A Tall Ship, A Star, and Plunder!

A review of the anthology

A Tall Ship, a Star, and Plunder

 

 

Edited by Robert Krog

Dark Oak Press, 2014, ISBN 978-1-937035-65-4, $14.95

Also available in eBook (ISBN 978-1-937035-67-9, $2.99) and hard cover (ISBN 978-1-937035-66-2, $29.95) formats

This anthology, edited by Robert Krog, has twenty-four tales going back in time to the Vikings and forward to “Future Space.” Encountered along the way are a dragon, ghosts, princes and princesses, a Kraken, and all kinds of pirates.

One story features a Flying Dutchman kind of ghost ship, but seeing this one does not portend a shipwreck. The other ghost story is more topical since it features Blackbeard and the crew of the Queen Anne’s Revenge.

In “Fireflies on the Water” by Michael Krog, we meet a sometime pirate, who drowns his sorrows and becomes an alcoholic. The effect on his spouse and the way she combats his affliction draws to an exciting and dramatic climax.

Another story deals with a sailor whose last horrific experience at sea has him staring into the “Bottom of the Mug” by S. P. Dorning. This tale has definite nightmare potential so beware!

"Mercator" style ship

As a former avid reader of science-fiction, I always enjoy any stories involving time travel. Laura Nelson’s “Rosa and the Pirate,” the one with this element, is also the most piratical tale, in my opinion. Actual pirates on wooden ships attacking and plundering any vessel they can chase down. Altogether a great story I’m sure most will love.

Science-fiction stories about airships, space ships, time travel, and even some “deep” sci-fi was difficult to read, yet entertaining at the same time. It’s refreshing to read a bunch of stories that didn’t all start and finish on a wooden ship, although I was disappointed that only a handful of stories included any plunder-taking or pirates acting like pirates.

If, in fact, the editor’s mission was to find stories by new authors that were in some way “piratical,” I would say he did a great job.

Levassuer in pirate fiction - or fact?

Bernardin de St. Pierre visited Bourbon in 1770, and tells a story about how the French India Company had a factory at St. Denis, and a governor who lived with the pirates (supposedly in great circumspection.)

The Viceroy of Goa, the Comte d'Ericeira, came (on April 8, 1721) to anchor on the road of St Denis, and was to dine with the Governor, M. Desforges Boucher. He had scarcely set his foot on shore before a pirate ship of fifty guns anchored alongside his vessel and took her.
 The pirate captain landed forthwith, and demanded to dine at the Governor's. He seated himself at table between him and the Portuguese Viceroy, to whom he declared that he was his prisoner. Wine and good cheer having put the pirate in good humour, Mons. Desforges Boucher asked him at how much he rated the Viceroy's ransom.


“I must have a thousand dollars,” said the Pirate.
“That is far too little,” said the astute M. Boucher to the Pirate, Oliver Levasseur (surnamed la Buse, of Calais), “for a brave freebooter like your self to accept from a grand lord like the Viceroy. Ask something handsome, or ask nothing.”
 “Well said,” cried the Corsair, “I shall ask nothing; the Viceroy is free to go.”
The Viceroy, says St. Pierre, re-embarked instantly, and set sail, happy at having escaped on such good terms.
Unfortunately the records spoil St. Pierre's good story; for it is related that the crew of the Portuguese ship were landed, as the ransom of two thousand dollars was not forthcoming, and that Capitaine Oliver Levasseur took off the ship, for which act of piracy he was hung subsequently on July 17, 1730, at Bourbon, having failed to get himself included in the amnesty.  
Not long before St. Pierre visited the island the last of these pirates, named Adam, had there died, aged 104 years.

Drury, Robert, Madagascar, or Robert Drury's Journal, during Fifteen Years Captivity on that Island, Printed, and Sold by W. Meadows, at the Angel in Cornhall, F. Marshall, at the Bible in Newgate-streat; T. Worrall, at the Judge's Head in Fleet streat; and by the Author, at Old Tom's Coffee-House in Birchim Lane. MDCCXXIX.

The Unknown Survivor

From Cape Cod Pilot, Jeremiah Diggs, American Guide Series Federal Writer's Project Works Progress Administration for the State of Massachusetts. Sponsored by Poor Richard Associates. Modern Pilgrim Press. Provincetown, MA. 1937, pps. 14-22.

Several years after the wreck (of the Whydah Galley) Rev. Mr. Osborn was making his way up the Cape from Truro when in the darkness he lost the road. Following the dunes in what he thought the right direction, the road at that time ran close to the sea, he suddenly heard loud voices and saw a glimmer of light. He was close to the lonely hut of Goody Hallet, and she was in violent altercation with a villainous looking stranger.

“Hold you tongue, old woman,” He heard the stranger say, “those days at Crosby's Tavern were long ago. You don't resemble the Maria Hallett of then.”

“Aye,” came Goody Hallett's shrill voice, “I Have changed, and Indian Tom did tell me where the booty was hidden. But God's truth! When I searched only a few pieces of gold were left. He didn't tell me it was you, Black Bellamy, who escaped with him from the wreck until the night ne died, nor have I divulged it since.”

“I swore by my sword,” raged Bellamy, “that I would drink a cup with you that night even if I had to sail the WHIDAH over the Great Salt Marshes to do it. Tonight I swear you will show me where the rest of the gold is hidden or I will run you through.”

Goody gave a derisive laugh. “Come, I'll show you where it was, all I ever found has kept me barely alive.”

 

The two left the house and walked towards the shore. Mr. Osborn followed the unfamiliar way and when he reached the bank they were out of sight. He stood listening for voices.

“This is the spot,” he heard Goody say, “where Indian Tom told me I would find the gold, but nothing but rotted leather bags with a few coins stuck in the corners remained.”

“Dig!” roared Bellamy in a voice boiling with anger, “Dig deeper. If you didn't take it it must still be there.”

The noise of dirt and gravel being pushed to one side assailed the minister's ears. He endeavored to reach a place on the bank where he could peer over without being seen. He trembled with the feeling of evil that surrounded the place.

“There you can see for yourself,” cam Goody Hallett's voice triumphantly, “the leathern bags are still here. I have never seen the treasure.”

“You lie, old witch!” cried Bellamy in a passion of rage, “This for your pains!”

Suddenly the listener's blood was chilled by a bubbling shriek! He threw caution to the winds and peered over the bluff. There flat on the sand, arms spread awry, lay Goody Hallett. Black Bellamy had made good his threat. Her throat was cut from ear o ear!

He stepped back and viewed his handiwork. “There,” he roared, “let that be a lesson to ye, Goody Hallett.” Then with a fiendish laugh he ran towards the breakers.

Mr. Osborn waited to see no more, but rushed to his horse and galloped the news to the village. The next day the woods from Wellfleet to Nauset Harbor were combed, but the stranger was not found.

Five days later, his drowned body was picked up at the self same spot on the beach.

That was the end of the case, except that from that to this the reputed treasure has never been found. Either Goody Hallett really did re-hide the whole and was murdered for her pains, or the sea washed it away during the years before Indian Tom acquainted his relative of the hiding place. After heavy storms gold coins were picked up for many years along Goody Hallett's beach, and it seems reasonable that these are what eked out her existence after she stopped knitting for the townswomen.