I've chronicled some of my past...escapades... with The Collector. As I've said, we weren't always on the right side of local law enforcement. During my time running with her, we were separated for a few decades.
While traveling in Bifrost, and following her in Ned, my TTC developed a fault in the temporo-spatial navigation systems, sending me spinning out of the vortex, materializing on an island in a somewhat tropical environment known as New Providence. While I was unable to leave the area until the navigation system self-repaired, I was able to tell the local era was what was referred to as 1717. Specifically, Tuesday.
I had, once again, found myself on Earth. Or some facsimile thereof (I'm told, for some reason, Earth doesn't PROPERLY exist in SL-space, at least as a singular world, but is, instead, replicated multiple times in multiple locations, often going by differing OFFICIAL designations, but, most often called by its locals "Earth")
After wandering about the local town, getting my bearings (and, admittedly, stealing some clothes which were, I must say... colourful, but more era-appropriate than my usual garb), I ventured into the local drinking establishment.
I'd been to some very raucous pubs in the past. I usually enjoy that type of atmosphere, but THIS one was different. There was an air of barely-contained violence and anarchy here, the likes of which I'd not remembered ever encountering. Everyone here seemed like a seafaring sort or women of, shall we say "paid company"and a few "merchants" (by which I mean to imply licensed thieves)
Among this rabble, I stumbled... quite literally... into a man with a rather hardened look to him. His face bore the texture of worn leather from wind, salt air and sun, which made him have a constant scowl. He immediately drew a pistol on me, prepared to shoot me on the spot. There was one thing I could do.
I reached over the bar top, grabbed a bottle of rum and handed it to him.
With this, the silent tension that had fallen when the man had turned to me changed to a hearty laugh from all present.
The man and I sat at a table and split the rum. And we talked.
His name was Charles Vane. He claimed to be the captain of a ship called The Ranger and was looking for a new quartermaster, implying he was offering the job to me.
Naturally, I needed to have a name in order to function here, as "The Madman" wouldn't serve me well here. I introduced myself as "Jack", followed by a cough, which Charles took to sound like "Rackham". Due to the colourful nature of my clothes, he immediately gave me the nickname "Calico Jack".
Since I had no idea how long I would be stranded here, I took Charles up on his offer and became quartermaster for The Ranger. As it turned out, however, Charles Vane wasn't a... legitimate captain. He was, in point of fact, a pirate.
Now, I've said before that I've not always been on the "right" side of the law. As such, the idea of sailing with a cut-throat crew did not bother me a wit. To be completely candid, I enjoyed it. Blame it on some of the narwhals, if you like. I really don't know. I DO know that I truly felt alive on that ship. At least, until we encountered that man-o-war.
Off the coast of New York, we encountered a French man-o-war, which was, yes, more than twice the size of The Ranger, but also clearly loaded with treasure. Charles panicked and ordered a retreat. Most of the crew felt he was being cowardly.
To this day, I'm not sure my thinking at that moment. It doesn't seem like me. Maybe it was the narwhals taking hold, but, once we were out of range of the man-o-war, I called for a mutiny vote. Fifteen men supported Charles. The rest chose me as the new captain.
Having come, a bit anyway, back to my senses (such as they were at the time), rather than strand Charles or kill him, we set him and his supporters off in our other captured sloop, and that was the end.
I continued to captain The Ranger, taking small ships for their prizes, adding the sailors of those ships to my crew and things were good until The Kingston.
The Kingston was one of the biggest prizes in the sea at the time, a merchant ship so heavy with treasure it was nearly the first Terran submarine. The temptation was too great, and we took it.
The Kingston was a prize we fought hard for and when we had her, we had to celebrate. We didn't realize, at the time, however, that we had taken her within site of Port Royal, and the governor... didn't take to kindly to my crew snatching such a high-profile ship within sight of the citizenry. Hunters were hired and sent after us.
I had ordered both ships to an island near Cuba. The Ranger needed to be careened and, so, it was a good place for us to celebrate the taking of The Kingston as well. At sundown, however, we saw a pair of Spanish ships: a ship of the line and a sloop of war.
Tide was low, but we had clearly been spotted, as the ships anchored at the mouth of the inlet we were in, waiting for the tide to be with them so they could attack.
Being a Time Lord, it would stand to reason I would not wish to be executed by a primitive culture, as regenerating in front of them would throw their entire society into chaos. Seeing as piracy, at the time, was an automatic death sentence, it also stands that I would need to avoid capture and arrest. It was due to this that I hatched a plan.
After the sun had set, I commanded my crew to swim to the Spanish sloop, as it would have a much smaller crew. We arrived without having alerted anyone on either ship.
At this time, I must admit some guilt in the fact that my crew and I did kill the dozen men aboard the sloop we'd just boarded.
Come sunrise and high tide, the Spanish warship opened fire on both The Kingston and The Ranger, severely damaging both...
And being completely unprepared for us, aboard the newly commandeered sloop, to open fire upon them from the rear, damaging them enough that they couldn't pursue.
Angry over what had happened, I christened my new ship The Revenge, and we set sail for Nassau.
It was there that I met Anne...
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