The First Rule of Piracy
by Rowan Softley
Two hundred years ago, when the Basingstoke canal was completed, the new connection to London attracted merchants and their money. And that attracted the pirates.
You may not know about them; the authorities stamped out nearly all record of them.
But they ultimately failed to stamp out the pirates themselves, and the canal now lies derelict after a century of merciless plundering and pillaging.
The worst of them was Earless Jim. ‘Earless’ on account that he didn’t listen to anything or anyone. Not laws, not reason. Not even his own Captains.
Meet Jim, ignoring the first rule of piracy on his first day on a boat.
by Rowan Softley
Two hundred years ago, when the Basingstoke canal was completed, the new connection to London attracted merchants and their money. And that attracted the pirates.
You may not know about them; the authorities stamped out nearly all record of them.
But they ultimately failed to stamp out the pirates themselves, and the canal now lies derelict after a century of merciless plundering and pillaging.
The worst of them was Earless Jim. ‘Earless’ on account that he didn’t listen to anything or anyone. Not laws, not reason. Not even his own Captains.
Meet Jim, ignoring the first rule of piracy on his first day on a boat.
†
The boy’s dreams of boundless oceans, grand galleons and majestic captains were all but gone by the time they reached Basing village. Punting a stolen barge up Basingstoke canal was hardly the pirate’s life he’d envisaged.
The majestically malodorous captain of this unfortunate barge stumbled over to the boy, tripping on unfamiliar ropes and canvasses strewn over the deck. “I said here’s far enough, boy!” the Captain shouted again, “Ain’t deaf are yer? Stop here! Ain’t nobody followin’ us this far for this rotten heap of a boat.” He sat down and drew a lump of chalk from his pocket. “Give us yer hat.”
“What d’you need my hat for?” the boy asked, suddenly dragged from his daydreaming. He removed the tricorn from his head, revealing a mottled mess of hair underneath, and handed it to the Captain.
“Ahhh!” said the Captain, an enigmatic smile cracking through his bearded face. “This is merely the first – and most important – rule of piracy”
The boy peered at what the Captain was drawing on his hat. “Mushrooms?”
“Skulls!” scowled the Captain. “Skulls, Jim, is the first–”
“My name’s not Jim! I told you this morning, my name’s George – like the king!”
The Captain jabbed an irritated finger into the boy's chest. “Look, Jim. Ain’t no pirates called blimmin’ George-like-the-king. Jim I says, and Jim y’are. Heck, let’s call yer ‘Fearless Jim’. Set the shakes to anyone what hears o’ yer.” He thrust the hat back onto the boy’s head. “Tell me, what’s yer name?”
“F-fearless Jim,” the boy whimpered. It had hardly been half a day since the Captain had plucked him from an alley off Wote Street with a promise of adventure and plunder, but it was not the first time the Captain’s temperament had swung so swiftly.
“Right y’are. Now, where was we?” asked the Captain.
“Skulls”
“Skulls. Right.” He stretched his neck with a shuddering crack. “Skulls is the first rule of piracy.” He motioned to similar fungal-esque markings on his own hat. “Can’t never have enough skulls. Tells the poor folkies what we come across who they’re dealin’ with. Reminds ‘em not to think themselves tough. Straight-up scares ‘em into givin’ over whatever treasures they’re haulin’. Skulls keep us out of trouble.”
A comforting notion, thought Jim. The last couple of years skulking the alleys of Basingstoke had been nothing but trouble. But as desperate as he was to believe it, Jim wasn’t convinced that piracy was his chance to escape trouble for good. “And you’re sure that Wellington won’t come for us?” he asked.
“Don’ worry yerself, lad. Old Iron Whatsits has enough trouble under his boots to concern himself with the likes of us!”
The Captain stood up and straightened his stained jacket. “So, Fearless Jim. Let’s get to it – ain’t a better place for a bit o’ hogswagglin’.” He paused pensively, “... or is it hornswigglin’?” He looked at Jim expectantly, but it was clear there would be no answer to whatever the question was. “Stealin’ stuff, Jim! Ain’t a better place for it! See how the bend here narrows the canal? Means any other boat needs to come real close to get past.” He stood at the rear of the boat with a mock grace. “I’ll stand here all proud like, and yeh’ll be waiting in the pointy end at the front, ‘neath them canvases.” He gestured towards a dirty pile of cloth. “When a likely boat comes, I’ll call ‘em over, and get talkin’ all charmin’. When the timin’s right, yeh’ll jump out and surprise ‘em – just make sure that skull ‘o yours stares right at ‘em. Any questions?”
Jim shook his head, more out of fear than confidence.
“Good,” said the Captain. “Get under them canvases. Keep quiet and wait for the signal”
Jim crawled under the musty rags. Keep quiet and wait for the signal. Simple. He paused. “Wait,” he said to the Captain, “what’s the signal?”
“The signal? Oh, right. It’s dead simple - listen when I tell ‘em what’s in our crates. I says ‘wool’, yeh sneak out all soft like. Get up behind ‘em and take ‘em by surprise. And if I says ‘timber’, yeh come out all tall and loud… all... tree-like. Like you’ll chop ‘em down in an instant.
“Hells, yeh’ll probably need this.” The Captain reached into an inside pocket and drew out a pistol. It had a long wooden barrel which dived into a handle. On top, the flintlock plumed out like wings. A duelling pistol, the type that the gentry used to settle the most minor of social outrages. “Bought it off some viscount’s butler,” said the Captain, “Seemed keen to get rid of it– No, don't hold it so close to yer head!” He swatted the pistol away from Jim’s face, “Yeh’ll blow yer ears off!” He frowned and said, “Well, if it worked. Which it don’t. Probably. For the best anyway - dangerous things, pistols.” Reading the confusion written on Jim's brow, he explained “We’re pirates! Not murderers! Remember what I said about keepin’ out of trouble? Carry an offensive weapon all yeh like, but only if yeh don’t mean on usin’ it. First rule of piracy.”
“I thought the first rule was skulls?”
“Skulls also! Because they keep us out of trouble.”
“Right,” said Jim, now thoroughly confused. “But what if-”
“Shhhh!” the captain held up a hand. “Boat’s comin’. Keep quiet and wait for the signal.” He waved Jim under the canvas. “And put yer hat back on!”
An hour later, it was clear there was no boat coming. A genuine mistake? Or did the Captain just want to avoid more questions about the plan? Keep quiet and wait for the signal, Jim thought for the hundredth time. He waited with what felt a knot of ice in his stomach. Fearless Jim. A lie for sure. Two lies in fact, but a better pirate name than ‘Whimperin’ George’. He ran through the Captain’s plan once more, growing a little less certain. It was beyond doubt that the man’s wits had jumped ship some time ago, but he seemed to be sure of what he was doing. But then again, if he really was the adept pirate he claimed to be, why was he a boatless beggar a mere few hours earlier? And that unshakable stink? Hardly a mark of success.
“Ahoy there!” called the Captain. Jim looked through a hole in the canvass to see the Captain waving what looked like a broom at another barge. Jim saw one person standing at the back of the boat, and a second riding a donkey along the towpath towing the boat. “Loooverly mornin’ we’re having, make no mistake gents.” said the Captain. “Gent and lady! My humblest apologies - wigs is all the fashion up London-way!”
“Ahoy yerself” came the reply. A soft voice, steeped with suspicion.
Jim studied the adversaries. The lady - their Captain no doubt - wore cream trousers, a dark blue jacket with gold trim, and a matching three-cornered hat. Their boat was now close enough for Jim to see the gold insignia on the hat and jacket. This was the livery of some respectable London guild. That hat alone was worth more than anything Jim had ever held. The man riding the donkey was the burly type he’d spent years trying to avoid. He too wore the expensive uniform, which strained around his bulging arms and chest.
“You headin’ Basingstoke way?” ventured the Captain.
“Unless there’s somewhere else in the two miles between here and there that I’ve not heard of, I’d say you know damn well where we’re heading,” replied the lady, curtly.
“Just makin’ friendly conversation!”
“Blocking our way and asking stupid questions seems a little less-than-friendly, sir.”
“Apologies... ahh, what’s in them crates?”
“What’s in our boat,” said the lady, venomously, “is our business.”
“Know what we got in these ‘ere crates?”
She glanced at his hat. “Look, simpleton, if you’re trying to sell us mushrooms, then–”
“Ain’t sellin’ nothin’, milady,” the Captain said fiercely, “we got piles of WOOD.”
Jim didn’t didn’t think twice. He straightened himself in the most tree-like manner he could muster, threw the canvass over his head into the water behind him. He lifted the pistol up towards the lady and shouted what he assumed was both clear and threatening, “YOURMONEYORYOURLIV…”
Instead of facing two victims shuddering with fear, Jim was confronted by two people calmly holding pistols of their own. The man on the towpath pointing his at the dumbfounded Captain, the lady aiming hers squarely at Jim.
“Wait right there,” she said, quite unnecessarily. She turned to the Captain “I assume that, except for a boy with a clear desire to get seriously hurt, there’s nothing in those crates. Is there nothing on this heap of a boat worth taking?”
“Takin’?” said the Captain, bewilderment spreading across his face, “You’re pirates too?”
“That’s a very loose description of what you two are, but yes.” She wrinkled her nose and looked closer at the Captain. “Cockett, I assume?”
The Captain lifted a proud chin “It’s Captain Cockett - yeh heard of me then?”
“Your stench is almost legendary,” she replied. “Your incompetence too.” She waved her pistol towards Jim and asked, “and what did you tell this poor idiot to make him come screaming at us like that with a broken pistol?”
“This idiot couldn’t follow a simple plan. He was meant to be boardin’ yeh with a little more subtlety.”
Jim rounded on the Captain, “But you said wood!”
“Wood?” the Captain snapped. “I said ‘wool’, yeh earless cretin!”
“Quiet! For Hell’s sake” the lady interjected, she looked at the Captain again, “A plan that goes this wrong this quickly doesn’t seem much of a plan at all.”
She turned to the man on the towpath. “Rodge,” she called, “tie this repulsive idiot up.” Ignoring the Captain’s protests, she turned to look at Jim, “Boy, you’ll come with us. As reckless as you are, you’ve got some intestinal fortitude.”
Jim looked at his belly, confused.
“Guts, blockhead. Now, what’s your name?
“F-fearless Jim” he replied. One day, he swore, he’d manage to say it without stuttering.
“Fitting. Now, Fearless Jim - or should it be ‘earless Jim - if you're going to join our crew, there are some things you’ll need to learn.” She took his hat and waved it in front of him. “Firstly, about these damned skulls. You’ll need to get rid of them. Can’t give your less-than-respectable intentions away so stupidly - it’s the first rule of piracy!”
The majestically malodorous captain of this unfortunate barge stumbled over to the boy, tripping on unfamiliar ropes and canvasses strewn over the deck. “I said here’s far enough, boy!” the Captain shouted again, “Ain’t deaf are yer? Stop here! Ain’t nobody followin’ us this far for this rotten heap of a boat.” He sat down and drew a lump of chalk from his pocket. “Give us yer hat.”
“What d’you need my hat for?” the boy asked, suddenly dragged from his daydreaming. He removed the tricorn from his head, revealing a mottled mess of hair underneath, and handed it to the Captain.
“Ahhh!” said the Captain, an enigmatic smile cracking through his bearded face. “This is merely the first – and most important – rule of piracy”
The boy peered at what the Captain was drawing on his hat. “Mushrooms?”
“Skulls!” scowled the Captain. “Skulls, Jim, is the first–”
“My name’s not Jim! I told you this morning, my name’s George – like the king!”
The Captain jabbed an irritated finger into the boy's chest. “Look, Jim. Ain’t no pirates called blimmin’ George-like-the-king. Jim I says, and Jim y’are. Heck, let’s call yer ‘Fearless Jim’. Set the shakes to anyone what hears o’ yer.” He thrust the hat back onto the boy’s head. “Tell me, what’s yer name?”
“F-fearless Jim,” the boy whimpered. It had hardly been half a day since the Captain had plucked him from an alley off Wote Street with a promise of adventure and plunder, but it was not the first time the Captain’s temperament had swung so swiftly.
“Right y’are. Now, where was we?” asked the Captain.
“Skulls”
“Skulls. Right.” He stretched his neck with a shuddering crack. “Skulls is the first rule of piracy.” He motioned to similar fungal-esque markings on his own hat. “Can’t never have enough skulls. Tells the poor folkies what we come across who they’re dealin’ with. Reminds ‘em not to think themselves tough. Straight-up scares ‘em into givin’ over whatever treasures they’re haulin’. Skulls keep us out of trouble.”
A comforting notion, thought Jim. The last couple of years skulking the alleys of Basingstoke had been nothing but trouble. But as desperate as he was to believe it, Jim wasn’t convinced that piracy was his chance to escape trouble for good. “And you’re sure that Wellington won’t come for us?” he asked.
“Don’ worry yerself, lad. Old Iron Whatsits has enough trouble under his boots to concern himself with the likes of us!”
The Captain stood up and straightened his stained jacket. “So, Fearless Jim. Let’s get to it – ain’t a better place for a bit o’ hogswagglin’.” He paused pensively, “... or is it hornswigglin’?” He looked at Jim expectantly, but it was clear there would be no answer to whatever the question was. “Stealin’ stuff, Jim! Ain’t a better place for it! See how the bend here narrows the canal? Means any other boat needs to come real close to get past.” He stood at the rear of the boat with a mock grace. “I’ll stand here all proud like, and yeh’ll be waiting in the pointy end at the front, ‘neath them canvases.” He gestured towards a dirty pile of cloth. “When a likely boat comes, I’ll call ‘em over, and get talkin’ all charmin’. When the timin’s right, yeh’ll jump out and surprise ‘em – just make sure that skull ‘o yours stares right at ‘em. Any questions?”
Jim shook his head, more out of fear than confidence.
“Good,” said the Captain. “Get under them canvases. Keep quiet and wait for the signal”
Jim crawled under the musty rags. Keep quiet and wait for the signal. Simple. He paused. “Wait,” he said to the Captain, “what’s the signal?”
“The signal? Oh, right. It’s dead simple - listen when I tell ‘em what’s in our crates. I says ‘wool’, yeh sneak out all soft like. Get up behind ‘em and take ‘em by surprise. And if I says ‘timber’, yeh come out all tall and loud… all... tree-like. Like you’ll chop ‘em down in an instant.
“Hells, yeh’ll probably need this.” The Captain reached into an inside pocket and drew out a pistol. It had a long wooden barrel which dived into a handle. On top, the flintlock plumed out like wings. A duelling pistol, the type that the gentry used to settle the most minor of social outrages. “Bought it off some viscount’s butler,” said the Captain, “Seemed keen to get rid of it– No, don't hold it so close to yer head!” He swatted the pistol away from Jim’s face, “Yeh’ll blow yer ears off!” He frowned and said, “Well, if it worked. Which it don’t. Probably. For the best anyway - dangerous things, pistols.” Reading the confusion written on Jim's brow, he explained “We’re pirates! Not murderers! Remember what I said about keepin’ out of trouble? Carry an offensive weapon all yeh like, but only if yeh don’t mean on usin’ it. First rule of piracy.”
“I thought the first rule was skulls?”
“Skulls also! Because they keep us out of trouble.”
“Right,” said Jim, now thoroughly confused. “But what if-”
“Shhhh!” the captain held up a hand. “Boat’s comin’. Keep quiet and wait for the signal.” He waved Jim under the canvas. “And put yer hat back on!”
An hour later, it was clear there was no boat coming. A genuine mistake? Or did the Captain just want to avoid more questions about the plan? Keep quiet and wait for the signal, Jim thought for the hundredth time. He waited with what felt a knot of ice in his stomach. Fearless Jim. A lie for sure. Two lies in fact, but a better pirate name than ‘Whimperin’ George’. He ran through the Captain’s plan once more, growing a little less certain. It was beyond doubt that the man’s wits had jumped ship some time ago, but he seemed to be sure of what he was doing. But then again, if he really was the adept pirate he claimed to be, why was he a boatless beggar a mere few hours earlier? And that unshakable stink? Hardly a mark of success.
“Ahoy there!” called the Captain. Jim looked through a hole in the canvass to see the Captain waving what looked like a broom at another barge. Jim saw one person standing at the back of the boat, and a second riding a donkey along the towpath towing the boat. “Loooverly mornin’ we’re having, make no mistake gents.” said the Captain. “Gent and lady! My humblest apologies - wigs is all the fashion up London-way!”
“Ahoy yerself” came the reply. A soft voice, steeped with suspicion.
Jim studied the adversaries. The lady - their Captain no doubt - wore cream trousers, a dark blue jacket with gold trim, and a matching three-cornered hat. Their boat was now close enough for Jim to see the gold insignia on the hat and jacket. This was the livery of some respectable London guild. That hat alone was worth more than anything Jim had ever held. The man riding the donkey was the burly type he’d spent years trying to avoid. He too wore the expensive uniform, which strained around his bulging arms and chest.
“You headin’ Basingstoke way?” ventured the Captain.
“Unless there’s somewhere else in the two miles between here and there that I’ve not heard of, I’d say you know damn well where we’re heading,” replied the lady, curtly.
“Just makin’ friendly conversation!”
“Blocking our way and asking stupid questions seems a little less-than-friendly, sir.”
“Apologies... ahh, what’s in them crates?”
“What’s in our boat,” said the lady, venomously, “is our business.”
“Know what we got in these ‘ere crates?”
She glanced at his hat. “Look, simpleton, if you’re trying to sell us mushrooms, then–”
“Ain’t sellin’ nothin’, milady,” the Captain said fiercely, “we got piles of WOOD.”
Jim didn’t didn’t think twice. He straightened himself in the most tree-like manner he could muster, threw the canvass over his head into the water behind him. He lifted the pistol up towards the lady and shouted what he assumed was both clear and threatening, “YOURMONEYORYOURLIV…”
Instead of facing two victims shuddering with fear, Jim was confronted by two people calmly holding pistols of their own. The man on the towpath pointing his at the dumbfounded Captain, the lady aiming hers squarely at Jim.
“Wait right there,” she said, quite unnecessarily. She turned to the Captain “I assume that, except for a boy with a clear desire to get seriously hurt, there’s nothing in those crates. Is there nothing on this heap of a boat worth taking?”
“Takin’?” said the Captain, bewilderment spreading across his face, “You’re pirates too?”
“That’s a very loose description of what you two are, but yes.” She wrinkled her nose and looked closer at the Captain. “Cockett, I assume?”
The Captain lifted a proud chin “It’s Captain Cockett - yeh heard of me then?”
“Your stench is almost legendary,” she replied. “Your incompetence too.” She waved her pistol towards Jim and asked, “and what did you tell this poor idiot to make him come screaming at us like that with a broken pistol?”
“This idiot couldn’t follow a simple plan. He was meant to be boardin’ yeh with a little more subtlety.”
Jim rounded on the Captain, “But you said wood!”
“Wood?” the Captain snapped. “I said ‘wool’, yeh earless cretin!”
“Quiet! For Hell’s sake” the lady interjected, she looked at the Captain again, “A plan that goes this wrong this quickly doesn’t seem much of a plan at all.”
She turned to the man on the towpath. “Rodge,” she called, “tie this repulsive idiot up.” Ignoring the Captain’s protests, she turned to look at Jim, “Boy, you’ll come with us. As reckless as you are, you’ve got some intestinal fortitude.”
Jim looked at his belly, confused.
“Guts, blockhead. Now, what’s your name?
“F-fearless Jim” he replied. One day, he swore, he’d manage to say it without stuttering.
“Fitting. Now, Fearless Jim - or should it be ‘earless Jim - if you're going to join our crew, there are some things you’ll need to learn.” She took his hat and waved it in front of him. “Firstly, about these damned skulls. You’ll need to get rid of them. Can’t give your less-than-respectable intentions away so stupidly - it’s the first rule of piracy!”
