Ye ask how I came to be a pirate upon the Cardiff Rose, so I shall tell ye a story, a story of a man trying to escape his fate. Aye, for ‘tis a life long struggle against fate that has brought me upon this ship. Ye ask what sort of fate would drive a man so and I tell ye, it were dirt. Aye, tis a long term ambition to get away from dirt.

Now mind ye, It is not dirt in the form of land, or continents that I grew so sick of, unlike so many sailors who live upon Neptune’s shield. It is the dirt that becomes the mud that I have spent so much of my life digging around in that I have striven to get away from.

I was born on a farm, and I grew up plowing and planting, weeding and harvesting. My joy in those days was getting to the woods where I could win my food with my bow instead of my shovel. When I reached my 14th birthday I managed to get myself apprenticed to a bowyer at the local lord’s castle. I was young and naive apparently, and had not remembered just how filthy a castle can be. When I was levied as an archer for the wars on the continent I was excited to leave the castle living behind, and see the world. I had not yet begun to realize the depths of my ignorance.

As an archer I fired countless thousands of arrows, but I am certain that for each arrow I fired, I must have lifted four shovels of dirt. We dug trenches, we constructed earthworks of all sorts and descriptions, we built roadways, we destroyed roadways, and we camped in mud for months at a time.

Now I would have you understand that I do not begrudge my work. A man’s work is something he can take pride in, something he should do well and to the best of his ability. I love the Earth we walk and sail upon, but I cursed the inventors of the shovel, pick, and plow.

Eventually my battalion stopped for a while in the low Alps, and I was sent to procure yew wood for bows in higher areas. I was ecstatic to get away from building the camp and looked thankfully upon my good fortune in returning to the trade I had learned. The mountains there are beautiful, and even the mules we used to haul the wood were a joy to work with in comparison to what we had left behind. But fate is not only fickle, she is also patient and persistent, for during our return to camp, we were caught in an avalanche of mud. It took us one night and three days of digging to retrieve who and what we could.

Upon my return to England, I decided to journey to my native Wales and find employment there. Unfortunately, with the wars largely suspended, I was unable to find work as a bowyer or even as a reasonably paid soldier in my home county. It seemed that the only work available at the time was in the mines, the only work dirtier than that I had left behind. When I finally realized this I became very depressed for it seemed that fate was escalating her battle for control of my life. In the absence of other reasonable alternatives, I entered a tavern and began to drink. By the end of the evening I had devised a plan. I decided to remove myself from the dirt around me and seek my fortune upon the sea. I decided I would walk up the coast and sign onto the first ship I encountered. It was a cool night so I purchased an especially large skin of wine to warm me on my way, I gathered my scant belongings, and set off up the beach.

After several hours, and several repetitions of all the ballads I could remember, I was suddenly knocked to my feet. I looked up and noticed that a very large structure was blocking my way. I took this structure to be a barn and began to curse and wonder aloud who in their proper mind would construct a barn on the beach, so close to the water that one could hear the very waves lapping gently upon its clapboards.

I was surprised to see a silhouette lean out from the roof of the barn and hail me in a very human voice, "Pray, Good Sir, can ye please inform me of when the next high tide is due?"

I looked more carefully then, and realized that I had walked into the starboard side of a ship that had run aground. What sort of cruel omen was this, that the first ship I encountered would be grounded to the very land I meant to leave? I was determined to not let this minor obstacle interfere with my plans. I needed a ship, and I needed one now. As I gazed upon the beautiful lines of this ship that I was determined to call home, I noticed the name "Cardiff Rose." My emotions churned and twirled but one question rose to utmost importance: would the pirates of the Cardiff Rose let me live now that I had seen their ship aground? I had to think fast. I stalled for time.

"Would ye care for some wine?" I offered.

The pirate hesitated, and I pressed my advantage. "High tide should be just before dawn. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?" I heard several voices discussing something up above, and then a rope ladder dropped in front of me. I reached the deck and quickly dropped my pack and most of my weapons with one hand while offering the wine skin with the other. The smiles on the pirates faces told me I was not in danger for the moment.

As the skin was making it’s way around, we were interrupted by a bellowing "what in God’s Hells is going on here?"

One of the pirates stepped forward and said "Captaine, Sir, we found this gentleman who is an expert on the local tides and we were pressing him for information."

The Captaine glared at me, then at the pirate. "I’ll show you how to press someone for information," he glowered. "Stand back."

He advanced several steps towards me and paused, his gaze steady and piercing. He glanced at my pack and weapons, then back at me. I realized that he was waiting for me to speak.

I cleared my throat to verify the pitch of my voice, then began, "Good evening Sir Captaine. I was mentioning to your crew that high tide should be just before dawn today, but it will rise another fathom within the week. With enough people digging, we could probably set her floating on tomorrow night’s tide."

An eyebrow lifted. "We?"

Here was my chance, if ever there was a ship to make one’s fortune on, it would be the Cardiff Rose. I had to impress him without over exaggerating. "Sir, It would take 100 ordinary men to dig this ship out, but a shovel to me is but a large spoon and I can dig the equivalent of forty men." Another eyebrow went up, so I launched into my history of fate and dirt. Both eyebrows lifted a bit higher, so I pressed my attack. "I am a hard worker sir, skilled in a diversity of arms, and well traveled. Please take me as crew upon your ship."

"I shall give you a chance to prove yourself. Help us free the Cardiff Rose for tomorrow’s tide, and if I judge that ye are half the worker ye claim, then you shall join us upon the sea."

Now I did knowingly exaggerate a bit when I bragged of my prowess with a shovel, but I did near live up to my claims during that day of digging out the Cardiff Rose from its sandy couch. I dug like a madman, for Fate was screaming at my back and throwing sand in my face out of spite for my planned escape. But I was determined to get that ship afloat and the sand verily flew from my spade.  The pirates gave me a wide berth as I dug, but we all worked hard and on the the folowing night's tide we were able at last to return the ship to its intended position on the water.  A pyratical chorus of huzzahs went up from the crew as the last of us climbed aboard, but the relief on their faces turned solemn as the Captaine stepped forth and scowled at me.

"What, pray tell, is that in your hand?" he thundered at me.

"Tis a shovel Capitaine, sir."

"If ye have any intention of calling me Captaine, ye had better learn to take orders."  I nearly trembled in the wake of his glare.  "Now here's your first order, THROW THAT BLOODY OBJECT OVERBOARD!"

I'm sure that I have shot arrows further than I threw that shovel, but I cannot exactly remember when.  As the shovel left my hand and spun off towards the horizon, I felt a great weight lift from my chest and a profound tranquility take its place.  I was free at last.

So it was, that I came to sail upon the Cardiff Rose, that feared flotilla of felons, and that I began my life upon the sea by digging in the dirt.