Pike's Decision

t was a moonless night. Only the flickering light that emerged from the windows of the Jolly Roger Inn sent a weak shimmer across the ocean, dancing as the waves lapped gently onto the beach. It was mysteriously silent in the Red Skull Bay, and a regular would have noticed the absence of rough laughter, clashing weapons, singing drunkards and shattering bottles of ale.

Around a wooden table there sat a bunch of pirates and sailors, some of them wearing the distinctive tricornes of the United Pirates leaders. The roughnecks were gesticulating and discussing with sorrow painted on their faces. Suddenly one of them raised his hand for silence. He put his tricorne on the table and scratched his head.

"Listen up, crew!" His voice was strong and rough, like the voice of a man who had breathed nothing but salty sea water and the smoky air of taverns for all his life. "Things are not like dey once were. We all figured out dat da old days o' action an' events seem past. Now wut has become o' da once so dreaded pirates? I remember da days when Hook and Hawkeye were around, leadin' us ta fun, fights, ale and women. Wut has become of dem?
The dissatisfied mumbling of the crew interrupted his speech. A young pirate with bare chest stood up, not being able to control himself anymore.
"First our Admiral Hook be missin', now dere's hardly a sign frum Hawkeye. I mean, wut's dat all about? Blasted! Why dey call demselves 'Admiral' and 'Captain'? Yea, Hawkeye given back two of his medals voluntarily, which downgraded him frum 'Catain of da Fleet' ta 'Captain'. But ain't a Captain suppos'd ta be dere fer us a li'l bit more often?"
His comrades nodded silently.
"Well, well" muttered the leader. "Seems like we need ta have a word or two wid our Captain Hawkeye."

To the southwest of the Red Skull Bay lay a sturdy cabin, nested on the edge of the small peninsula. Light poured from the open windows, illuminating the scene and throwing ghostlike shadows onto the grass. The once proud vessel of the Captain, the 'Grim Corsair', was anchored at the beach. The sails, once folded with such love and care, lay in disarray over the decks. Ropes which used to be furled painstakingly, were now tossed carelessly over the salt-sprayed planks, their frayed ends a mute testament to the ill-treatment they now were subject to. The huge anchor, once so shining and polished, was now covered in rust. Shattered bottles were lying around on the grass, and a leaking tossed-away lantern spoiled its stinking oil onto the ground.

The rusty anchor sign beside the door swayed weakly, creaking in the wind, as the group of pirates approached. The pirate leader knocked and tried the door. It was unlocked! The door swung open and a warm humid air mingled with the smell of rum and smoke drifted out. A figure was lying spread-eagled on the large bed, between empty bottles of rum and gems from his last loot. It was Hawkeye Pike, the corsair with the swift kryss, the terror of the seas, his name whispered with trembling lips all over Britannia. But as he lay there, he merely looked like an old drunkard, his blue tricorn lying crumpled on the filthy floor. He was snoring loudly, not even noticing a whole bunch of pirates entering his hut. His senses once had been sharp, and even a little mouse rushing across his floor would have awakened him from the deepest slumber. But his overindulgence in luxuries, vice and women had taken a terrible toll on him.

A sailor kicked the post of his bed, which made it swing dangerously. Hawkeye Pike grunted and blinked angrily up at the intruders. "Wassup, mateys?" he shouted, and staggered to his feet. But the pain of the hangover let him sink back on a stool, and he stared at his crew through red eyes.
"Cap'n, wut's wrong wid you? Look at yerself! Look at yer ship!" The pirate wench waved towards the window. "Now ye even have been seen fooling around wid landrat women! Ye want ta become like one of da fat-arsed landlubbers?"
The leader stepped forward and looked at Hawkeye Pike sternly. "Ye know, ye can't do dis. Ye nay be a good example fer our young sailors. Ye are supposed ta teach dem da life of piracy, not da life of lazy drunkards." He took a deep breath, then continued. "Just look at da moral of our crew. We haven't had any noteworthy events fer months! Da day ye swung yer kryss against da Rogues wuz da last time we really seen ye in action. In da past ye done so much for us pirates! Our docks - dey have been completely fergotten. Da treasure hunts! Da ship races! Da fights and battles! All da great events ye organized! What's become of dem?"

Hawkeye Pike looked around at their sorrowful faces. His head was aching badly.
"Look crew, I been givin' 'way two of me medals already, wuts dis all 'bout?"
Shaking their heads, they stared at him silently. One of the crew suddenly burst out: "Ye call yerself Cap'n, ye are uf high rank, ye own three houses in da Red Skull Bay, ye wanna decide about da crew, but still I don't see ye around. Ye just retreat to yer filthy cottage, and don't do anything fer us anymore. You have become PASSIVE! Ye not supposed ta be passive as a Cap'n! Ye supposed ta be an example fer all o' us!"

A little sobered from this shock, Hawkeye slowly realized. What the hell was he doing here? Suddenly he felt weak again, tired of discussions, tired of arguing, and wanted to go to sleep again. Things really had changed. What the United Pirates needed was not a lazy captain like him, but someone who would make them famous again. Someone who had the energy to hold events and throw parties regularly again. But it couldn't be him.

"Blimey, I can't." He fell back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The crew looked down at him in shock. "I made a decision."

10/99

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