Front Page - Message from the Editor
Page 2 - Portside Perusal - Global Events Round Up
Page 3 - PG Technical Advisor - “First Fleets Guide”
Page 4 - Historical Lookback - Port Royal
Page 5 - Meet The Crew - Sir Henry Morgan

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:It be an honor to share me time with the Argonaut - ah it does an old man's heart good to have the attention of such a striking figure of a woman; but ye make no mistake....

...she knows how to handle business with a cutlass and handle her diplomacy with a smile and a cannon.

But I digress - as m’lady requested how I came to be in Avonmora - so I shall to say how it came to be as we quietly sipped brandy and rum on a rainy day, in a dark no name pub in Baramas.

I be in Avonmora nigh 9 years now - and I remember the day I arrived as if it be yesterday....

I be standin' on the deck of a little cutter - The Swallowtail. The clouds were dark and full of storm to the south as Mr Tibbs, me faithful first mate prepared her for a trip to Afrika.

You see, I"d had a fallin' out with King Charles, and he had a fallin' out with parliament.Oh, I had managed up to this time. I'd been battlin' charges of piracy against Spain, and Charlie had kept me in the clear, and I had managed a while when he was replaced.

But no more. My time was to be short for Jamaica..

In addition, me missus kept on about headin' back to the Old World - oi! That be the last place I’d haunt, as I ne'er missed it and made my fortune here, and here I planned to die.

Word came that Parliament was comin' for me as some Spanish top knot had his knickers in a twist, and my arrest and prosecution would straighten out his pantaloons.

I be damned if some Spanish fop was goin' to determine me fate - after all, t'was not my issue they failed to properly tend Isabella's swag - gold acquired from the good folks of the New World!

So Mr Tibbs and I went forth with my plan to die in the New World - we planned me death and funeral. Tibbs found a bloke who could pass as me; he was fitted with me clothes, and could drink as I do, but couldn't handle as well. A little poison helped improve the timing so our next campaign could start on time.

Thus, I stood on the deck of the Swallowtail. I smile now as I remember hearin’ the 25 gun salute- a tribute to me - as we made ready to make way. She be quick, small, and could slip out of Port Royal quickly and easily. We launched her, her hold full of goods and swag for the trip, headin' out to sea.

The Port master, evidently took note of us - whether he suspected smugglers or pirates I know not. We were just hoisting full sails when we heard the bells of the HMS Destrier, Her Majesty's frigate.

The HMS Destrier - a swift 40 gun pirate and smuggler hunter, captained by one Lord Dexter Chapsworth. He'd earned his stripes as I had, privateerin' for England. Old Chappy decided to continue at sea as I retired and began plantations in Jamaica.

The Destrier came to life, and fired a shot meant to let us know they would like to make our company.

Not bein' in the mood to entertain, I bellowed "Full sail, ye sea rats! Point her bow to the Devil's Triangle!"

Mr Tibbs stopped and stammered; the crew froze and stared slack jawed at me.

"Sir," Mr Tibbs stammered, "are ye certain ye should be temptin' fate in the Triangle..."

"Damn you, Tibbs, this not be a democracy nor up for discussion - I be payin' for this lot. Ye be better served dancin' with the devil than crossin' me. If we be boarded, you'll find yeself swingin' from the yardarm either as pirate as per the Destrier’s Captain, or served up as chum for the fish by me cutlass. "

Mr Tibbs was a sensible man, and could see of his choices, he liked none of them - he began barkin' orders as I turned to put me eyes on the HMS Destrier.

The Destrier was at full sail and in pursuit; damn that English efficiency! All I knew is that Chapsworth wouldn't shy from sinkin' the Swallowtail. He figured we'd run, so we be guilty - he'd play judge and jury, and executioner.

Not that it mattered, but he knew not I was aboard as far as he knew, I was bein' put to rest in Port Royal. (We didn't see eye to eye, as it were, but we left each to his own.)

It appeared I had no choice but to put some distance between us, in the quickest manner possible, as we be in range of his bow guns.

I took the helm from Tibbs, noting the seas be gettin' rougher. That dark storm seemed to be right between the Swallowtail and our destination.

The Destrier began thunderin' cannonballs our direction. They were startin' to fall short as.we were widenin' the gap. Seven volleys rang out in the growin' wind. Long thunder joined in song, and lightning began dancing in our path. We soon would be out of range. Then the storm hit....

Like the fury of a harpy, the wind ripped out mainsail, leaving but one small tattered sail along one one side. The Swallowtail leaned hard astern, throwing a few mates overboard with gear and a cannon. Then the rain smashed into us, pelting down like cold fire, almost tearing a man 's flesh from the bone.

The Swallowtail was almost dead in the water. I turned to see the Destrier giving us her port side, as the wind hit her. They began rolling out the long nines as the frigate began to be tossed on Calypso's tempest. Old Chappy was goin' to do his best to scuttle and sink us before the storm did it for him. (I may have questioned his judgement of chasin’ us into a storm, but I credit his dedication to his call.)

Thunder roared, and lightning hit the Swallowtail, setting her to glow with St Elmo's fire. The Destrier boomed as 20 guns sent cannonballs in our direction. Parts of our deck splintered and broke, sending men and gear into the sea again.

Tibbs and I scrambled to rally the crew to set what sail we had left to battle the storm - I wagered the Destrier would soon be doin' what she could to stay afloat, and cannons be damned!

The wind screamed, rain swept the deck like iron, and the waves played with us like a cat with a mouse, tossing us between the waves. I strained to see the Destrier, as her guns went silent, but I looked in vain - the rain was too heavy.

The Swallowtail glowed in the storm, with St Elmo's fire dancing along the lines, the rails, the rigging. Tibbs and the crew hit the sails, and I put the Swallowtail into the waves that began to swell as big as mountains.

I knew Old Chappy be out there yet, but where, I couldn't be certain. I knew we be lighted up like a morning sun, and he'd keep on us in this gale, and even take a pot shot if the opportunity came to be.

We were definitely dancin' with the devil...and the party be turnin' into a festival!

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:(Lass, it be time for another round....)

The storm showed us no mercy, as the cutter was bein' ripped from stem to stern. The crew were lashing themselves to what ever they could to stay aboard.

I I gazed into the wall of rain, but all to be seen was Hell's fury....

"Ship ahoy!!!"

I turned me head toward the shout as I saw Tibbs pointing port side. I turned me head to see the Destrier bearing down on us. Me guts moved to me chest.

Before I could shout an order, a wave swept the deck, slamming me head into the helm, splitting me head open. I could feel the warm blood run down me wet face.

There be no time, as the Swallowtail was about to be swamped and run asunder by the Destrier. I spun the helm, hopin' I could run the Swallowtail along side the Destrier.

The ship cantered hard astern as the bow of the Destrier kissed the bow of the Swallowtail.

I then gave the order...

"Abandon ship! Prepare to board the Destrier, mates. Take nothin' but ye lives, what little they worth!"

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:The few that remained scramble to undo their lashings. Rigging of the Destrier began to sweep across our decks, thus we made the most of it, grabbin' hold and hangin' fast.

As I cleared the deck and hung on the side of the frigate, I looked back to the Swallowtail. It be a ghost, the waters past the scuppers and she rolled o'er, bearing her keel to the sky. That was the last we would see of her as we began to asend to the decks of the Destrier.

As to what we would find aboard, we knew not, but a plan be a churnin' in my mind, as the HMS Destrier was about to be boarded by a dead man....
...for all they knew.

I hoisted my beaten, bloody body over the rail onto the deck.; as I stood, I saw only four of me thirty man crew were here, Tibbs among them.

The Destrier be not much better, the deck in a shambles, her sails furled, but only a few more crew than what I brought aboard - Captain Chapsworth be manning the helm, to keep the frigate from capsizin'. His crew be lashed to the masts to stay aboard. She, too, was aglow with St Elmo's fire, the green flame dancin' through her rigging.

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:I made me way toward Old Chappy - as I approached, his gaze eventually fell upon me, and as recognition registered, his jaw began to drop.

"Mary, Mother of God!" He gasped....

"Nay," I replied, half shouting, "that not be me - Hell's brought ye more than a storm, good Captain! It brought Henry Morgan!"

Laughing, I grabbed hold the rail, and wrapped me arm with a rope lashed there.

He continued to stare, but the storm took his attention. He continued to work the helm to keep the Destrier afloat.

I said no more, but held my post. Tibbs and the other three lashed themselves in and prepared to ride out the storm.

I said nothing, but stared into the storm - for several hours, that fury of the gale pounded on ship and crew while Old Chappy fought for us from the helm.

I am certain he had questions, but they would have to wait. He knew not what caused him more trepidation: the storm, or the dead man standing beside him on the helm.

I don't know how long the storm be, we lost track of time, whether it be day or night, but it calmed as fast as she arrived when she departed.

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:As the seas began to settle, I cut meself loose from the rail, then went to sit at the bottom of the stairs. I be weary, but remained alert to see what Old Chappy was to do next.

"So, you claim to be Sir Henry Morgan, former Lieutenant Governor of Jamaica, returned from the dead."

I turned and looked up at him from my perch. He stood atop the stairs, his hands behind his back in his long military coat. His silhouette loomed large, and his voice hoarse, but quiet and calm as he be weary as well.

"Aye, that be true." I gave him a wry smile.

"Interesting." He said no more, then turned back to the helm. I turned about, wishin' me flask wasn't empty and the tobacco was dry, but that wasn't the way of it.

He wasn't worried, or didn't show it - we were goin' no where for a while, as we were short on crew and short on ship. The frigate was in shambles. He had ample time to think before speakin'.

So, I made meself at home I settled into the stairs for a wee nap. The sandman hit me hard and fast; as I was asleep in less than a wink.
"SHIP AHOY!" i

I sprang to me feet, startled... a ship?!!

The last thing I wagered we would see was another ship! But there they be...

There be five of 'em...brigs of war with a cutter, all flyin' the bloody Jolly Roger. Not exactly the ships I'd chose to see after a tempest Hell, but that be more Chappy’s issue of concern than it be mine..

Old Chappy, looked, and swore. There be nothin' to be done, as we were without enough guns, no riggin' and sails to speak of to maneuver, and dreadfully short of crew to man that tub.

The brigs of war slid right up on each side of us, guns trained to the waterline. The cutter came along side. We were about to be boarded.

A solid looking bloke was the first on board, definitely a seaman, and most likely the blighter in charge of this fleet. He brought aboard a good part of his crew, but he didn't need it. We were already beat asunder.

He carefully took stock of the ship and crew, then not addressing anyone in particular, he asked "Who's in charge of this....ship?"

Chappy stepped forward from the helm.

Chappy moved down the stairs, steppin' just past me as the pirate watched him approach. They squared off.

"I am Captain Dexter Chapsworth of His Majesty's Navy. And who might you be...sir?

The pirate swiveled his head to level his gaze at Chapsworth.

"I be your savior."

I couldn't help in spite of myself; I smirked and chuckled. I tucked me head to keep from bein' thought rude.

"You find that humerous?"

I looked up to see the pirate had moved within an arms length, givin' me a very dark glare.

"I do - Old Chappy thought he already had the job!" and I laughed.

A smirk broke out across the pirate's face, and he couldn't help it as he began to laugh, followed by his crew and the rest on board...except for Chappy. There was a twinkle in his eye as he addressed me.

"And you, sir, who might you be?"

Before I could answer, Chappy broke in. "This is Sir Henry Morgan, recently returned from the dead."

The pirate laughed again, "Oh really? Then ye won't be needin' a savior?"

"Not if it be Old Chappy here." I replied, and the entire ship broke out in laughter.

As the laughter quieted, I asked "May I have the pleasure to know who has just come to our rescue?"

"Folks call me Skyhawk - and that will do."

"What are your intentions, Mr. Skyhawk?" inquired Chapsworth. (He never did have a sense of humor.)

"I intend to take you and your crew to New Land, and sell your ship while I am there for the trouble!"

I had ne'er heard of New Land...

Chappy started to turn red but worked to hold his temper.

"This ship, sir, belongs to His Majesty. You won't get away with this."

"Oh I think I will." said Skyhawk. "You see, you are not in the Caribbean any more....or the Atlantic, or the Gulf of Mexico.

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:We all stood stunned....

"Where then are we, sir?" Tibbs had stepped up.

Skyhawk spread his arms wide. "Gentlemen, welcome to Pirate's Glory, a world like no other!"

Sir Henry Morgan wrote:And that, lass, be how I came to be in Avonmora. As ye can imagine, I had lots of questions....

...as did Skyhawk. It not be everyday ye meet a dead man.