Captain’s journal 25
th
December, 1673
M
atthew’s passing had prompted a sombre and reflective mood amongst the crew. After 15 years, there were precious few left who had sailed under him, but all had heard the stories and he was as real a crew member to many of them as the men they worked beside. The panacea for these ills would have been the activity and urgency of our planned infiltration of the Governor’s Mansion in Jamaica. As cruel fortune would have it, my Mother’s contact to gain access to the building would now be away ‘till beyond St Stephens Day. So, with nothing to distract us we listlessly worked our daily routes, keeping the ship clean, chasing down merchant ships. Rolling Sisyphus’ boulder. It was, in part, as remedy to these doldrums that our quartermaster suggested keeping Christmas this year in more elaborate fashion than we ever had before. Last year’s feast was a paltry affair as we’d not put to port for several weeks due to a bad case of recognisability and were waiting ‘till our infamy had died down. Consequently, our Christmas feast consisted of pickled beef, biscuit and some extremely questionable cheese. This was a situation Davy abhorred, having been whelped in a household where Cromwell’s Christmas censure was adhered to with joyless efficiency. So, sailing sailin to markets the mar on the mainland, mainlan took Chalky to three men barrow and a barr to buy geese, gee brawn, hens, bra fruit to make
10 Pirate Plunder ● May 2019 10
It is not unknown for pirates to enjoy drinking alcohol at Christmas or at any other time of year (picture courtesy of Jeff Penfold).
pudding and other Christmas husbandly fare. Holly can be found in the Caribbean, but for Ivy and mistletoe we were left wanting. In spite of this lack, the crew gaily decorated the ship with garlands and sprigs, and a candle in every sconce, although not, of course, in the powder magazine! This only leaves the alcohol to account for, which was left to Davy’s Christmas punch, a concoction that whilst warming to the spirit was utterly devastating to sense! Strong mountain Malaga wine, brandy, rum, sugar, lemons and nutmeg combined to create a drink with an effect worthy of the name ‘punch’. We caroused through the day with food and wine, many of the men played cards, always of course ensuring that if Chalky played, they let him win as much as he lost (as mentioned before, the man for all his virtues is a spectacularly ungracious loser). Robert took
up his fiddle as the evening wore on, so we had music and all were replete with mirth and good spirits. Towards the end of the day, I sat with Davy (who by this point had drunk enough punch to drown a whale). Being something of a tavern philosopher, he opined that keeping Christmas well was the best thing a man could do. It’s a way of showing that whatever has happened to us we’re still here, unbowed and enjoying ourselves. Whether we suffer a distant monarch seeking to take our freedom, puritanical Cromwell trying to ruin a good time or simply the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, celebrating Christmas bites our collective thumb to all of them. I’m obviously paraphrasing as he slurred most of it, cursed repeatedly then fell out of his seat, but that was the general sense of it. However, as mazed as he is, I cannot disagree, so a very merry Christmas to you all and a happy and prosperous New Year.
