The Hood: Legacy & Immortality Chapter 2

The Captive

The Golden Age of piracy, the seven seas, true freedom. I’ve known what true freedom tastes like for longer than all of my crew have been alive, but I was always alone in that experience. I have spent many eras not caring what the world had to say about me. Others, with their lives so short, have never been blessed before with the same experience without losing their heads.

This is a new experience for me, to be surrounded by individuals who are not chained to society’s rules and judgements. We take what we want, love who we want, and do what we want.

Now, fighting with others of our kind, fighting with those who would chain us is always a risk. It enhances our lives though really.

In the year, 1715, we pirates rule the seven seas, I don’t care what Britain says. I’d challenge any one of their frigates to attempt and fail at taking their chances against my Flying Dutchman. I challenge any sea-faring nation to try and catch me on the high seas. No armada has come close.

Many ask me however, after I tell them about the thrill and freedom, what could they get out of it? Their lives are so short, that sometimes they don’t have the luxury to join the life without a physical reward at the end, and sometimes even the beginning.

To them I say, the doubloons and whores are pretty good. 


“Ahh, ahh,” she whimpers.

As I’m still face first in my playmate a loud knocking wraps against the door to my cabin.

“Captain, you’re needed on deck! Immediately!” the familiar and unwanted voice of my quartermaster comes from outside.

I lift my head from the whore’s legs and tell my quartermaster, “If you cannot hear, I am obviously quite busy!”

Scipio informs me, “There’s a prison barge on the horizon, and your men have a proposition for you.” Well then, this should be a good one.

Still, I groan in annoyance having not yet finished. As I remove myself from the blonde I apologize to the ladies, “I’m sorry to say that I am being called. Hopefully we can finish before we arrive back in Tortuga.” The blonde coos in disappointment. “Give me a few minutes, Scip!”

“I would hurry, Captain,” he warns. “Who knows how long before the barge spots us.”

As I stand up from my bed, it is quite obvious that unless I want my crew to see my tits I should dress myself. Rarely does the swaying of a ship on water trip me up, but when I stand I almost trip as I bring up the zipper of my black leather trousers. I mutter in complaint to myself, “Barely even had a chance to get my pants off.”

The brunette prostitute currently helping the blonde, shows an ability to multitask as she tries to ask me a question. She starts in her rather high voice, “I’ve been on quite a few pirate ships in my time…” I’m sure she has. As I walk to my clothes cabinet, I open it to look for a simple dress shirt. The brunette continues speaking, “… but never have I been on a ship like this. Most Captains come and go on a whim, rarely does one have such, control.” It seems she knows some big words. “This seems strange because-”

As I pull out a white shirt with buttons, I interrupt the prostitute, “Because I’m colored? A woman? Impeccably dressed?” The girl is caught off guard by my aggressive outbursts so much so that she stops playing with the blonde, much to her dismay. I apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve heard it all before. Just ask your question, and finish up with her before she attacks you.” The brunette resumes both of her activities.

“How do you get everyone to listen to you?” she finally asks.

I grin as I put my arms through the white shirt, and start to button all but the top two of my shirt. I inform her, “At first it was because I knew where to make money. Now they’ve learned that I’d kill all of them before they could all kill me.” With that, the prostitute shuts up and let me finish dressing myself.

I slip on my black boots, my brown frock coat, and most importantly my black buccaneer hat, one only the Captain wears.

I tip my hat off to the ladies before I take my leave onto the deck of my ship. I walk out to the busy crew working idly as they wait for me. I promise them, “I’m meeting with Scipio now. No need to look so gloom.” With that they go back to talking and working amongst themselves where need be.

I continue my way up the stairs to the quarterdeck where Scipio waits with both my first mate and a boatswain. I greet the young and dear Anne Bonny, who stands at the helm waiting for Scipio’s instruction as she smiles and nods her redhead to me. She’s barely a teenager, but when I picked her up Scipio took to showing her the ropes. She has a potential I want for myself.

The boatswain is the one who reports on the naval provisions for Scipio and me. His name is Edwyn. He’s scruffy around the chin, but it suits him with his long blonde hair.

I look between Edwyn and the tall, stalwart Scipio. With a shrug of my shoulders, I ask plainly, “Well? Is one of you going to explain why I had to abandon my place between a nice woman’s legs, or are we just going to keep standing around like a bunch of arseholes?” The crew is mostly a mix of men from the British Isles, Scipio the exception, so the language gets picked up. Scipio is an African I took from a slave ship.

Scipio gestures for Edwyn to speak up. With a shake of his head, Edwyn informs me in his Welsh accent, “Captain, Jones, as Scip told you, there is a prisoner barge up ahead.” He takes a pause to wait for my response.

“Yes,” I confirm. “What hasn’t been explained is this proposition from the crew and what it has to do with the barge. My understanding was that we were on the way to Tortuga to sell some goods we stole from that East India Company ship, or whatever it was called.”

“That was true, still is,” he corrects. “But the crew finds that the ship is,” then as he holds his fingers close together near his face, “a little undermanned.”

I tilt my head to the side and cross my arms. I ask for clarification, “Undermanned?”

Nervously, Edwyn continues, “Um, yes. There seems to be an idea that the ship is in need to acquire more recruits. The workload for each individual is a little more than one should have.”

Doing nothing to lessen Edwyn’s anxiety, I slowly realize with a finger pointing to the ocean behind me, “And the crew, as I understand, sees the prison barge as, let’s say, an opportunity to find more recruits?”

“Yes, Captain. Essentially,” he answers.

I’m not opposed to growing the size of the crew, neither to meeting some of their desires, but I do have my fun in making Edwyn nervous. For some reason, unlike the others on my ship, he finds me intimidating even when I’m not trying to be.

There is the possibility that we simply cannot take on more people. I turn to Scipio, who keeps track of such things as quartermaster, to inquire as to whether or not we can accommodate more people. “Scipio, can we feed and house anymore?”

Scipio answers me with a prepared and well-informed answer, “We can afford to bring on two more at the most.” His accent does nothing to hide where he is from, but I will ignorantly continue to guess that he’s from Old Calabar. “Anymore, and we’ll have to increase our normal food packages, and will have to make some men share beds.”

I turn to Edwyn and ask, “Is that sufficient?”

Edwyn tips his head, “Well, the crew was hoping for more like five, but…” Then he trails off.

“Then I guess we’ll just have to compromise, won’t we?” I tease as I lean forward and give the Welshman a smile that does most unnerve him. Then I step past the young Anne, to the railing in front of the wheel. I speak up to the crew on deck. “It has been brought to my attention that many of you desire for a few more recruits, specifically from the prison barge in our sight. While I regret to inform you we cannot take on as many as you would like, we can take on at least two. A compromise. What you say?”

I receive a resounding, “Hear! Hear!” from crew. This tells me they are at least accepting of what I have offered.

“Good, then let’s make haste to catch up to the barge, shall we?” With that comment everyone gets back to work.

I then take a moment to scope out the surroundings with Anne. I notice that we are currently traversing between two small isles among many. I whisper into her ear, “Keep the ship straight and steady, and when we start getting close, swerve as hard as you can to the left. The boat will move and turn to be parallel with the barge. Do you understand?”

The Irish girl smiles and assures me, “I’ve got it all, Davy.”

I pat her on the head and tell her one more thing. “This is also important, if the wind feels too strong, don’t try to be the jarhead who thinks he can muscle it out. Hand the wheel off to Scipio, do you understand?”

“Yes,” she says slightly disappointed.

“Good girl,” I compliment. I turn around to see that Scipio is still waiting to talk to me. I walk up to him and gesture to walk with me. I lead us to the edge of the boat, where we can peer our heads over the side of the ship to look at the water below. Suddenly the wind picks up and I feel my hair blow to the side. Thankfully it’s only a little past my ears so it doesn’t blow in Scipio’s face. I ask him, “Something bothering you?”

“Nothing bothering me, per se,” he admits. He doesn’t look completely sure. In the time I’ve known him, I’ve learned to trust any misgivings or feelings he has.

Then I turn around to lean up against the railing, my palms holding on to keep me steady. I tell him, “Obviously something is on your mind. Speak up.”

“I’m sorry Davina,” Scipio apologizes. He’s one of the few who calls me by the first name I’m known by now. “I simply find myself hoping we don’t catch up to that barge.”

I chuckle and remind him, “Well, you’re not in for much luck. I’ve never met a ship that can outpace our Flying Dutchman here.”

He shakes his head and chuckles too. “I know you to be right, but still.” Then he gazes out across the water. “Something still bothers me. I’ll ignore it for now, but be careful when you board the ship.”

I arch my brow at him. I remind him, “You of all people know that I don’t need to be careful.”

“You may heal from any wound to you body, but not your soul,” Scipio warns.

“Damn you,” I say only kidding. “Now you’ve got me nervous. If I find the father of one of the whores down below on that boat, I’m blaming you.” He simply shakes his head while smiling at me as I walk away to prepare my swords and pistols.


Anne! Remember what I told you!” I yell to remind her. The prison barge saw us and tried to make a getaway, but as I keep saying, no ship can escape the Flying Dutchman.

As Anne spins the wheel with all of her might, my boarding party and I grip the sides of the ship to keep from falling backwards. The barge had tried to head west as we went north to meet them. Now my ship is closing in and beginning to swing in parallel to the barge.

The winds are strong today so the ship has to fight against a lot of force as we turn sharply. The ship’s mast wains and creaks but I have no doubt that she can hold against the pressure.

As the wheel starts to fight against her, Anne calls out to Scipio for help, and quickly he comes up behind her to grab the wheel and hold it steady with her. As they maintain the wheel, the Dutchman slides up against and slams into the barge. The water sloshes up high between the ships, and some of the raiding party gets splashed in the face.

Now is the time. I unsheathe the sword strapped to my hip and raise it high in the air. I chant loudly, “Board!

These are the moments I live for, the fight to take what can be mine. I quickly step my boot onto the railing and propel myself between the ships. Mine is taller so I soar through the air, barely managing to keep my hat on, and land one foot after the other onto the railing of the barge.

Based on the red colors of their coats, this ship is British, which means that these prisoners were most likely making their way to Georgia.

I stash that piece of knowledge away for later, as my momentum from jumping from one ship to the other carries through, and I must leap forward towards the closest man. In an arching leap I point my sword downward, and plunge it through the redcoat’s heart.

My boarding party follows suit with similar action, and quickly I notice that our numbers are met with equal force on deck. I know what I must do to win. To get these soldiers to give up I must kill their Captain and their officers, which I can identify by their hats and whether or not they have a sword. 

As I look around, I see one charging me with a bayonet, and I quickly grab one of six pistols strap in an ‘X’ across my chest. I take it out and quickly aim it at him. By the time I pull the trigger, he is point blank range, and I shoot him dead in his heart.

His now limp body’s momentum carries him through, and I roll backwards to lift up my feet to the chest of the body falling over me. With power and fluidity, I kick the dead man over my head, and quickly roll forward back to my feet.

I grab the handle of my sword from the first I killed and get to finding the Captain and officers.

Another comes at me with a bayonet, so I bring my sword to catch the bayonet in its hook. The man pushes it with great force and ferocity so much so that even as I hold my sword with both hands, the bayonet inches close to my chest. Then cleverly, the man shoots me.

I feel the musket ball pass through me, and become lodged in my heart. The force throws me backwards onto the ground, and I find it hard to move without coughing up my own blood. The man who shot me moves on to fight another, this time without another musket ball. I lay there looking up in a daze as my men and the redcoats fight amongst each other. The only ones of my crew getting hurt are the ones being shot. Bayonets for the most part are no match for our swords.

By my count I have only lost five, and the British have lost many more. Now I begin to feel the musket ball being forced out of my body. I feel my unnatural blood comb through, and remove it from its place lodged in my so necessary organ. My blood pools around it, and force it upward. I can feel it in me as the musket ball is dislodged from my aching heart! I feel myself now able to take a breath once again. As my blood swiftly and quickly repairs my heart, I find the strength to grab another of my pistols.

I roll over onto my stomach, and aim my pistol at the man who shot me. I gurgle blood from my mouth and he hears me, and turns eyes wide. I blow him away with one shot. I drop this gun, knowing someone else will retrieve it for me later.

I feel my body regain itself once again, and I find myself able to stand with a new sense of vigor. Once I am on my feet I look around and see my targets on this ship’s quarterdeck. I‘m in the middle of the deck, and see three men fighting my crew between the captain and me.

I run forward, seeing my first victim as the redcoat knocks one of mine to the ground and prepares to skewer him. With both hands on my sword, I swing from the ground upward to catch the musket in the middle, and aim it upwards so that it doesn’t stab my man. The redcoat’s weapon is sent to the side, so he stumbles in the same direction. I raise my sword over my head and proceed to slam it down towards him but he raises his musket to block. My sword embeds itself in the wooden gun. I tear my sword back taking the musket from his hands. I whip it to the side and the musket becomes dislodged as it flies backwards somewhere. Then with one hand I proceed to make the plunge. The redcoat crosses his arms to protect himself, so I stab through his arms where they cross over, and proceed to plunge my sword then through to his throat.

I pull back from my first kill and proceed to the next. The next redcoat between me and the stairs is pushed back towards me by his opponent. I come up behind the redcoat as he stumbles to stick my sword through his back and out his front end. The easiest kill I’ll have this day probably.

I then throw him off of my sword and proceed to the stairs as the last redcoat shoots one of mine. As I walk up and he walks down, we find ourselves at an impasse.

Quickly, he stabs downward towards me with his bayonet. With such a linear place to fight and the decent distance between us, this is the best place for his weapon. I bring up my sword to parry, earning a screech of our blades. He stabs forth again and I am forced to parry. In my position I can only parry the multiple stabs. I must take a risk of pain.

The next stab of the bayonet I don’t block and take it in my right arm. I feel the pain radiate through my body, sparking a sharp burn in my heart. I grab the end of the musket with my left hand and pull backwards. The redcoat tries to keep his grip on his gun but he was unprepared for me, as most are. I wrench away his weapon, and as he finds himself defenseless. I use my now free left hand to grab another pistol and take aim. As the redcoat tries to turn around to run, I shoot him in the back of the head, spraying his brains across the floor.

 I continue up the stairs as I feel the pain in my sword arm. I sheathe my sword, and arm both of my hands with two of my three remaining pistols. As I walk up the stairs I see the Captain and his one officer engaging in swordplay with two crewmates. I raise my guns at them and call out, “Surrender the ship or die!”

The Captain in his sword fight, clashes swords with his opponent, and then cleverly punches my crewmate with his fist, knocking him away. He wipes his mouth and looks to answer me, “Never!” I shoot the brave man, and he stumbles backwards to fall off the side of the ship.

The officer freezes in shock, and due to his mistake, his opponent disarms him, and holds a blade to his throat.

I walk up to him, and place my pistol at his throat to ask again, “Surrender, or die.”

The officer, much more intelligent but not as brave as his Captain, submits. “I surrender. I surrender the ship to you!”

“Now tell your men to throw down their weapons,” I order. He nods his head, allowing my crewmate and I to drag him across to the railing overlooking the deck. I order him, shoving my pistol harder against his neck, “Tell your men to surrender!

Immediately he starts screaming. “In the name of the King, stop! In the name of the King throw down your weapons! We surrender!” He goes on like a mad man until more and more of his men begin to lay down their weapons. One by one, they each give in, one by one, they are knocked to the ground and binded.

We have the ship.

As the remaining redcoats are being tied up I walk the officer down to the deck where he can join them.

Members of my crew come to me, and I hand over the officer to them. They turn him to face me, then force him to his knees. I take out my sword and lay the pointy end near his throat. I inform him swiftly, “Listen carefully because I will not repeat myself. I will plunder your prison and employ enough able bodies to replace the ones I’ve lost, and then some more for interest. I will free whichever I do not need, and to you they will be free to do what they please. If you and your men wish to change my mind and be given a fighting chance, do your best to please me.”

The officer simply looks up at me petrified. He sobs, “We will give whatever it is you need from us. Just don’t leave us to our deaths. Please!”

“Then do what I have asked,” I say. Then with a gesture of my sword I motion him away. Edwyn, soon comes up to me from among the remains of the boarding party. I inquire from him, “How many did we lose?”

“Seven, and three suffered wounds they are not likely to live from,” he says gravely.

I order him, “Then find the keys to the prisons below, and we will recruit twelve of them. If any of the three survive, then we drop off some extras at Tortuga.”

“Understood, Captain Jones,” Edwyn says with a nod of his head. Then proceeds to do the task I have given him. After a few minutes of searching, he comes back to me with the keys and to lead me to the prison cellars. “Please, Captain come this way.”

He leads me to the other side of the ship, where a locked door stands to lead to the bottom floor. This barge is not like a normal ship, as it is designed to keep the prisoners downstairs even if they get free of their bonds.

Edwyn hands me the key and I proceed to open it. As the door swings open to the stairs that spiral and turn, I gesture for more men to follow. I lead them down, and we come to a dark cargo hold, where natural light barely touches except for few cracks in the ceiling.

Half a dozen cells to my right and left, with one door dead ahead.

Two redcoats who cower below see us, and run away to the door at the end. I start walking towards them with my crew behind me. I call out, “Stop if you wish to live!” I shoot one pistol but miss, and proceed to follow.

As the redcoats cowardly try to open the door at the end, prisoners and cells start laughing and chanting around us, calling the redcoats slurs to diminish their intelligence. I begin to rush towards them to cross the distance between us, but they open the door and slip inside before I get there.

When I do, a prisoner in one of the cells at the end, clings to the bars and splays out his hand. In French he calls out, <“Wait!”>

I stop, confused, and wait before I try to open the door. Not before long, I hear screaming and guttural cries from within. The redcoats are dying, and something is killing them. I remove my hand from the door, and turn to the Frenchmen kneeling on the ground, leaning up against the bars.

His hair is long and unkempt as it drops over his ears and his eyes. His beard is long, and full of knots. His skin peeling in places all over his face. But his stench tells me everything I need to know about how long he has been in captivity.

I kneel down to be eye level with him, and in his native language I ask, <“What is in there?”>

Simply, he informs me, <“The devil.”>

I move away from the bars and back to the door, my crewmates behind me. As I place my hand on the door, I take out my last pistol. I turn to tell my crew, “Be ready to kill whatever is in there if it attacks.” They all nod their heads in understanding.

After a deep breath, I do not count, I do not give a signal, I just open the door and rush in.

I have my pistol raised with a number of my crew armed and ready to kill behind me, but I was never going to be ready for this.

The child, covered in the blood of men doesn’t look at me at first. He sits with his legs crossed on the floor. He sits between the two bodies. He looks up at me, and smiles, revealing the blood that forms around his teeth. He asks me, “Tell me, old Guardian, what name do you go by in this century?”

I find myself breathing heavily, nervous for the first time in years. I lick my lips, not sure if I should answer, but if I don’t, surely, he will reveal my real name, and I don’t want that. I tell him, “Davina Jones, that is what I go by now, Alet.”

Alet tilts his head and watches me curiously. He comments, “The famed Davy Jones. So many have you sent to your locker in the depths of the sea. I never would have guessed, I should say, but obviously I did if I managed to find you again.”

“Yes, that was your mistake,” I tell him.

Then I shoot his twelve-year-old head in the face. He’ll be asleep for a while from that.

I order my men, “Ready him a place separate from the new recruits. We’re taking him prisoner.”

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