A couple of young squirrel children were running around the deck, mostly playing tag with each other.  A young otter was perched on the ratlines, looking upwards as if he was going to try climbing into the rigging.  Rale, Sylvia Slipsunder’s youngest son was walking the bowsprit as if it were a balance-beam, at the far end of the vessel; of course, if he fell off, he’d just get wet, but even so, the lion was getting a little nervous.  He didn’t mind them being there; like most lions, he enjoyed company; but he was somewhat concerned that someone might get hurt……  “Tell you what, kids; if you’ll simmer down, I’ll tell you a story; a true story of something that happened to me one night” he rumbled.  One of the squirrel children, the girl, looked at him and cocked her head to one side; “Oh yeah?  What kind of a story?”  The lion grinned, holding her gaze with his; “A ghost story”. 

It was a calm night.  The wind was only a few knots out of the Southeast, and the schooner glided above calm waters.  It was getting late, and the lion was getting tired.  He was making a cargo run between one of the larger ports on the mainland, and a remote fishing village in the islands.  It was about a three day trip for the schooner, and he knew he’d have to stop and sleep somewhere.  Still, the chart showed no islands nearby, and he hated the idea of just heaving too, in the middle of the sea, even if he WAS well off the normally traveled routes.  In fact, looking at the chart, he realized that he was WAY off the normal trading routes.  But then the schooner had a comparatively shallow draft, and he could get through some passages that larger vessels couldn’t use.  It would save days off his trip to use the Timur passage…… 

As the ship ghosted through the night, he observed, in the light of a full moon, an island ahead.  Checking the chart, he was puzzled, as it wasn’t shown there, but never the less, there it was ahead of him.  Shrugging, he turned the schooner towards a beckoning lagoon.  With the wheel locked, he stood at the base of the bowsprit, watching the water ahead.  It was low tide, and he knew that coral reefs were always a problem.  Still, his ship had a steel hull, and was soundly built, and he felt that he could survive a chance encounter.  And she did have a shallow draft…… 

He dropped anchor in the quiet little lagoon, dropping the sails, not bothering to furl them, just letting them lay in their lazy jacks.  Hopping up onto the mainmast’s yard arm, he settled down into the piles of canvas, to get some sleep. 

 Again he was sailing through a calm sea, but this time, the surface of the ocean was covered with a cold fog.  The wind seemed still, but yet his ship flew across the waves.  Looking back he beheld another ship behind him, closing.  It was a square rigged vessel, several times the size of his, and as it faded in and out in the fog, he observed that it was of a style not seen on these oceans for centuries.  A nameless dread filled him, and he bent on as much sail as his ship could take, fleeing before the ancient ship.  No matter what he did, however, the pursuing ship drew closer. 

As it drew near, overtaking him slowly, he beheld the decks crowded with ruffians of all species.  They stood quiet, but to a man, glared at him in hatred.  They made no sound, the air still but for the shsssshing of the ships through the dark water.  He turned to windward, seeking to use his schooner’s advantage over the square rigged ship, to point higher into the wind, but still they followed, still they crept closer.  As the fog parted, as the clouds let the moon shine down for a brief moment, he beheld that the pursuing ship flew the Jolly Roger, the skull and crossbones flag of a pirate vessel. 

Slowly the larger ship overtook him.  His schooner was fast, but the friction of a boat in the water is dominated by hull length.  It has to do with wave mechanics, and I won’t bore you with that here, but longer ships are capable of higher speeds, given sufficient power, and this pursuing ship seemed to be powered by the very god of wind.  As the bow of the pirate vessel drew nigh to the stern of his own, he felt his soul chilled to the bone. 

The lion sat up with a jerk, to look around the quiet inlet in alarm.  The moon was still shining bright, and his night vision was good enough to let him know that nothing stirred, that all was quiet.  “Just a dream” he thought.  “I’m over-tired.  Gotta quit pushing myself so hard.”  Settling back down into the heaped canvas he sighed and closed his eyes again to seek the rest he needed. 

Again he was on the canted deck of his schooner, fleeing from the black ship close in his wake.  Again the pursuing ship slowly crept alongside, its bow passing his stern, its sails stealing the wind from his own.  He felt his ship slow as it came into the lee of the pirate vessel, and then grappling hooks were thrown, and steely eyed pirates swung from their ship to his.  He released the wheel, to stride to a fife rail, to take a belaying pin in each hand.  He fought fiercely, but there were too many of them, and finally he was overpowered.  The pirates tied his arms behind his back and threw him like a sack of potatoes across the gap of dark water, to their own ship.  Dragging him to its stern, they forced him to kneel before their Captain, a large black panther.  He glared down at the lion, his eyes glowing yellow, to snarl; “So Ye wish to steal our gold, do Ye?” 

Again the lion sat up with a jerk.  He looked wildly around, but there were no pirates to be seen, no dark pirate ship along side.  The inlet was quiet, with the rosy fingers of dawn tinting the East.  Moving stiffly, he dropped down from the yardarm, to stretch.  “Perhaps some coffee would help.  Lord knows, I don’t feel very rested.”  He moved to climb down the companionway, padding quietly to the ship’s small galley.  He just stood there, leaning against the oven (which leaned back, being on gymbals), as he watched the coffee perk.  “That was a strange dream.  Very detailed.  And for it to repeat like that; most strange!  I wonder what it means?” he thought to himself. 

Taking a mug of coffee topside, he sat on the edge of the deck house, to gaze at the small island.  “I wonder if there were ever pirates in these parts?” he mused.  Shrugging he stretched again and finished his coffee.  “Before I set sail again, think I’ll go for a swim” he thought.  As the sun rose in the East, he made sure the Jacob’s ladder was over the side (not the kind of mistake you make twice), and dove off the port rail, into the clear waters of the lagoon.  As was his wont, he dove deep, swimming completely under his small ship, to emerge on the other side.  He floated on his back for a bit, and then swam leisurely around Rusty, checking out the lower hull fittings.  Satisfied that all was in order, he dove down again, to examine the prop and rudder.  After looking those over, confirming that all was well, he turned to swim under the ship once again, towards where the Jacob’s ladder dangled.  As he swam, he noticed the shadow of his ship on the floor of the lagoon; but next to it, almost parallel, was something else, another dark form, in the shape of a ship……. 

He climbed back to the deck of his ship, and turned towards the anchor windless, intending to raise the hook and set sail; but something about that dark shadow bothered him.  With a resigned sigh, he turned to fetch his scuba gear. 

The water grew colder as he descended.  The bottom of the lagoon wasn’t that deep, but it felt as if he were going hundreds of feet down.  The closer he got, the clearer the image before him; it was the wreck of a ship, all right.  In fact, it looked like the wreck of a full rigged sailing ship; he could still make out the stumps of the rotting masts, in what was left of the deck.  Closer examination showed that the ship had carried cannon on her main deck; old muzzle loading brass cannon.  The barrels laid among the rotting wood, corroded, their carriages long since disintegrated.  He spent the rest of the day exploring the wreck, looking but touching nothing.  There were all sorts of artifacts and trinkets strewn about, and he thought that the silt on the lagoon floor must cover a veritable treasure.  It was an amazing archeological find. 

He finally left the water when the last of his air tanks had run dry.  After fixing himself a late lunch, perhaps an early dinner, he laid back on the deck house roof in the warm sun, to dry.  It was much too late in the day to set sail now, and he figured he’d wait until morning.  Laying there in the hot sun, he soon fell asleep. 

Again he was at his ship’s wheel, cold streamers of fog flowing past as he struggled to escape the pursuing pirate ship.  Again the dream moved like a video, his actions and thoughts the same, as the pirate ship pulled alongside, and he battled the boarding pirates.  Again he was subdued and bound, and brought before the pirate Captain.  And again, the large black panther glared down at the lion, his eyes glowing yellow, to snarl; “So Ye wish to steal our gold, do Ye?” 

The lion met his gaze steadfastly.  After a moment he shook his head; “I’m not after your gold.  It would be useless to me.  In my age and time, the government claims all treasure found.  Those that find it get to keep nothing, and the penalties for trying to sell treasure, or artifacts on the black market are severe.  The drug trade, or piracy itself would be safer.  I’ve seen your ship, and haven’t disturbed anything.  You’ve nothing to fear from me.”  The pirate Captain gave the lion a stern look; “Ye can’t expect me to believe THAT!” he growled.  The lion shrugged; “believe it or not, as you may; your disbelief can’t change the truth.  Besides, I’ve all I need.  A sound ship, good friends, and enough money to keep me in beer.”  The pirate Captain shook his head in disbelief; “In truth, you’re a strange cat.  Be gone with ye.  But know this; anyone who disturbs our treasure will be haunted to the end of their days!  But if ye be tellin’ the truth, ye be welcome to stay in our lagoon as ye may.” 

The lion awoke and stretched slowly.  The sun was just coming up in the East.  “Must have been exhausted to sleep like that” he thought to himself with a grin.  He padded to the leeward rail, to relieve himself.  As he gazed into the water, somehow he knew that the wreck on the bottom of the lagoon had been the pirate ship that pursued him.  Centuries before they’d been fleeing the Fleet, venturing into ill-charted waters, only to rip the bottom of their ship out on an unseen reef.  The same reef that he cleared with his shallower draft, on the way in.  The pirates, unable to save their ship, had swum to the island, where they’d all eventually died, unable to find a way off the island. 

The lion raised the anchor, and raising jib and mainsail, sailed slowly from the lagoon and out to sea.  The wind was still light, the seas calm.  He chuckled as he remembered that a ship gliding smoothly over calm seas was sometimes called “ghosting”.  In a way, he felt sorry for those pirates; they’d lost their ship, and that’s a terrible thing for anyone to undergo.  They’d been marooned on a tropical island that didn’t have sufficient resources to support them, and they’d died of hunger and thirst.  Still, they’d been brigands, cutthroats, and murderers, and he couldn’t feel too sorry for them.  Now their spirits would haunt that island for the rest of eternity.  As he looked back over his shoulder, at the receding island, he chuckled to himself as he thought it’d make a helluva charter, for the right party. 

“I never did take anyone back there, although I did mark the island’s location on my charts.  I guess I figured the pirates deserved their peace and quiet.”  He looked around at the children’s faces.  Some reflected wonder, some a touch of horror.  Most, like Rale, also contained a component of disbelief and derision.  Finally Rale spoke; “You expect us to believe THAT?”  The lion just shrugged.  “Tell you what, Rale.  You know where my cabin is, don’t you?”  Rale nodded slowly….  The lion looked up at him; straight into his eyes; “you go down there and go to the built-in desk.  In the upper right hand little drawer, you’ll find something.  Bring it here.”  Rale shrugged at the other children and turned to obey.  It only took a few minutes before he emerged from the companionway, his eyes wide.  “Show the group what you found there” the lion purrrred.  Rale held up a disk of gold, strangely marked.  The children ooohed and ahhhhed; finally one of them, the male squirrel, looked at the lion and asked; “what is that?”  The lion took the gold coin from Rale’s fingers and looked at it; “its what they call a “Piece of Eight”.  It’s a gold coin from the age of the pirates, when corsairs sailed the seas.  The pirate Captain gave that to me, as a souvenir; as proof that what I’d dreamed was more than just a dream……