Pirates

This is not like other tales, which begin and end with calm happy places, because storms are not happy. Enjoy the tale if you are able to, and I sincerely hope you will live to hear another. With an ‘ar’ and a ‘humph’ and a jolly shout of glee I wish you a good morning.

And here it be:
Joe Croaker, infamous pirate and all around good egg, rushed on deck. The storm swelled to such an alarming degree that every hand was called. On the Vengeance, no mercy was issued. The waves broke over the helm looking frighteningly ghostlike in the night. Each time they seemed to grow in height and velocity. The wind and rain tore through the mast which the sailors hurriedly fisted. Joe stumbled on deck through the open doorway and glanced about wildly as the rain pelted down. The first mate growled at him:
“Get down with yer fellers old man and pump the water! It is leaking in faster ‘n I should like in this storm. Be gone ye bonehead!”
Followed by curses, Joe leapt down the stairs once more. This time with a speed that made one doubt the gray of his head. It sprinkled his hair and covered his temples which were marked with ever deepening crows feet. In the bottom of the ship, water sloshed about, attempting to knock him off balance.
“There ain’t no hope down here Croaker! The men an’ me beens working, but the water keeps a’comin an’ grows about our shaking knees. Soon we will be a’swimmin! Davy Jones has got us now he has, there ain’t no escaping him. There ain’t!” Billy Boils, a friend on land and sea, stumbled towards him weary and fatigued.
“The Vengeance ain’t worth two pence now. Especially after all the trouble she gave a fortnight ago. We two must dive off before the storm tears us apart!”
They hastily checked to see if their earrings of gold were in their place. They tightened their worn belts and fought their way back up the stairs. Once more on the deck, they headed to the rail. Loose barrels, flying ropes, scrambling men, and crashing waves hindered their way; accompanied by roaring, creaking, groaning, and frantic shouts. Upon reaching their destination, they stopped, looked at each other and nodded their heads resolutely. "Better to go to Davy Jones than to be sent to him." Billy Boils thought to himself while reflecting on the legends that he himself had helped pass on to the younger generation of sailors. The two old seabirds leapt overboard.

As they were tossed by the waves, the two found each other again. Holding fast, they yelled between swells. Suddenly they released and sunk beneath the spray and foam, lower and lower, until the water was somewhat peaceful as they fell to the depths. Billy looked up at the ship battling far above. Croaker wondered how far they would descend. Within the next few moments they reached the ocean floor. The white sand was only visible as a light glow, and all other objects about were dark shadows.
“Will he wait till day to find us?” Joe asked in a husky whisper.
“No, I don’t reckon so, though I never did meet a man spared by ‘im.”
"We might as well walk to find ‘im" thought they, because they knew that as sure as they had mothers that he would find them. The men walked and walked along the ocean floor. They walked and ambled and walked and frolicked about in their heartless pirate ways. Miles slipped by, the storm overhead ceased, and the sun peeked into the blue dome overhead. The sea life around them turned from dark ominous shapes to bright vegetation and slick fish. Beautiful creatures swam curiously in circles around them then left on their way. From behind a large rock a beautiful mermaid swam. Her bright red hair flowed behind her. Extending her arms towards them, she sang one very, very, high sour note. A shark rushed her and pushed her behind another rock. Croaker and Boils exchanged confused glances and shrugged their shoulders.

Soon a forest of seaweed opened up to their left. They tramped several years in, and crumpled into two heaps as the world grew dark around them.

Joe woke first and saw feet. They were not Boils’ big boots. He kicked Boils and scrambled up. Before them was the legendary Davy Jones, the master of drowning men’s fate, or of drowned men’s fate. He carried with him a great chest in his eternally rotting hands. A long black beard floated across his shoulder, uncovering a tattoo and many battle scars on his chest from when blood pumped through his veins bringing life. His hard eyes fixed first on Billy.
“Dogs! Ye have entered my land of death for men, where be ye headed?” he growled.
“We be headed towards land and life, sir.” said Boils.
“Pay the price and I will set ye free. But if ye do not have it, then ye know none can save ye here while in my clutches.”
The men lowered their eyes while removing their gold earings and then held them out with trembling hands. Davy Jones dropped his chest and took them while the men recoiled from his touch. A hand dove at the throat of each, and lifted them off the sand.
“Ye shall tell no man of this meeting. The words will catch in your throat and all that will escape your lips will be a small snake. He will climb down your arm and bite your hand with pison fangs. The light of day will last in yer eyes a mere ten minutes before death comes.”
With that the man, either phantom or demon disappeared from sight and the weeds shivered in disgust. Croaker and Boils began to float in the current as consciousness left them.

Joe woke when his head knocked against something hard and rough. He groaned and pulled himself up to his knees while supporting himself with the gritty wall. He stood and looked up. A huge statue, a huge head of rock leaned over him. Using it again, he stumbled away from the water. Glancing around, he saw a jungle in front, and more heads of stone were lined down the beach. About a hundred yards away Billy Boils was also toiling across the sand. Joe hollered to him,
“Boils! Boils!”
Billy looked around and they ran to each other as fast as they could on wobbly legs. When they met they continued to shout.
“We made it! We live again!”
“Old Davy Jones couldn’t keep us down!”
They rejoiced in their good fortune and congratulated each other on their wit and wisdom. They built a fire on the beach and spent a nice holiday there. They taught the monkeys to gather coconuts. Altogether they did not harm anyone with their pirate-ish ways since no one else lived there. (At least that they knew of) All was glorious and very adventurous. They fashioned little martini glasses cut out of hard, interestingly shaped substances and drank with small pieces of pineapple in their glasses stabbed with the three inch long thorns of the great trees in the center of the island. They found how to mix exotic drinks and tamed the parrots so that they sat on their shoulders.
Everything was happy… Until another fateful day when a storm came a-blowin! A great voice called from the heavens:
“Muahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!”