. I would, occasionally, make my way onto the deck of The Marauder but the sneers and jibes of the crew members made such excursions quite unenjoyable. The men did not like me or my presence on their vessel. The captain, on the other hand, was much more hospitable. He spent a couple of the evenings regaling me with tales of previous adventures. He never did share how he had managed to lose an eye, a leg, and a hand, and I lacked the courage to ask.
I watched Hook intently that first week. I observed his interaction with his crew. He was strict and demanding but, at the same time, able to create a mood of companionship. The crew seemed honestly to enjoy his company. They would laugh at his jokes with honest laughs, not the pseudo-chuckles of my father’s employees. I shook my head at the thought that my father was more of a despot than the Scourge of the Seven Seas.
Hook reminded me of my father or, more precisely, what I wished my father would be. In my short time on The Marauder, I came to respect the pirate captain, even admire him.
On that cloudy afternoon, I was busy trying to make my description of the previous night’s sighting of a shiver of sharks sound more interesting than it actually was. Not only was I having difficulty finding the proper words, but it was also a challenge to put pen to paper in a neat and readable manner. The never-ending rocking of the ship made that task nearly impossible.
I had just crumbled up and tossed aside another sheet of parchment when one of the crewmen stuck his head into my chamber. “Capt’n wants to see you. We’re about to hoist ol’ Roger.”
I followed the sailor without a word.
Captain Hook noticed me the moment I stepped on deck. “Come here, lad. Ye are gonna have a story to tell after today.” He handed me his spyglass and waved his hook toward the sea.
It took me a while to focus the small telescope but, eventually, I found a ship sailing parallel to our vessel.
“That be a merchant ship. Most likely headin’ to the Indies to trade for spice and rum. We’re going to board her and gather ourselves a little reward.”
“Wouldn’t you want to wait until its return trip?”
“Oh, lad, think about it. What do we need with spices? We want gold; the gold they have stored in their holds to use to make their purchases. They would not have nearly as much if we waited for their return.”
I returned the captain’s spyglass. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“I want ye to survive to write of me valor. Ye can find a place on the deck, away from the action. Ye just need to watch. When we’ve boarded their ship and it is safe for ye, we’ll bring ye over.”
“What if they fire cannons at us or board our vessel? Don’t you think I should have a weapon of some sort?”
Hook chuckled loudly. “Ye have your pen. There be a sayin’ about pens bein’ mightier than swords. Ye better hope it’s true.”
The merchant ship saw Hook coming and tried to outrun The Marauder. Captain Hook and his crew were too skilled to allow that. They worked in perfect unison, adjusting the sails and using the wind. Before long, it became evident that the merchants were not going to escape. They began firing their cannons.
The battle that ensued was quick and merciless. I spent the entire time huddled behind a pile of crates. I watched as Hook directed the boarding of the merchant vessel. He shouted orders with decisiveness and clarity. The crew obeyed each command instantly. As I cowered in my hiding spot, I started to hear my father’s voice instead of Hook’s. “You’ll never amount to anything. You’re lazy and useless.”
I wanted to prove my father wrong. I considered leaving my hiding place and joining the fray, but I just didn’t have the nerve. I stayed where I was and waited for Hook to come and get me.
When he did, I followed him onto the merchant ship. Most of that ship’s crew, the ones still alive, were bound and gagged on deck.
“What are you going to do with them?” I asked.
“We’ll leave ’em as they be,” replied Hook. “We’ve disabled their ship. Maybe they’ll be found, maybe not. It be up to the seas if they live or die.”
Hook’s men knew where to look, and they needed only a few minutes to ransack the vessel. They took everything of value, including food and clothing. The real prize, however, was the two chests of gold coins they removed from the hold.
The crew had finished carrying the chests to their vessel when a cry came from the crow’s nest. “Two ships coming fast.”
Hook immediately identified the approaching clippers as Royal Navy vessels. Having just concluded a skirmish, Hook decided this was not the time for another confrontation. He ordered his ship to retreat. The deck exploded with activity as sailors stowed the ill-gotten treasures and readied the vessel for a hasty get-away.
Soon, Hook’s ship was pulling away from its pursuers. It appeared that the day’s raid would end with success. That is until another shout came from the crow’s nest. “Two more ships dead ahead.”
We were trapped. Hook quickly turned the vessel and headed away from the additional Royal Navy ships. The Marauder, despite its maneuverability and expert crew, was not going to be able to evade all of its assailants. The first two ships now had the advantage of being able to cut off Hook’s path.
Soon, cannonballs began to rain down on the deck of The Marauder. Hook’s men continued to work the sails despite the devastation around them. I cowered in a corner, as far from the approaching vessels as I could be. Wood splintered and men screamed as cannonballs bounced off the deck or slammed into the side of the ship. Through the chaos, Hook continued to shout orders.
“Hold tight, ye scallywags. I’m takin’ her to Bone Island.” The ship changed course, its new heading putting it directly in the sights of the second pair of ships.
The onslaught from Royal Navy vessels took its toll on The Marauder. Soon the ship began taking on water. I was given a bucket and sent to the lower decks to help bail. It didn’t take me long to realize it was a losing proposition. The ship was sinking and there was nothing we could do about it.
Without warning, the hail of cannonballs ceased. “They be falling back,” shouted a sailor from above.
I continued to help with the water, though I was afraid I could not make much of a contribution. I listened to the crew as they shouted and accessed their situation.
“Why have they stopped?”
“They’re afraid of the Island.”
“As well they should be.”
Hook’s unmistakable voice took over the conversation: “Aye, Bone Island may be cursed but it’s there or Davy Jones’ locker for us. Keep her above water, boys. We’re runnin’ her aground.”
The crew did not appear happy with Hook’s decision, but no one questioned his command. It appeared their fear of Bone Island was not as strong as their respect for their captain.
* * *
The ship barely made it to the sandy beach that bordered Bone Island. It crashed to a stop, sending us tumbling. The lower decks of The Marauder were filled with water. Waves lapped at the sides of the vessel; less than a foot from the spilling onto the main deck.
“Man the lifeboats,” ordered Hook. “We’re goin’ to shore. We’ll come back for anything of use at low tide.”
Soon, I found myself seated in a small dingy, next to a sailor with a mangled arm. I did my best to stabilize the broken bone.
“That’s the best I can do for you,” I said. “I’ll find a way to splint it when we reach the island.”
I was amazed that the sailor could respond. I would have not been able to endure the pain.
“We all be dead men when we reach the island,” said the wounded sailor.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“No one has survived on Bone Island in the last fifteen years. It used to be a nice restin’ spot on long voyages. But now it’s cursed and haunted. No one has stopped there and survived in years. It’s to be avoided at all cost.”
“What are you talking about? It looks like any other island.”
“Does it, now?” He used his good arm to point down the shoreline.
I gasped louder than an adult male should. The skeletal remains of at least a dozen ships lined the shore. Some were split down the middle. Others were peppered with holes the size of horses. The rest were simply piles of water-soaked lumber.
“We be doomed,” added the sailor. His proclamation was hardly necessary.
* * *
Copyright © 2026 by James Rumpel
