“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. Drink and the devil did for all the rest, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.” Treasure Island, the first book I vividly remember reading. Well I didn’t read it. My dad read it to me of a night before bed, after we had moved up the coast, away from the big city to a small country town by the seaside. For the first few months after our move we lived in a small caravan park by the beach.

I found myself falling asleep every night to the sound of the distant waves crashing upon the shore, vivid images of cutlass wielding pirates, buried treasure, tropical islands and galleons doing battle upon the sea coursed through my mind, fueling my imagination and filling my dreams with tales of adventure, debauchery and battle, ruthless buccaneers, handsome heroes, beautiful damsels in distress, and exotic far off places. Looking back this early obsession with pirates plays a significant role in my fascination with history, and most of all my love of reading and literature later on in life.

Sometimes of a night, once my parents had gone to bed, and I felt the need to pee, or get myself a drink, I would sneak out of the caravan, being careful to not make a sound as I slipped outside and wondered down to the beach. I recall one such occasion with such clarity, as if it happened only yesterday, not some twenty-five years ago. I can’t say if what I saw was a mere figment of my excited child’s imagination, was in fact a dream of such detail and vividness that I confused it for reality upon waking, or was indeed a ghostly vision of a time centuries before. As if somehow my fevered imaginings had opened a portal through space and time, allowing me to see through the veil of the centuries and into the past. What I can tell you is I had an experience that whatever its nature, was of such profound significance to me, that it stayed with me all these years with a vividness and clarity of detail, unlike anything else I have ever experienced.

I was taking one of my regular late-night strolls from our caravan, winding my way through the labyrinth of caravans, campers, tents and cottages before turning onto the path towards the ocean. Shrubs, mangroves and grasses lined the sides of the sandy track as it snaked its way through the dunes, down towards the beach. Something rustled in the grass among the dunes and a bird of some sort cawed in the trees above as I strode along the path, my bare feet sinking into the soft, cool sand, leaving a track of footprints in my wake. I descended onto the beach, the sand becoming noticeably deeper and colder as I wondered across the sand. I strode down the sand until I came to the line where the waves reached their peak upon the shore and followed it for a time. I stopped to stoop down and retrieve some pebbles and began to toss them into the water, seeing how far I could hurl them out to sea.

Unexpectedly a curious sensation came over me and I stopped to take in my surroundings, giving my full attention to the night that engulfed me and now tickled at my senses with an indistinct feeling of surrealism. Everything suddenly felt vague and ethereal, like being trapped in a dream which one could not awake from as my hair stood on end and my pulse increased, my breathing becoming heavier as I became more alert and aware of the night around me. The steep cliff face of the large hillside that flanked the beach loomed menacingly above the shore, casting the beach nearby in a dark, malevolent shadow devoid of light. Hiding the rock pools below the cliff, where hermit crabs and small fish frolicked, from sight.

The waves lapped lazily at the shore, rolling up onto the sand before receding back upon themselves. The sea was eerily calm with the swell of the waves laying quite close to shore. Beyond them the ocean lay as smooth as glass, the pale light of the crescent moon reflecting upon the surface of the water and making it shimmer like the stars that blinked down upon the earth from the heavens. Several large clouds drifted across the night sky, the light of the moon giving them a ghostly visage, so they appeared as phantoms floating among the stars that glittered like jewels within the black, abyssal darkness of space. The trees rustled in the breeze that blew through the night, cavorting to a song only they could hear. It was then that I spotted it.

Out beyond the waves a ship glided over the sea, its large rectangular white sails fluttering in the wind as its bow cut a path through the inky darkness of the water. As it came closer I recognised it distinctly as an old sailing ship from centuries past and ran up the beach towards the headland that overlooked the bay gave unobstructed views of the vast ocean beyond. Unable to believe my eyes I stood there in a state of shock and awe, staring at the mysterious ship as it approached, gradually growing as it loomed closer and closer.

Shaking myself out of my trance I raced across the sand and up the rocky path that snaked its way from the beach into the rolling hills of the coastal field that overlooked the beach. Once cattle grazing land it now served as a recreational area for tourists and locals alike to have picnics, play sports and relax away from the sand and surf while still providing them with scenic views of the beach and ocean beyond. Breathing heavily and with my legs aching from the physical exertion of the uphill run I finally reached the top of the hill and looked out across the bay at the advancing ship.

The ship had turned with the tide and was making its way towards me as it followed the coast south, coming about on her starboard side to reveal two rows of ten cannons along her top and gun decks. Thanks to my reading of books on pirates, sailing and naval warfare during the age of exploration I identified her as a small galleon. A relatively fast, well-armed and formidable ship capable of not just hunting down prey; but severely punishing anyone who dared resist.

As she skirted the coast past the headland the skull and crossbones flag hanging from her masthead was clearly visible, fluttering lazily in the night wind with its infamous grinning skull mocking all unfortunate enough to set eyes upon it. Men scrambled amongst the rigging, swinging from ropes, racing deftly over narrow beams and scurrying up and down the ratlines as they shouted and cursed to each other through the forest of masts, ropes and timber beams and posts.

“Heave to ya bilge rats, come on ya godless sons of whores, on yar way,’ shouted a large portly officer, who stood amid ship barking orders at the men around him, encouraging them to pick up the pace. The pirate in the crow’s nest kept a vigilant eye out for trouble, or the prospect of an easy target that could bring them some quick booty. More buccaneers raced around on deck tending to the variety of tasks that consumed their daily lives. A group of men feverishly scrubbed the deck, scrapping off the layer of salt that built up while others polished the ship’s cannons, cleaning out their barrels and clearing any obstructions. A large burly sailor stood at the helm, steering the large wheel with practised ease as several other pirates crowded around a map and conversed nearby.

The bustle of conversation, shouted orders, curses and song piercing the night in a cacophony of noise as I stood amazed by the sight before me. As the galleon sailed past the headland I got a good look at the men on board as they rushed about their work under the light of the pale glow of the moon, seemingly oblivious to my presence upon the hill. Covered in piercings, tattoos and with a fair share of eye patches among them they were a fearsome bunch of hardened criminals, rebels and outcasts who had shunned society and made a life of their own on the sea where they were the masters of their world and the scourge of all who would dare oppose them.

I stood watching the phantom ship that had appeared out of the abyssal gulf of time, emerging from ages past into the modern era via some mystical means unknown to man and beyond the reach of science. Watching as it followed the coast in a southern trajectory for some time before turning to her port and moving back out to sea, casting a ghostly shadow upon the waves as she glided over the water and disappeared beyond the horizon.