I, THE SEA TRAMP

Pirates! The scoundrels swarmed us before I realized the danger, not that I could ever have outrun them so heavily laden. I suppose they spotted us riding deep with cargo so close ashore, and couldn’t resist the opportunity for a bit of “commerce,” as they choose to call it. Truth is, not much separates legitimate trade from piracy these days: Often the same ship will be engaged in both, conducting normal business unless a smaller undermanned vessel offers an easy target in some secluded spot. After 80-odd years of sailing, I finally became their victim. The Skipper and I assumed such villains would all be away on Demetrius’s payroll at Rhodes, not hiding among the coves of Cyprus to prey upon tramps like me. Fatal mistake.

I remember the fast approach of their ship and the volley of spears that struck us before we could even surrender. The four men aboard me had nowhere to hide, and I took eight hits myself. Several iron spear-points from the bloody assault remain lodged in my wrinkling skin, a painful reminder of my last frantic moments afloat. The pirates took captive the wounded survivors, to be ransomed or sold into slavery, then they quickly ransacked me for what little I had to offer: the personal valuables of my unfortunate crew, the season’s accumulated purse and a slosh of wine to celebrate. I was judged unworthy of towing just a few hundred meters to shore for a more thorough pillaging, so my assailants simply hacked a hole in my hull to scuttle me forever.