The Last of Barrett’s Privateers

The year was 1778, the aged young man was pushing his wheeled chair made of wood and iron down Barrington street. He wouldn’t be 30 until a fortnight. This chair was substituting for his lost legs. The metal was clanking off of the cobblestone. It had been a good day at the Gardens. Spring does that. Many couples had been through, some wanted to hear his story, some only shared alms. The Navy men had been willing to listen, with awe, at the story of Barrett’s Privateer’s. It was not an old story, barely 6 years since Barrett and company took to the seas in search of American gold.

“How I wish I was in Sherbrooke Now!” The sailor said. Sherbrooke was not too far for a mariner but for a man without legs and little money it might have been in England for all he cared. Smiling Pete threw him an apple and saluted. The sailor caught the apple and saluted back without missing a stroke on the iron wheels. He was well liked on these streets of Halifax.

He turned right on North St. heading to the harbor. It was a downhill course. He would need help getting back, the chair was heavy but he HAD to go to the Lower Deck. The food was mediocre but the rum was good. He reflected on the ghosts of the past.

“ O, Elcid Barrett cried the town, For twenty brave men, all fishermen, who
Would make for him the Antelope's crew.”

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.

The young man had signed up for Barrett’s crew.

“God damn them all! I was told, we'd cruise the seas for American gold, We'd fire no guns! Shed no tears!

We are Barrett’s Privateer’s.”

The sailor made his way to the Lower Deck, taking in the sounds and smells of the harbor front. yells of mates, bosuns, the language of the sea, not to be heard at events of state, that was for sure. The smells, ahhh, fish, tarpaulin and tar. The smells of LIFE.

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.

The Lower Deck’s door opened to him, he entered. It was smokey, smelly, it was patroned by those that went to sea. The bald barkeep asked if he wanted the usual. “The soup? Yes. Double rum though.” As he sipped his rum he thought of the campaign that brought him here:

“God damn them all! I was told, we'd cruise the seas for American gold, We'd fire no guns! Shed no tears!

We are Barrett’s Privateer’s.”

Barrett would not fire on a merchant ship. It might have been easier if he did but he made a stand that we were not pirates. Thieves maybe, privateer definitely. What wasn’t expected was the reaction of the Americans. A great big ship of war hove in site and it took after the Antilope. The chase lasted two days. Over night Barrett made course changes but the Yanks had the speed and knowhow to overtake the Antilope. She was an old ship.

His soup came.

How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.

The American ship stove in the hull of the Antilope in it’s first volley. The boom crushing this seaman’s legs as it fell. He knew nothing until later, as he held to the same boom that took his legs. He was released from the Atlantic by the Yanks. The only man to survive.

“God damn them all! I was told, we'd cruise the seas for American gold, We'd fire no guns! Shed no tears!

We are Barrett’s Privateer’s.”

The sailor made his way from the Lower Deck to the piers. The seabirds were calling. He looked out past George’s Island to the open sea, taking in all the scents of the mistress. The Atlantic was a cruel hearted bitch but she was home..His heart ached to be on her breast again. It wouldn’t happen though, in his position he was little more than ballast. Tears fell from his eyes, or was it just the salty air? Was it not one and the same?

“I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier, the Last of Barrett’s Privateers.”

Wow Intrepid, and I thought my story was depressing.

It's a good story and written in a fantastic way. Once I started reading I had to finish it. I think it will do very well in the competition.

Most of the stories i've read in this contest so far have been really down and sad in nature. Perhaps its the music that makes us all creative and want to write though.

Good job of writing my friend,

Wupy

God damn them all! I could hear all the privateers pounding on the tables at close at the Chester Tavern when I read that Intrepid! I'm pretty sure Barret and a couple of his buddies ancestors are hanging out there waiting for you to come for a vist!

Amazing!

You and Vagabond IMO have the two best stories. However the challenge was to tell a story around a song, and vag's story with so much emotion and passion does not compare to how well you told this story around the song.

I'm not the judge, but chissler gives you the nod.



Listening to the song now