MUMBLY-PEG (Part 1)
Many years ago when the black-powder cannon and the cutlass ruled
the seas, there was a pirate you've never heard of named Mumbly-Peg. This story is about
why you have never heard of him.
Now, from his name, you might think he had a peg leg, but
that wasn't exactly the truth for you see, this pirate, whose real name was Johathan
Andersen, was given the name Mumbly-Peg by his victims.
As with most pirates, Captain Andersen started out as a
loyal sailor in the British Navy. No one, including Mumbly-Peg knew exactly when he
changed, when he stop being a loyal subject and took down the Union Jack and hoisted up
the black flag, complete with the skull and cross bones of the pirates.
But it was well known that somewhere along the way,
Mumbly-Peg and his crew broke every rule of the high seas. They attacked ships in the dead
of the night, tossing their victims overboard without mercy. It was during just such an
attack that Mr. Andersen aquired the name Mumbly-Peg for instead of shouting and cursing
his crew, the ruthless captain spoke quietly, almost mumbling his words. He stood on the
deck of the burning ship, outlined in orange flames and holding a cutlass in his hand.
"Overboard," he mumbled and motioned to his crew
to force the passengers of the ship they had just attacked to jump into the churning seas.
Those that made they way back to shore described the pirate
as Mumbly-Peg.
"Have you heard about the pirates, Clara?" William
Grossman asked his young sister.
The two of them lived with their parents in a house perched
on a cliff overlooking the ocean close to the place where some of the victims had washed
ashore. William was older. He had just turned twelve years old and Clara was only ten.
There was no school in the tiny village where they lilved. Their mother did her best to
teach them to read and write and there were a few schools books around the house. But the
children mostly helped their parents. Clara had a fine hand for sewing and William was
learning the art of boat building from his father.
"Go on now," Clara said. "William Grossman,
how you talk."
"Then you haven't heard?" he asked. "Oh,
Clara! What a story. They call him Mumbly-Peg the Pirate. Just last night he boarded the
Beaumont after it left port. Really! Burnt the ship, they say. And here's the exciting
part--forced the passengers into the water, Clara, at the point of a cutlass."
"The Beaumont." she gasped. "Is it true,
William? This had better not be another one of your stories."
"Cross my heart," her brother said.
"But Louisa's father was abroad the Beaumont,"
Clara said. "What have they heard from him?"
"Safe and sound," he said. "I saw him this
morning when father sent me to fetch a keg of nails."
"The Beaumont?" Clara said in disbelief.
"Attacked by pirates."
"And not just any pirate," William added.
"Mumbly-Peg."
Not much was heard from the pirate ship for several weeks.
The coastline had hundreds, if not thousands, of places where a ship could hide in a
secluded bay. After the attack on the Beaumont, everyone figured that Mumbly-Peg would
have enough supplies to last for a long time.
The Beaumont finally limped back to shore a few days later.
It was a wonder that it didn't sink in the deep water along the coast. Everyone in the
village turned out to see the boat when it finally made it back to port. When William and
Clara finally saw it, they couldn't believe their eyes.
"It's a miracle," Clara said, "that anyone
survived the attack. How could those pirates do that to a defenseless ship? From what I
hear ol' Mumbly-Peg forced all the men as well as the women into the water. That man has
no honor."
"Honor?" William scoffed. "He's a pirate,
Clara. He lives by the sword."
"And he'll hang by the yard arm," old Myron
Castlemyer said.
He, too, had come out to see the ship.
"Aye," someone else said. "A pirate like that
is nothing but scum of the earth."
"Do you think so?" asked a man no one knew.
It wasn't unusual for strangers to come through the little
village. Of course they were always welcomed and, in the tradition of the sailors, few
questions were asked. But this stranger was different. It was easy to tell that he was
educated and refined. He was not the usual character that drifted into the village.
"We don't cotton to pirates in this part of the world,
stranger," ol' Myron Castlemyer said. He was a crusty old man who ran an import
business and was always quick to offer his opinion. "I say hang 'em. Hang 'em high by
the yard arm and let that be a lesson to the others."
"Is that right, my good friend?" the stranger
asked. "And these sailors, the ones you call pirates, how are they different from,
say, a merchant who steals from another of his kind and ships the goods back to England?
Or perhaps someone who deals in slaves? Is that person any less of a pirate?"
The stranger was looking directly at Myron Castlemyer. Mr.
Castlemyer did not return his gaze. Instead he stared hard and steady at the burnt hull of
the Beaumont in the bright midday sunlight.
"Scum of the earth, are they?" the stranger asked
and looked at Clara this time.
"Yes sir," she said. "As far as I am allowed
to speak my mind. This pirate, this Mumbly-Peg man must have no honor whatsoever. For if
he did, gentle stranger, he would not allow the women to swim for their lives. Nay, he
would not force anyone into the water."
The stranger nodded in agreement.
"You are a rare one," he said. "Just a young
girl but more willing to speak your mind than him," and nodded in Myron Castlemyer's
direction. "But I must bid you good day," he continued. "I have much
business in your village and little time."
The stranger turned and disappeared into the crowd gathered
at the dock to see the Beaumont. Clara tried to watch him but there were just too many
people.
"Did you see him?" she asked her brother.
"Who?"
"That man. That man I was talking to. He seemed so
unusual to me. I've never seen the likes of him in these parts. I wish I knew more about
him."
"Clara," William admonished, "it is not
polite to query strangers. They deserve their peace unless they present us a reason to
treat them otherwise."
"Yes," she said, still looking away from her
brother and into the crowd. Slowly, Clara's gaze returned to the Beaumont. "Yes, you
are correct, William. But I feel as if this stranger has given me a reason to suspect
him."
Ten days later, Mumbly-Peg struck again. This time the
pirate and his band of cut-throats pulled along side The Waterford, a ship anchored off
shore and waiting to enter the harbor next to the village. Several hours before dawn, they
attacked. Remarkably this time no one was forced overboard. Instead, the pirate captain
boarded the ship with his cutlass in his hand and gave the crew the choice to swim or put
in lifeboats. The victims reported that, indeed, it was Mumbly-Peg who lead the attack. As
with the Beamont, after the ship's stores had been looted, The Waterford was set on fire.
Word spread quickly throughout the small village. Clara was
working on a quilt at home alone when her brother came bounding in the door.
"This time it was the Waterford," William cried as
soon as he caught his breath. "Mumbly-Peg the Pirate and his crew has attacked the
Waterford just outside the harbor."
"Sakes alive, William!" she said. "You scared
the daylights out of me. What are you saying? Another pirate attack?"
"Isn't it exciting?" he cried. "Mumbly-Peg,
the famous pirate, is still in our waters. Who knows, Clara? We might even see him or his
ship sometime."
"Stop talking nonsense, William," Clara said.
"What about the attack? Was it the same? Did Mumbly-Peg force everyone overboard
again?"
"Why, no," he said. "He didn't. In fact, this
time he gave the crew the choice of using the lifeboats. What ever made you ask that
question?"
Clara didn't answer. She was deep in thought and stood
watching out the window as the waves came rolling in to the beach at the base of the cliff
below their house. She had a feeling which she didn't want to mention to her brother. She
thought she knew more about his pirate, this Mumbly-Peg, than most other people of the
village but she could be wrong. And that was the important thing right now. As soon as she
was sure, as soon as she was absoultely sure, then she would take action. Until then,
there was nothing she could do. Instead, she had to listen to the reports and watch the
helpless ships limp back to port like the rest of the people in the small sea-side
village. And even if Mumbly-Peg thought his business was fair and he was only stealing
from the theives, Clara didn't see it that way.
Another two weeks went by before anything else happened.
Life continued pretty much as it had for many years and the townfolk were thankful for
that. Some even figured that this new band of pirates had moved on to richer waters. But
Clara had an uneasy feeling. She kept watching the tides, the weather and the strangers at
the market. All of these signs would soon make sense to her if they came together at the
correct time.
One afternoon Clara had stopped in to purchase some thread
at the store in the village. Outside, the usual business of the day was happening. Ships
were being loaded for their jounrey overseas and the marketplace was a bussle of activity.
There was nothing different about this day except for a feeling Clara had in her stomach.
She couldn't put a name to it, but it was there nonetheless.
As she was looking through the supplies of thread, someone
came into the store. Now, it wasn't unusual for people to stop into the store on a busy
afternoon. There was only one store in this small village and it served as a hardware
store, food store, general merchandise outlet and almost as the town center.
As Clara was busy sorting through the thread, the person who
had just entered spoke to the owner.
"Good day, ma'am," he said.
"And a good day to you sir," Mrs. Pandlford said.
The stranger smiled and then said, "I am in need of a
seamstress. Perhaps you could recomend one to me."
"Not from here, eh?" Mrs. Pandlford said.
"Well, then welcome, stranger. Always glad to have you in the store." Mrs.
Pandlford looked up to see Clara sorting through the threads. "And I believe you're
in luck, sir. There's our finest seamstress in the village, Clara Grossman."
"That girl?"
"Aye, she's young but she knows her way around a
needle. And fast, too. You can depend on young Clara to do your work."
At that point, Clara looked up to see the same man she had
spoken on the day the Beaumont was back in port. As their eyes met, a slow smile spread
across his lips.
"Delighted," he said. "Clara Grossman,
Seamstress. Would you be interested in doing some work for me?"
"Good day, sir," Clara said. "That all
depends on the type of work you are proposing."
"You are quick with a needle?" he asked.
"Mrs. Pandlford says I am, although I would never
boast."
"Excellent," the stranger said. "This job
will not take long but time is of the utmost importance. For you see, I will be leaving
soon, and I have a coat that needs repair. Nothing much but it will make my journey much
easier knowing my coat is ready at a moment's notice. Is that the kind of work you could
do?"
"Yes, sir," Clara said.
"Of course I shall pay you well for your time,"
the stranger said. "I have the coat with me, on my horse just outside. Perhaps you
can repair it now?"
A price was agreed upon and Clara sat in a chair in front of
the store and did the mending while the stranger visited a tavern for his lunch. When he
returned, Clara had finished her work and was inspecting the coat for other damage.
"Nicely done," he said as he approached. "You
do have a very good hand for needlework.
"Thank you, sir," she said.
"Well, I must be going soon," he said as he handed
her several gold coins. "Thank you so much, young Clara, for your quick work."
"You are most welcomed," she said. "But I
have not learned your name, sir."
"Ah, my name," he said. "I am but a stranger
and, a stranger I shall remain. You see, I am a very private person. And to be quite
honest with you, I am concerned about the pirates in your waters. I am not so sure this is
a safe place to remain. So, it is best if I am only a stranger to you."
"It must be lonely," Clara said, "to be only
a stranger to those who are so kind to you."
"Yes," he said quietly, "you are quite right
about that. The life I live is a very lonely one."
The stranger mounted his horse and left quickly, his
repaired coat lay across the saddle. As the horse broke into a trot, something fell from
inside the coat. It landed in the dirt with a thud and Clara turned in time to see the
strange go around a corner. She picked up the stuff bag and called to him, but it was too
late. He was gone.
"Mrs. Pendlford?" Clara asked after she went back
inside, "the man who was just here, this dropped from his coat. Do you know where I
can find him?"
"Haven't a clue," she said. "That's the first
time I've ever laid eyes on him."
Clara walked back outside and into the sunshine again. All
around her the busyness of the village set a backdrop for her mind. The stranger had gone
in only one direction and it should be easy to follow him. After all, she didn't have
anything else to do on this day. As she walked down the wharf, Clara noticed a shipment of
gold being loaded aboard the Hammerschimdt. There was much activity all around her but it
was clear that it was gold and it was clear that the Hammerschimdt was ready to leave
port. Something sparked Clara's mind. If the pirates were still in the area and if they
knew about this shipment of gold, the Hammerschimdt would be the next target.
For the time being, young Clara tried to put all of that out
of her mind. Instead, she tried to concentrate on finding the stranger and returning the
stuff bag to him. It shouldn't be that difficult, she thought. Only she was wrong. What
happened next would prove to her how wrong she could really be.
The End |
