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I wrote this some years ago, when I was active on Second Life. There was a furry pirate sim that played sea shanties all the time (the primary reason I loved the place, since I got really tired of the same crappy music on other sims). I decided that my pirate needed a bit of background.
So, here it is.
Maximillian DeGroot was born a bear cub of Dutch Parents in the small Dutch port of Sint Giel. It was far from other of the Dutch held islands, but because of its size, nobody really noticed it. Small trading vessels from Spain, England, France, and Portugal would make stops to drop off and pick up items found or made on the other nearby islands. The area was dominated primarily with Spanish ports, with some English ports scattered here and there. While there were occasional skirmishes on the seas, Sint Giel saw little fighting itself.
When Max was 11 years old he was apprenticed to a raccoon clock maker in the port village, who was also Dutch, Hans Coons. Hans made other items as well, among them being sextants since there was often a market for the items. Max soon developed an interest in the devices, so Hans provided him with books on navigation. He read with interest, and, on the days Mister Coons allowed, had a way of getting the local fishermen to take him out so he could practice what he learned.
In the evenings, however, Max went to the dockside taverns. He loved the music there, and especially the talk. He picked up enough Spanish and English to understand most of what he heard, and he heard a lot. About Havana, and Rio De Janerio. Of Lisbon and London and even the ports in the Mediterranian. Long into the night, he sat and listened, while his head was filled with stories of storms, and ports...and pirates. It was dangerous work, but every man there would not trade it for the world. The more he heard, the more Max wanted to be out there sailing the seven seas. Visiting strange new places. Seeing the world. Yes, he heard that it was hard work. But Mister Coons never knew Max to be a lazy cub. “Someday,” thought Max, “I´ll sail the sea.”
When Max turned 14, however, a day came that he would never forget, although he wished he could wipe it from his mind. Three Spanish Gallions sailed into port, with troops of soldiers. Sin Giel was immediately claimed by the attending ship´s captain, and renamed San Migel. All the village leaders were rounded up, including Max´s parents, and ordered to swear allegience to the King of Spain...in Spanish. Some, who understood Spanish tried to interpret what was said into Dutch, but were shot in the mistaken belief that they were trying to organize a resistance. Max´s parents were shot when they tried to protest, as was his employer. Max, who understood enough Spanish to know what was going on, stood mute, lest he be slaughtered with the rest. He stood by his parents bodies, and watched as they were gathered up and unceremoniously dumped into the sea. He stood there, stunned, unbelieving, his navigation books and sextant under his arm.
One of the soldiers tried to take the books and sextant from Max, but he clung on to the one thing that was left to him that meant something. The soldier was about to strike the cub when an officer came over, saw what was going on, and told the soldier to leave Max be. From the rapid Spanish, Max gathered that the officer felt that Max would be worth more if they could pass him off as a navigator. He was then shackled, imprisoned, and left to ferment in his growing hatred as the Spaniards took over the port, the cries and screams of defiled women, and even children, ringing in his ears.
Three days later, a ship from the East Linden Company sailed into port. Some had hoped that this meant that the English would soon come to their rescue, but those hopes were dashed at it became clear that the sacking of Sin Giel was a bargain that had been reached between Spain and England. Spain got control of the ports, England got free passage into and out of any one of them.
Max was reading his books in prison when the door to his cell was opened, and in came what looked to be an English jackal along with the prison guard. The jackal looked down at Max and spoke to the prison guard. “This is the cub you spoke of?” The guard nodded. “Stand up, cub,” he said to Max.
Max understood enough English to answer, “My name is Maximillian.”
The jackal motioned for the guard to haul Max to his feet. The guard grabbed the chain that was attached to the iron ring around Max´s neck and pulled him to his feet. The jackal spoke again. “When I give you an order, cub, I expect it to be obeyed. Understand?”
“My name is Maximi...”
The jackal backhanded Max across the face, silencing him. “I will call you whatever I want to call you, Cub, and you will speak to me only when spoken to, addressing me as ´Sir´ or ´Captain´. Do you understand?”
Max fought down his anger, but nodded.
The jackal backhanded him again, harder. “I said, do you understand, Cub? Now, answer me.”
Max raised a paw to his bloodied lip, where the slap had caused him to bite himself. “Aye...Sir.”
The jackal smiled, cruelly. In the conversation that followed, Max came to understand that he had been purchased from the spaniards and was now a slave. He was expected to chart the course of the English ship and if he made any mistakes his punishment would be severe.
Five years he guided the English ship through the Carribean, even touching the colonial ports further north, like Boston and Charleston, and sailing down to the Spanish ports of Argentina. However, he was never allowed to leave the ship, sleeping on the deck, even through rain and storm, the neck shackle, which chained him to the mast, saw to that. He occasionally heard the voices from the taverns near the ship, but never could be in there with the people he dreamed of...sailors and navigators and captains from all over. He often cried himself to sleep...dreaming that he was in there with them...drinking and telling stories...for he now had his own he could tell. But he was trapped. Doomed to forever be a slave aboard a ship, being left to drown should the ship ever flounder, held captive by the iron ring around his neck, and the chain around the mast.
One night, however, when the crew of the ship was revelling in port Saint Lucie, Max, now 19, was awakened when a paw clapped over his muzzle. “Cry out, Cub,” whispered a rough voice, “and ye´ll be out o´ that shackle the ´ard way...by ´avin´ yer ´ead cut off.” He could feel the edge of the knife on his throat. He nodded, not daring to move anything else.
“Ye be the ship´s navigator, aye?” the voice asked. He again nodded.
“Then ye be listenin´ t´ me, and listening good... ye sail for Saint Martin in the mornin´, aye? Then ye´ll be a-doing this—ye´ll guide the ship west by northwest, not north by northwest. If anyone ask, ye be telling them that there be a storm t´ th´ north ye hear tell about. Understand?”
Max could only nod. “Remember..west by northwest. Ye do that...ye live. If´n ye don´t...” The blade pressed onto his neck further. “Ye won´t see another port past Saint Martin.”
The blade was removed, and before Max could turn to see who it was, the blade wielder was gone.
The very next morning, the jackal Captain, with a broad smile, announced that he had procured one of the best loads of silks for delivery to the English colonies. They would be sailing directly to Boston, once they made their last stop in Saint Martin.
Max suddenly understood why his ship had been chosen. Surely if he did as he was told to by his visitor last night, he would be sailing them into a pirate trap. He could steer the ship the way he usually did, avoid the pirates, and port safely in Saint Martin. But would anyone believe that he had saved them from pirates? And might he end up dead as the voice had said? And would anyone care if he died? On the other hand, if he steered them into the trap, there was no assurance that he would live either.
But five years of mistreatment had taken their toll. Once out at sea, he laid out a course that was west by northwest. Even if the pirates killed him, he could at least have vengence against those who treated him like property.
“Cub,” asked the Captain. He had always called him Cub. Never his name, which he never bothered to find out. “Why are you setting a course more west than north?”
“Aye, it be the storm t´ the north, Cap´n.”
The jackal looked confused. “Storm? I heard of no storm to the north. Why are you trembling, Cub?”
“I...I be coming down with a chill, Cap´n...but while ye be in port, I heard from other sailors about the storm,...came up out of nowhere it did. I be setting a course to steer clear. We be heading due north in two days time.”
This satisfied the Captain. “Very well, Cub. It is never wise to sail into a storm, and you have never steered us wrong before.”
At night on the second day out, they were quietly boarded by pirates. They swarmed over the ship quickly, subduing her crew, and putting them to the sword. Max was the only one spared. The chain around the mast was broken, and he was hauled aboard the pirate vessel by that same chain and the iron ring around his neck, along with all the silk, right before they sank the ship.
Max was forced to follow behind the sailors who held his chain, jeering and taunting him. They hauled him before the Captain of the pirate ship, a rather scruffy looking cat. “This be he,” said a familiar voice coming from a wolf, holding his chain. “He steered her true.”
The cat smiled at the wolf. “Merci, Mister Wolfens.” He spoke with a slight French accent. He then looked down at Max from the upper deck. “What is your name?”
“Maximillian DeGroot, sir!” He spoke with confidence now. If they had planned to kill him, they would have done so by now. He still feared for his life, knowing that he now walked a knife´s edge, figuratively.
“Well, Mister DeGroot,...” No one had ever called him Mister before. This captain not only called him by his name, but with a title reserved for full grown men of respect. “I suppose you know why I had your life spared.”
“Because I did not betray ye, sir.”
The cat laughed. “Betray me? Aye, many have done so...and died. I´m thinking, though, that you believed the threat given you in Saint Lucie by Mister Wolfens, and you would rather cling to your life, aye?”
Max stood his ground. He had nothing to lose. “Aye sir! What little there is left of it.”
The men around him chuckled. The Captain smiled and descended from the upper deck, his pegleg clunking with every other step. “I am Captain FancyCat Fallon. You´ve heard of me, I trust?”
Max nodded, and his eyes widened. Fallon was one of the most feared pirates in the entire West Indies. No sailor ever spoke his name without fear in his eyes or a tremble in his voice.
The cat smiled. “And so my reputation preceeds me. Well, Mister DeGroot. It just so happens I am in need of a navigator.” The cat paced back and forth in front of Max, eying him from head to paw. “Had I not lost mine not a week ago, I would not have needed to have you steer that ship into my trap. And you...” He smiled cruelly at Max. “...you would be sleeping with the fishes now.” The men laughed again. “So...you have a choice, Mister DeGroot. You can join us...or...” He gestured towards the pile of flotsam that was once a magnificent English vessel. “...join your crewmates. And I will have to go find another navigator.”
Max´s anger rose within him as he again stood his ground. The thought of being shackled again, forced to serve pirates who he knew could be ten times more cruel than his captors had ever been, was too much. “Sir!” He spit out the title. “They be not my crewmates. I be a slave on that ship. And I´ll be damned before I allow meself to be made one again! I would rather die...sir!”
The men murmured at that. The Captain, however, smiled. “Oh, would you, now?” He said softly as he approached Max, and pulled out a dagger. Two of the crewmen grabbed Max´s arms. Fallon approached closer. He grabbed the chain and jerked Max's head forward. Bringing the knife up to Max´s neck...
...he jammed it into the chain of the neck shackle and broke one of the links. The chain fell to the deck, leaving him with just the iron ring around his neck. Fallon motioned for the two holding Max to release him. They moved away from Max, and the Captain stepped back, his dagger still in his paw. He flipped it lazily as he spoke. “Now what say you, Mister DeGroot?”
Max stood mute. He was being offered his freedom. Nay, more than offered. He was already free! True, he was in the middle of the sea, and surrounded by pirates. But the chain was gone. No one held him. His choices were his own.
“Look around you, Mister DeGroot. You are not the only one on this ship who knows the bitter taste of slavery.” The men around him growled their assent. “Some still bare the branding scars. Others wear the broken shackles of their servitude like jewelry. Still others severed their own limbs to escape.” Fallon's pegleg continued it's clunk on the deck as he paced back and forth. “There isn't a man on this ship that would not rather die than spend another day as a slave!”
Max's eyes continued to widen as the words of Captain Fallon sank in.
“So what say you, Mister DeGroot? If you join me...there will be harder work than you have ever known. But you will be free, that I assure you. I offer you your life, and your freedom. In exchange...” Fallon tapped his peg leg on the wooden deck. “...you guide The Cat's Grace, and you guide her true. Be it into battle or into port.”
Max still could not believe his ears. He thought of all the men who had lost their lives to these pirates. Some went down with the ship he had just been on. “But sir...why me?”
The cat smiled. “You are a better navigator than you know, Mister DeGroot. Being on that ship, you never heard what was said about you in the ports. Oh, not by name, no. You were known as just ´The Cub.´ More than one captain offered to buy you. But your captain turned them down, every time. Once I lost my own navigator, I knew where I had to get my next.”
Max looked surprised. “But...but I thought you were after...”
“...the silks?” Fallon interrupted. “Oh Aye, I wanted the silks. But I can find silks all over these waters. Your captain´s was not the only ship to share in that prize. But how many of those ships were being guided by one of the best navigators in the western world? It was you I really wanted.”
Max blinked several times. “Sir...I be only 19...”
“...and can navigate your way from Boston to Buenos Aires, aye? That´s nearly a third the world, Mister DeGroot.” Fallon shook his head sadly. “Such talent, and they kept you in chains. What could you do, if you were free, Mister DeGroot? Free to get the charts you need; free to speak with other navigators who roam the world; free to leave the ship when you wish, or stay when you wish. How much more could you do?”
Max´s head reeled. Speaking with people...from all over the world. Hearing stories of travels from Capetown to Hong Kong from the people who had been there...had guided them there. And tell them his own stories. This was the stuff of his dreams.
“What say you, Mister DeGroot? Will you sail with me?”
Max smiled. He had not smiled in many a year. “Sir! Cap´n...where be we bound, sir?”
The cat sighed and sheathed his dagger. “There you have me. I know I am due west by northwest from Saint Lucie...but how far...and where we go from here...” He shook his head as if lost. “Could you tell us that, Mister DeGroot?" He returned the smile.
Max nodded. “Aye sir! I believe I can.”
So, here it is.
Maximillian DeGroot was born a bear cub of Dutch Parents in the small Dutch port of Sint Giel. It was far from other of the Dutch held islands, but because of its size, nobody really noticed it. Small trading vessels from Spain, England, France, and Portugal would make stops to drop off and pick up items found or made on the other nearby islands. The area was dominated primarily with Spanish ports, with some English ports scattered here and there. While there were occasional skirmishes on the seas, Sint Giel saw little fighting itself.
When Max was 11 years old he was apprenticed to a raccoon clock maker in the port village, who was also Dutch, Hans Coons. Hans made other items as well, among them being sextants since there was often a market for the items. Max soon developed an interest in the devices, so Hans provided him with books on navigation. He read with interest, and, on the days Mister Coons allowed, had a way of getting the local fishermen to take him out so he could practice what he learned.
In the evenings, however, Max went to the dockside taverns. He loved the music there, and especially the talk. He picked up enough Spanish and English to understand most of what he heard, and he heard a lot. About Havana, and Rio De Janerio. Of Lisbon and London and even the ports in the Mediterranian. Long into the night, he sat and listened, while his head was filled with stories of storms, and ports...and pirates. It was dangerous work, but every man there would not trade it for the world. The more he heard, the more Max wanted to be out there sailing the seven seas. Visiting strange new places. Seeing the world. Yes, he heard that it was hard work. But Mister Coons never knew Max to be a lazy cub. “Someday,” thought Max, “I´ll sail the sea.”
When Max turned 14, however, a day came that he would never forget, although he wished he could wipe it from his mind. Three Spanish Gallions sailed into port, with troops of soldiers. Sin Giel was immediately claimed by the attending ship´s captain, and renamed San Migel. All the village leaders were rounded up, including Max´s parents, and ordered to swear allegience to the King of Spain...in Spanish. Some, who understood Spanish tried to interpret what was said into Dutch, but were shot in the mistaken belief that they were trying to organize a resistance. Max´s parents were shot when they tried to protest, as was his employer. Max, who understood enough Spanish to know what was going on, stood mute, lest he be slaughtered with the rest. He stood by his parents bodies, and watched as they were gathered up and unceremoniously dumped into the sea. He stood there, stunned, unbelieving, his navigation books and sextant under his arm.
One of the soldiers tried to take the books and sextant from Max, but he clung on to the one thing that was left to him that meant something. The soldier was about to strike the cub when an officer came over, saw what was going on, and told the soldier to leave Max be. From the rapid Spanish, Max gathered that the officer felt that Max would be worth more if they could pass him off as a navigator. He was then shackled, imprisoned, and left to ferment in his growing hatred as the Spaniards took over the port, the cries and screams of defiled women, and even children, ringing in his ears.
Three days later, a ship from the East Linden Company sailed into port. Some had hoped that this meant that the English would soon come to their rescue, but those hopes were dashed at it became clear that the sacking of Sin Giel was a bargain that had been reached between Spain and England. Spain got control of the ports, England got free passage into and out of any one of them.
Max was reading his books in prison when the door to his cell was opened, and in came what looked to be an English jackal along with the prison guard. The jackal looked down at Max and spoke to the prison guard. “This is the cub you spoke of?” The guard nodded. “Stand up, cub,” he said to Max.
Max understood enough English to answer, “My name is Maximillian.”
The jackal motioned for the guard to haul Max to his feet. The guard grabbed the chain that was attached to the iron ring around Max´s neck and pulled him to his feet. The jackal spoke again. “When I give you an order, cub, I expect it to be obeyed. Understand?”
“My name is Maximi...”
The jackal backhanded Max across the face, silencing him. “I will call you whatever I want to call you, Cub, and you will speak to me only when spoken to, addressing me as ´Sir´ or ´Captain´. Do you understand?”
Max fought down his anger, but nodded.
The jackal backhanded him again, harder. “I said, do you understand, Cub? Now, answer me.”
Max raised a paw to his bloodied lip, where the slap had caused him to bite himself. “Aye...Sir.”
The jackal smiled, cruelly. In the conversation that followed, Max came to understand that he had been purchased from the spaniards and was now a slave. He was expected to chart the course of the English ship and if he made any mistakes his punishment would be severe.
Five years he guided the English ship through the Carribean, even touching the colonial ports further north, like Boston and Charleston, and sailing down to the Spanish ports of Argentina. However, he was never allowed to leave the ship, sleeping on the deck, even through rain and storm, the neck shackle, which chained him to the mast, saw to that. He occasionally heard the voices from the taverns near the ship, but never could be in there with the people he dreamed of...sailors and navigators and captains from all over. He often cried himself to sleep...dreaming that he was in there with them...drinking and telling stories...for he now had his own he could tell. But he was trapped. Doomed to forever be a slave aboard a ship, being left to drown should the ship ever flounder, held captive by the iron ring around his neck, and the chain around the mast.
One night, however, when the crew of the ship was revelling in port Saint Lucie, Max, now 19, was awakened when a paw clapped over his muzzle. “Cry out, Cub,” whispered a rough voice, “and ye´ll be out o´ that shackle the ´ard way...by ´avin´ yer ´ead cut off.” He could feel the edge of the knife on his throat. He nodded, not daring to move anything else.
“Ye be the ship´s navigator, aye?” the voice asked. He again nodded.
“Then ye be listenin´ t´ me, and listening good... ye sail for Saint Martin in the mornin´, aye? Then ye´ll be a-doing this—ye´ll guide the ship west by northwest, not north by northwest. If anyone ask, ye be telling them that there be a storm t´ th´ north ye hear tell about. Understand?”
Max could only nod. “Remember..west by northwest. Ye do that...ye live. If´n ye don´t...” The blade pressed onto his neck further. “Ye won´t see another port past Saint Martin.”
The blade was removed, and before Max could turn to see who it was, the blade wielder was gone.
The very next morning, the jackal Captain, with a broad smile, announced that he had procured one of the best loads of silks for delivery to the English colonies. They would be sailing directly to Boston, once they made their last stop in Saint Martin.
Max suddenly understood why his ship had been chosen. Surely if he did as he was told to by his visitor last night, he would be sailing them into a pirate trap. He could steer the ship the way he usually did, avoid the pirates, and port safely in Saint Martin. But would anyone believe that he had saved them from pirates? And might he end up dead as the voice had said? And would anyone care if he died? On the other hand, if he steered them into the trap, there was no assurance that he would live either.
But five years of mistreatment had taken their toll. Once out at sea, he laid out a course that was west by northwest. Even if the pirates killed him, he could at least have vengence against those who treated him like property.
“Cub,” asked the Captain. He had always called him Cub. Never his name, which he never bothered to find out. “Why are you setting a course more west than north?”
“Aye, it be the storm t´ the north, Cap´n.”
The jackal looked confused. “Storm? I heard of no storm to the north. Why are you trembling, Cub?”
“I...I be coming down with a chill, Cap´n...but while ye be in port, I heard from other sailors about the storm,...came up out of nowhere it did. I be setting a course to steer clear. We be heading due north in two days time.”
This satisfied the Captain. “Very well, Cub. It is never wise to sail into a storm, and you have never steered us wrong before.”
At night on the second day out, they were quietly boarded by pirates. They swarmed over the ship quickly, subduing her crew, and putting them to the sword. Max was the only one spared. The chain around the mast was broken, and he was hauled aboard the pirate vessel by that same chain and the iron ring around his neck, along with all the silk, right before they sank the ship.
Max was forced to follow behind the sailors who held his chain, jeering and taunting him. They hauled him before the Captain of the pirate ship, a rather scruffy looking cat. “This be he,” said a familiar voice coming from a wolf, holding his chain. “He steered her true.”
The cat smiled at the wolf. “Merci, Mister Wolfens.” He spoke with a slight French accent. He then looked down at Max from the upper deck. “What is your name?”
“Maximillian DeGroot, sir!” He spoke with confidence now. If they had planned to kill him, they would have done so by now. He still feared for his life, knowing that he now walked a knife´s edge, figuratively.
“Well, Mister DeGroot,...” No one had ever called him Mister before. This captain not only called him by his name, but with a title reserved for full grown men of respect. “I suppose you know why I had your life spared.”
“Because I did not betray ye, sir.”
The cat laughed. “Betray me? Aye, many have done so...and died. I´m thinking, though, that you believed the threat given you in Saint Lucie by Mister Wolfens, and you would rather cling to your life, aye?”
Max stood his ground. He had nothing to lose. “Aye sir! What little there is left of it.”
The men around him chuckled. The Captain smiled and descended from the upper deck, his pegleg clunking with every other step. “I am Captain FancyCat Fallon. You´ve heard of me, I trust?”
Max nodded, and his eyes widened. Fallon was one of the most feared pirates in the entire West Indies. No sailor ever spoke his name without fear in his eyes or a tremble in his voice.
The cat smiled. “And so my reputation preceeds me. Well, Mister DeGroot. It just so happens I am in need of a navigator.” The cat paced back and forth in front of Max, eying him from head to paw. “Had I not lost mine not a week ago, I would not have needed to have you steer that ship into my trap. And you...” He smiled cruelly at Max. “...you would be sleeping with the fishes now.” The men laughed again. “So...you have a choice, Mister DeGroot. You can join us...or...” He gestured towards the pile of flotsam that was once a magnificent English vessel. “...join your crewmates. And I will have to go find another navigator.”
Max´s anger rose within him as he again stood his ground. The thought of being shackled again, forced to serve pirates who he knew could be ten times more cruel than his captors had ever been, was too much. “Sir!” He spit out the title. “They be not my crewmates. I be a slave on that ship. And I´ll be damned before I allow meself to be made one again! I would rather die...sir!”
The men murmured at that. The Captain, however, smiled. “Oh, would you, now?” He said softly as he approached Max, and pulled out a dagger. Two of the crewmen grabbed Max´s arms. Fallon approached closer. He grabbed the chain and jerked Max's head forward. Bringing the knife up to Max´s neck...
...he jammed it into the chain of the neck shackle and broke one of the links. The chain fell to the deck, leaving him with just the iron ring around his neck. Fallon motioned for the two holding Max to release him. They moved away from Max, and the Captain stepped back, his dagger still in his paw. He flipped it lazily as he spoke. “Now what say you, Mister DeGroot?”
Max stood mute. He was being offered his freedom. Nay, more than offered. He was already free! True, he was in the middle of the sea, and surrounded by pirates. But the chain was gone. No one held him. His choices were his own.
“Look around you, Mister DeGroot. You are not the only one on this ship who knows the bitter taste of slavery.” The men around him growled their assent. “Some still bare the branding scars. Others wear the broken shackles of their servitude like jewelry. Still others severed their own limbs to escape.” Fallon's pegleg continued it's clunk on the deck as he paced back and forth. “There isn't a man on this ship that would not rather die than spend another day as a slave!”
Max's eyes continued to widen as the words of Captain Fallon sank in.
“So what say you, Mister DeGroot? If you join me...there will be harder work than you have ever known. But you will be free, that I assure you. I offer you your life, and your freedom. In exchange...” Fallon tapped his peg leg on the wooden deck. “...you guide The Cat's Grace, and you guide her true. Be it into battle or into port.”
Max still could not believe his ears. He thought of all the men who had lost their lives to these pirates. Some went down with the ship he had just been on. “But sir...why me?”
The cat smiled. “You are a better navigator than you know, Mister DeGroot. Being on that ship, you never heard what was said about you in the ports. Oh, not by name, no. You were known as just ´The Cub.´ More than one captain offered to buy you. But your captain turned them down, every time. Once I lost my own navigator, I knew where I had to get my next.”
Max looked surprised. “But...but I thought you were after...”
“...the silks?” Fallon interrupted. “Oh Aye, I wanted the silks. But I can find silks all over these waters. Your captain´s was not the only ship to share in that prize. But how many of those ships were being guided by one of the best navigators in the western world? It was you I really wanted.”
Max blinked several times. “Sir...I be only 19...”
“...and can navigate your way from Boston to Buenos Aires, aye? That´s nearly a third the world, Mister DeGroot.” Fallon shook his head sadly. “Such talent, and they kept you in chains. What could you do, if you were free, Mister DeGroot? Free to get the charts you need; free to speak with other navigators who roam the world; free to leave the ship when you wish, or stay when you wish. How much more could you do?”
Max´s head reeled. Speaking with people...from all over the world. Hearing stories of travels from Capetown to Hong Kong from the people who had been there...had guided them there. And tell them his own stories. This was the stuff of his dreams.
“What say you, Mister DeGroot? Will you sail with me?”
Max smiled. He had not smiled in many a year. “Sir! Cap´n...where be we bound, sir?”
The cat sighed and sheathed his dagger. “There you have me. I know I am due west by northwest from Saint Lucie...but how far...and where we go from here...” He shook his head as if lost. “Could you tell us that, Mister DeGroot?" He returned the smile.
Max nodded. “Aye sir! I believe I can.”
Category Story / All
Species Bear (Other)
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 26.5 kB
Well (though this according to Google Translate) it's 'Sin Chhel' similar to the Chh (I can't really write it down) sound used while pronouncing the Jewish holiday Hanukkah (Chanukah). Also, where did you get the idea that I was Dutch from? My surname is actually Polish in origin.
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