originally?”
“Dunno.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Do ye remember yer own birth, lassie? Me first mem’ry is bein’ aboard me uncle’s ship, sittin’ on the poop deck with a knife, carving a piece of wood. Couldn’ta been more than ten year old. There were a battle with another ship – everyone were killed or taken, but me. After she ran aground, I was on a desert island alone for what musta been two year, fendin’ fer meself, just me and me knife, and what I could salvage from the ship. I was rescued by The Coral Phantom. I grew up aboard ‘er, swabbin’ decks and mixin’ gruel and doin’ whatever the cap’n told me to. Then, when I was about twenty year old, there were a change of management, ye might say.”
“An insurrection?” I asked.
“Aye, a mutiny. The cap’n wound up gettin’ ‘isself keelhauled. ‘e and ‘is first mate met their end as fish food. Weren’t too long after that the new cap’n got ‘isself shot at a tavern in Jamaica, and I ended up as the big man on board. That were nearly twenty year ago, now.”
He was certainly imaginative, and really seemed to believe his wild story.
We pulled up at the marina and Mitch chartered a small boat to take us out to sea. Sebastian provided general directions. Before long, we were halfway to Bimini Island in the northern Bahamas, near a tiny island where much of Flight 440 had washed up. Sebastian continued to enlighten us.
“So like I were sayin’ – the sky grew dim and the wind stopped dead as a corpse’s breath. Me crew started to get spooked, like there were someone walkin’ cross their watery grave. Just then, a swell comin’ from all directions at once grew towards us and lifted up The Coral Phantom. Some of the men thought it were a sea-monster pickin’ us up right out the water. All but meself scurried below decks like a load of cowardly rats, and I was alone on deck in the eerie silence.”
I was captivated by his tale. I didn’t believe a word of it, but he told it with such conviction, he was very compelling. “Go on,” I said as the boat began to slow for our approach to the shore.
“There were a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder right over the crow’s nest. I shut me eye tight against the brightness, and slowly opened it. I was blinded for a moment, and when I could finally see again, I found meself sittin’ with a crowd of strange people in some sort of large tube with port holes all along the sides. I thought I was below decks at first, but then me stomach lurched, and the people started screaming. I looked out the port hole and I couldn’t believe what I seen. We were up in the sky, like a seagull, falling down toward this ‘ere island. We swooped in and skimmed the white caps, bounced a few times, then started to sink.”
The boat slowly puttered past the bobbing NTSB boats and a couple of Coast Guard vessels, staying outside of the area cordoned off by orange and white buoys, surrounding some debris that was being pulled out of the salty blue water by huge steel cranes mounted on flat black barges. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, and several of the barges had already turned on their spotlights to illuminate the work, which would continue round the clock until all the parts of Flight 440 were retrieved and catalogued, ready for investigation.
I planned on checking with whoever was in charge to hopefully get a scoop on the status of the black box recovery.
“So, how is it that you were the only survivor – what happened to all the other people on the plane – I mean, in the flying tube?”
“Well, it seemed they had no bloody idea what to do when your ship is sinkin’. Many of them drowned right away. Many others tried to float away in squishy yellow rowboats the likes of which I’ve never seen. I don’t know what ‘appened to them, but when that metal ship broke up, I clung to a piece of it and found me way to this island. A little while later, all the yellow boats washed up empty and flat on the shore. I never seen any of them other people again. After a day on the beach – reminded me of me childhood – flying machines arrived and took me to the place where you met me.”
I was intrigued by the mystery – a man who was not listed on the passenger manifest, claims to have been on the flight (though didn’t know how he got there) – and is found as the only survivor. On top of it all, he’s convinced he’s a pirate.
And he was starting to convince me.
Just a little.
“Was this the beach where you washed up?” I asked as we reached the sandy shore and the boat driver cut the engine. We rocked a little as the water got shallow.
Sebastian shook his head. “Nay, it were a fair walk to the east. I’ll show ye.”
Sebastian put one hand on the edge and hopped over into the shallow water, clearly comfortable with sloshing around in the gentle surf with his peg-leg and boot. I stood and leaned over the rail to see how deep it was, and he blew me away by grabbing me right out of the boat and carrying me like a bride across the threshold, ten or fifteen yards up the gradual slope to the dry white sand, then gently depositing me on the ground.
“Um, why, thank you,” I said, smiling sheepishly and pushing my hair back behind my ear, feeling a little self-conscious at being manhandled without my permission, yet also a little exhilarated for being the recipient of such chivalrous behavior.
Not to be shown up, Mitch hopped overboard as well, then reached into the boat and grabbed his camera. As he splashed through the water toward shore, he lost his balance. His arms shot out to steady himself, but one foot sunk in the wet sand below the water and he went down on his butt. He raised his arms up overhead, holding the camera so it would not get wet.
“Nice save,” I called to him.
He just grimaced and stood carefully, then made his way onto the beach with slow steps.
“Come,” said Sebastian. “This way.”
Mitch fired up the camera and we followed Sebastian into the verdant overgrowth along the shore. Mitch did his best to shoot from several angles as we pushed giant green fronds out of our way and stepped over twisted roots. The muggy air smelled salty and moist and like rotting wood. Crickets (or something like crickets) were beginning to chirp rhythmically as the sky overhead faded to indigo and little pinpricks of light appeared above. Something bit me on the upper arm and I slapped it away.
At one point, I could swear I felt a wave of electrical energy pass right through me. I started to feel uneasy.
“How much furth –”
My words caught in my throat as we stepped out of the jungle onto a crescent-shaped beach. There in the little bay was a huge, majestic sailing ship with massive, tan-colored sails and rigging stretched from mast to mast.
“Haha! The Coral Phantom – she’s come back fer me!”
“Th-that’s your ship?” I asked. I felt a little dizzy for a moment, and my mouth went dry. I looked over at Mitch and he held his camera steady on his shoulder, pointed at the impressive pirate ship floating before us.
Now this would make one amazing stand-up.
“Mitch, let’s get a stand-up, quick,” I said, pulling a clip-on mic out of my blazer pocket and adjusting my hair. I stood between Mitch and the ship, slightly to the side. “Three, two, one. Mr. Sebastian led us to this beach, and this ship, which he claims is the ship he captains, The Coral Phantom.”
I kept it short and sweet, since facts were still scant and I needed something I could insert in the video package regardless of how things turned out.
“What are ye doing?” asked Sebastian.
“I’m just making a record of this, so we can let other people know about it.”
“What other people?” he asked, turning up the corner of his mouth in a snarl. “Since the Brethren of the Coast broke up, I’ve made me a few enemies. I don’t want ye telling others about me ship, and our complement of guns and crew. Or where I stashes me booty.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” I assured him, “we won’t give away your secrets. Is there a way we could – come aboard?”
“They need to know I be here. I’ll light a fire to signal them and they’ll send a skiff.”
“
No need for a fire,” said Mitch. I can use the light on my camera.” He pointed his camera-mounted light out to the ship and flashed it on and off a few times, hoping to get the crew’s attention. After a few minutes we heard the splash of a small boat being launched, and watched as it grew toward us with rhythmic rowing splashes. I was shocked as they came close to see that these men, too, were dressed as pirates.
“Uh, Mitch?”
“I’m getting all of it,” he whispered, watching it all happen through his viewfinder.
The boat got within a few yards of shore and one of the men called out. “Cap’n, we thought you been thrown overboard, and we been searching the islands for ye! Do those blaggards have ye captive?”
“No, they be friends!” called back Sebastian.
Did they just call him Captain?
The boat reached the beach and Mitch fumbled to find a way to hold the camera and pick me up like the gallant Captain Sebastian. But the captain beat him to it and scooped me up once more, wading out with ease despite his disability. Each time he stepped on the wooden leg it sunk into the surf, but he somehow managed to keep me level. He placed me in the boat, and the three pirates made room for me to sit down.
They rowed us to the ship (humungous up close) and we climbed aboard by scaling a long rope ladder. Thankfully I’m in great shape and it was no problem to get up to the deck of the magnificent sailing vessel.
“So, this is The Coral