An Inception of Piracy Chapter 1

1

It was early spring in the Year of our Lord 1711 and all of Europe was at war. A complicated series of marriages and alliances in the previous century had created a crisis of leadership that would, if allowed to stand, severely disrupt the balance of power. King Louis XIV of France had set his grandson Philip on the throne of Spain, a move designed to unite the two great powers. However, Leopold I of the Holy Roman Empire had other plans. While he sought to establish his own claim to the Spanish throne, his more immediate concern was preventing the unification of France and Spain. To do so he enlisted the help of England and the Netherlands. The war began, as many do, with great energy, enthusiasm and patriotic fervor. Soon, however, French expansion was checked, the fighting in Spain reduced to a stalemate. By 1711, the war had drug on for almost ten years in both the Old World and the New.

In such a climate there are those who become rich, those who become poor, and those who die. One of those who desired to become rich was Dominico Salvatore Bartolli, a merchant of Genoa. The Bartolli family had been trading from Genoa since the peak of it’s power centuries earlier. And although Genoa’s most prosperous and powerful years appeared to be behind her, the Bartolli family had held onto and even increased their wealth and standing in that notable city. Dominico owned several small ships and traded a variety of goods, traveling the Mediterranean and the west coast of Africa with anything that someone was willing to buy. With the war effort of many countries requiring large stores and equipment, there was never a shortage of buyers. And although Genoa was nominally an ally of Spain, sides mattered little to Dominico; gold did. To that end he had sent his young son, Giovanni, to England.

He was a handsome lad with the fine features typical of his family pedigree. An aristocratic nose sat above thin lips. His eyes were dark with just a hint of blue and they sparkled with the mirth of youth. His low brow was graced with thick eyebrows that gave him a brooding expression when he wasn’t revealing his straight, white teeth in a ready smile. His cleft chin jutted slightly to reveal a mature determination when he needed it, a look of confidence and authority required among the sailors on his father’s ships. His straight, raven black hair fell loosely to his shoulders. He was of medium height and his thin build was finally filling out as he approached his eighteenth birthday. He wore an expression of friendly gravity that seemed beyond his years. In addition to his classical education, he had studied under his father since he was knee high, traveling by sea and land to many places, learning languages and customs that would one day make him a skilled trader like his father. Dominico had slowly brought Giovanni along in his business, doing his best to strike that delicate balance between pushing him to mature by giving him more and more responsibility and allowing him to grow at a pace that was comfortable. Dominico was a wise man and had done well by his oldest child and felt he was now ready to be less of a student and more of a partner. For Giovanni, a trip to England sounded exciting. He had heard much of the place and had met many English traders, the friendship between England and Genoa going back centuries, present circumstances notwithstanding. So it was with the apprehension of great responsibility and the anticipation of a great adventure that Giovanni Bartolli arrived in England.

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He stood at the rail of the sloop and looked out over the naval yard at Chatham, the cool spring breeze gently blowing through his black hair. The air was filled with the smell of freshly sawed wood, rotting fish and sewage. He nervously rubbed the worn wood of the rail with his hands. Chatham was a dirty place on the River Medway, a stream made filthy by the incessant human activity there. But then again, it certainly wasn’t the worst place he’d seen in his many travels with his father.

“Mr. Bartolli, yer' gig’s ready.”

Giovanni looked down at his side to see a young boy of not more than ten years with dirty blond hair and tar on his hands, his shirt and beneath his left eye. His broad smile revealed several missing teeth.

“Thank you young man,” he replied, his English thick with his Italian accent.

“I’ll ‘ave your t’ings loaded straightaway,” he stated enthusiastically, running off across the deck and disappearing down a hatch.

Giovanni smiled. He could remember his first voyages with his father when he was even younger; the fascination with the working of the ship, feeling the motion of the deck under his feet, the wind and spray, the excitement of each new port of call. As he got older, he learned to navigate and his father eventually trusted him at the ripe old age of fifteen with overseeing some of the coastal trading. Now a strapping young man of seventeen, he was in England to explore the possibilities of trading, particularly with the Navy. War always meant money for merchants regardless of which side they sold to. Although there hadn’t been a major naval action for a few years, there was always the blockade and dealing with French and Spanish privateers. That meant a constant need for supplies and men for the ships being built in this very town.

“Sir, everyt’ings ready.” The boy had appeared at his side and was pointing to the other side of the ship.

“Thank you..again,” he replied, tousling the boy’s hair. He reached into his vest pocket and retrieved a small coin. The boy smiled, attempted a bow and then ran off. Giovanni walked across the ship and looked over the side at the small boat, two burly sailors at the oars.

“Watch your step Mr. Bartolli.”

Giovanni turned to see the captain, a tall, gangly man with white hair and beard, offering his hand.

“Thank you Captain Peltman, the voyage was most pleasant.” Giovanni smiled and bowed slightly.

“You’re welcome...remember my cousin at the Blue Pearl, she’ll set you up right while you’re here. Right off Watling, the main stretch, less than a quarter mile. Best dumplings in town!”

“I will Captain,” he replied, placing his broad brimmed hat firmly on his head and stepping over the rail to let himself down into the boat. He saw the two seamen watching apprehensively, no doubt used to landsman ending up in the river. Giovanni was nimble enough and seated himself easily.

“Boat’s away!” yelled one of the seamen as he pulled on his oar. They were soon moving smoothly toward the waterfront, the slight breeze agitating the water just enough to cause it to slap against the side of the boat as they rowed. As he gazed about the harbor, he saw two frigates in various stages of construction, an assortment of merchant vessels loading or unloading cargo, small boats like his moving quickly around the harbor like so many bees. He heard the bellows of men directing the activities of the wharf, cursing and prodding others to move more quickly. From the yard came the sounds of men working in the saw pit and the rhythmic hammering of the caulkers. Peddlers hawked their wares as the wooden wheels of their carts thumped on the cobblestones. As they approached the wharf, he surveyed the various businesses; a seafood market, the chandlary and other small shops. The drab gray wood contrasted sharply with the gay colors and classic architecture of his beloved Genoa. It made England seem less....civilized. The seamen raised their oars smartly and brought the old gig next to the wharf with a gentle thump. Without a word one of them scampered up the dock and the other quickly handed the two small trunks to his companion.

“Le’ me give you a hand, govn’er,” offered the one on the dock, kneeling and reaching toward Giovanni.

“Yes..thank you,” he grunted as the man pulled him up to his feet.

“Can I get you a cab?” asked the sailor, straightening up and adjusting his blue and white striped shirt.

“Do you know the Blue Pearl?”

“Aye, the cap’n’s cousin’s place. She’s an old hag but the hash is good!” he elbowed Giovanni and winked at his companion who began laughing.

“Jonnick mate, we’ve freshened our hawse many a night at the Pearl.”

Giovanni hesitated. “Is it far?” He hoped his English would be good enough to follow directions.

“Naw,” the burly man replied, turning toward the street so quickly Giovanni had to duck one of his pigtails as it swung through the air. “Jus’ go out this road,” he began, pointing to what looked like an alley between two ramshackle shops. “When you get to Watling Street, turn left. A couple of blocks at the watch shop turn right and it’s jus’ down the road.”

“Left..right,” Giovanni pointed.

“Aye, tha’s it kid,” he bellowed, slapping him on the back, any previous formality now completely forgotten. Giovanni picked up his trunks, one in each hand.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly and moving around the sailor.

“Don’t mention it, give me regards to Gertie!”

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By the time he turned off Watling Street, his arms were on fire. Finding a spot that wasn’t ankle deep in mud and rubbish, he dropped his cases down and sat on them. He shook his head at the condition of his boots, soaked and splattered with mud and refuse. After loosening the collar of his shirt, he shrugged off his dark green waistcoat. The passers by ignored him. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, wet with sweat. The air was damp and the sky looked like it could open any moment and he certainly didn’t want to get caught in that. Placing his hat far back on his head, he wearily stood again. With his coat over his shoulder and a trunk in each hand, began trudging down the alley.

It was even filthier than the waterfront, sewage filling the gutters on either side, rats and flies in abundance. Shacks interspersed with taverns seemed to be the order of the day. Giovanni was really beginning to doubt the captain’s recommendation. Suddenly a door burst open to his right and a portly man fell out in to the street. He landed face down, his tattered coat and ripped trousers covered in the filth of the gutter. Giovanni looked up at the sign above the door. THE BLUE PEARL was carved in irregular letters on what looked like a piece of driftwood. He shook his head but was too exhausted to go elsewhere. He stepped over the unconscious man in the street and pushed open the door with one of the trunks.

The mixed odors that assaulted him were overpowering. On one hand the smell of sweat and unwashed bodies mixed with vomit and alcohol was nauseating. On the other hand, there were wonderful scents emanating from the kitchen. Most of the tables were empty. A group of three old men sat drinking in one corner, four rather unsavory characters had a card game going in the center of the room and a couple of drunks were at the counter along the far wall. He felt very out of place. While his boots were in an atrocious state, his white breeches remained spotless, his gold trimmed green waistcoat glinted in the dim light and his broad brimmed hat with the diamond broach stood out like a sore thumb. As he dropped his two trunks by the nearest table a fat, old woman with long, stringy gray hair and a rosy complexion smiled a nearly toothless greeting at him from behind the counter.

“Welcome stranger!” she drawled. “Don’t often get gentlemen in ‘ere.” She wiped her hands on her apron and patted her hair. The men at the counter snickered but she ignored them. “What can I get ya?” Giovanni thought her speech indicated she may had been drinking a little two much with her patrons.

“Caio...Hello....Captain Peltman sent me..”

“Old Harry!” she shouted, coming out from behind the counter and stumbling toward him, wiping her hands again on the filthy apron. “How is the old sea dog?”

“Good..” he offered as he removed his hat. She grabbed his hand with both of her cold, greasy paws.

“Do you need a room? I got one ‘vailable, how ‘bout a drink?” The slurred words tumbled out quickly and Giovanni had trouble keeping up.

“Yes..thank you.” Giovanni sat down. She hurried back to the counter and returned with a mug of beer.

“How ‘bout some grub, dumplin's still hot..”

“Captain Peltman did say they were very good.”

“Did he now? I’ll be back in a shake.” She waddled off into the back.

Giovanni relaxed at little in his chair and rubbed a sore shoulder. He looked around again. The men at the game were eyeing each other suspiciously, slowly moving money to the center. Two of the old men in the corner were already passed out and the third looked like he could go any minute. He started as the door burst open and two men barged in.

“Hey Gertie!” the taller one yelled. Giovanni recognized Bayley from the ship. He had a face one had a hard time forgetting. Round and pockmarked with a nose that had been broken countless times. He wore a patch over one eye and his easy grin revealed a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth. Giovanni remembered him as a hard worker whose size made up for two ordinary seamen. He was accompanied by a short, thickset man with a long scar on his cheek and gray eyebrows that formed little arrowheads over dull eyes. “Some gin for me an Hackett here. Ain’t seen him in years!” His heavy accent made him difficult for Giovanni to understand. Bayley looked in his direction. “Mr. Bartolli! Fancy meetin’ you here! Another one for my Genoan friend Gert!” Both of them plopped down at his table. “Ya stayin’ here?”

“Yes, for now.”

“Great!” Bayley put his arm around him after slapping him on the back. He leaned over and Giovanni could tell he’d already celebrated his reunion with his companion elsewhere. “You stay put for the next few days, Hackett says Vitol’s coming in tonight and the crimps ‘ll be out.”

“Aye.” Hackett leaned in conspiratorially. “Andrew Miller be roamin' the streets.”

Giovanni looked at him quizzically.

“The press, ain’t you heard of the press?” asked Bayley incredulously, spreading his huge arms.

Giovanni shook his head, eyes wide.

Hackett spoke up again, leaning in even closer and whispering loudly. “They come into town lookin’ for men to serve the queen in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, fill the muster. They’ll drag you out onto that ship and they’ll keep you for years....or until the war’s over.” He sat back in his seat and folded his hands across his ample belly, smiling and winking.

“But I’m not..English.”

“’Ol Tom don’t care....he just wants bodies to haul the ropes and swing the dingbat!”

“That’s no gruff Hack!” Bayley laughed. “Now don’t be wet, Mr. Bartolli or you might get walloped and end up with a long pull on one of her majesty's ships. That would be a real clanger!”

Giovanni just looked at the two men blankly, having no idea what had just been said.

“Here ya go boys,” chimed Gertie, plopping down three glasses of strong smelling liqueur.

“Hey, thanks Gertie. Bottoms up Mr. Bartolli!” The two men threw their heads back and downed the contents. Giovanni put it to his lips. This was not like the wine at home! But he didn’t want to seem like a child in the company of these sailors. He gulped it down and nearly gagged. Oh how it burned! He began coughing uncontrollably.

The men laughed. “Welcome to England my boy!” Bayley slapped him on the back again. “Another round Gertie!”

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“That’s fine work Eli, fine work.”

Samuel Higgens looked over his son’s shoulder as he carefully placed the chisel and tapped out a notch in the thwart. Samuel had a small boat building shop along the waterfront, building mostly small fishing boats for the locals although his reputation for quality work had been spreading and orders were beginning to come in from farther afield.

“Thank you father,” replied Eli, not looking up from his work. He was nearly ten but already a fine craftsman. He had an amazing talent, a real eye for how to shape a piece of wood into something beautiful. Sam was very proud of him.

“You finish that and I’ll put things away. It’s already after dark and your mother will be waiting. You know how she hates it when we dawdle and supper gets cold.” The twinkle in Samuel’s eye belied the stern expression on his thin face.

Eli just chuckled, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrated on his task. Samuel quickly went about the small shop, gathering mallets, chisels, an adze and other tools as he hummed a tune to himself.

“We’ll have to see Mr. Cotgrave tomorrow, have him start fashioning our chainplates and such,” he stated, placing the tools lovingly in a chest in the corner. “Perhaps a new draw knife as well. Son, it’s time to go, bring your things over here, we’ll have to sharpen them tomorrow, no time tonight.”

Eli tapped the chisel one last time and then hurried the tools over to his father. Samuel tousled the boy’s curly blonde hair and took the tools, placing them carefully alongside the others in a big metal strapped chest. He closed the lid and put the hefty lock on the front.

“Let’s hurry,” he winked as he stood up.

After locking the door they began making their way down the street. It was quiet, all the other shops having closed up before sunset.

“Wonder what the catch of the day was?” pondered Samuel aloud. His wife was a good cook and although fish was usually on the menu, she knew how to make it seem a little different every time.

“I don’t know but I’m hungry!” said Eli, rubbing his stomach.

“Aye, you worked up quite an appetite today, you worked hard.”

Eli just smiled up at his father.

“You! Stop there!”

Both of them turned around to see three broad shouldered men running at them. They were dressed as sailors and carrying large sticks.

“Oh no!” gasped Samuel.

“What...?” began Eli as his father pushed him forward.

“Run..NOW!” he ordered, beginning to run himself. The men had been only twenty yards away, having emerged from a side street, and they were closing fast. But Samuel knew this town, there were plenty of places to hide, if he could just put a little distance between them, duck into an alley....

Ooofff. Something heavy hit him square in the back, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling into the muddy street. The men were around him instantly.

“Good throw mate!”

“Aye, works every time,” replied another as he picked the heavy stick up off the ground beside Samuel.

Samuel tried to get up quickly but a heavy foot came down on his back, holding him face down in the mud.

“Father!” yelled Eli.

Samuel looked up to see one of the men grab Eli by the back of the shirt.

“No...” groaned Samuel... if only he had kept running.

“What’ll we do with the loblolly boy?” laughed one.

“T’ink the cap’n ‘ll want anot’er one?”

“Naw, already got two, an’ all they do is skylark about.”

“Aye, worthless as a fish’s tit, they are at this age.”

The man threw Eli aside. “Maybe in a few years boy, 'er majesty will require your services as well.”

“Father!” he yelled, trying to make his way to Samuel.

The man who had been holding him hit him hard with the back of his hand, sending him sprawling.

“Go home to your momma boy!”

Eli sat up in the street, tears streaming down his face.

“Go home Eli,” groaned Samuel. “Take care of mother ‘til I come back.”

Eli hesitated, almost too scared to move.

“Go home boy!” ordered one of the men.

Eli scrambled to his feet and took off up the street, looking back as they stood his father up and bound his hands behind his back.

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An hour and several drinks later, Giovanni wasn’t thinking or seeing very straight. His head was in his hands and he didn’t feel too steady, even in his chair.

“Well boy, me an’ Hack are headin’ out.”

Giovanni just grunted, a response that brought deep laughter from both of them.

“Mus’ be his first bender!” joked Hackett.

“Jonnick, Trice up mate,” added Bayley, slapping Giovanni on the back again. “An’ keep a weather eye out. You ‘ave a nice stay with Gertie, she’ll do you right!” The slamming door sounded like a musket shot at his ear. He looked around, bleary eyed. The card game was over and the three men that remained were drinking, smoking and laughing. All three older men were gone. A few new patrons had come up to the counter. Most of them wore the same tattered clothing, few had shoes. They spoke in hushed tones. Occasionally, one of them would glance in his direction. He looked down at the half eaten chicken dumpling on his plate. He couldn’t even remember if it tasted good or not but the sight of it made him sick. Suddenly he could feel the vomit rising up in his throat. Pushing his chair back so quickly it fell, he stumbled out the door.

At the corner of the building he emptied the contents of his stomach. After wiping his mouth on his silk sleeve he stood there with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He heard a splash in the puddle behind him.

“‘At’s a very nice shirt gov’n’r. It’s a shame to be a spittin’ all over it.”

He turned his head wearily to see two large men behind him. He recognized them from the Blue Pearl. One of them was carrying a thick stick, the other was opening and closing huge fists. They were both taller than he, broad at the shoulder and even broader in the middle. Each of them stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, leering sadistically.

“Let’s go!” the one to his left ordered. Giovanni struggled feebly as the men steered him behind the building next to the Pearl. Before he knew it the shirt was gone. A cold drizzle had begun falling and he shivered.

“What else ya got?!” demanded the taller one with the knit cap.

“I...” He didn’t get to finish when his partner shoved him violently into the stone wall behind him. The irregular stones cut into his bare back. The man’s calloused hands were rough on his shoulder.

“My friend as’d you a q’stion!” The weather-beaten, scarred face was inches from his own. A knee came up into his stomach and he fell to the muddy ground. He felt hands groping his legs which he soon found bare.

“Stuff must be at the Pearl,” offered the shorter one in a raspy whisper.

“Yeah, but Gertie’s not going to give it up easy. Anyway, can’t have the boy following us back, now can we...” He looked up in time to see the stick coming down and then everything went black.

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With a loud crash, the door burst open at the Blue Pearl and four men in the striped shirts of the Navy barged in. Two of them carried large sticks, the other two had muskets. They quickly looked around, eyes settling on the two men who remained from the night’s card game. Chairs flew as the men at the table tried to get up but the two men with the sticks were on them instantly. In their drunken state, they were no match for the tough sailors. The men at the counter had better luck as they scrambled out the back door.

“What the....” Gertie had appeared at the door after the men had jostled past her. She immediately understood. “Leave them alone!” she ordered, not so much because she cared about the men but because they were regular customers.

“We’re on the queen’s business wench, stay out of it!” The man who spoke was tall and thin with a patchy gray beard and eyes that seemed black in the dim light.

“I know what yer about!” yelled Gertie, approaching one of the younger men and trying to pry her customer loose. The man pushed her away roughly, growling. “Mate said stay out of it!”

One of the patrons struggled against the grip of the men as they brought his hands behind his back and were beginning to tie him up. This just earned him a clock on the head with a stick. This stopped the struggling, dropping him to the floor. He moaned weakly as they stood him back up, a trickle of blood running down his neck behind his ear.

“No more trouble?” he asked the other drunk threateningly. He wearily shook his head. “Good. You three, go after the others! I got these two taken care of.”

The three sailors hurried out the back after the fleeing customers, cruel smiles on their faces.