Personal Narrative Essay On Pirates

Pirates have always been known as the literal scum of the scum of the Earth. Nobody respected pirates, except for me. I knew what they were capable of, and like many people during the war of independence, I saw them as raiders and brutes. But it wasn’t until 1775, that I saw who they really were. When I was ten-years-old, I worked as an apprentice for a naval doctor named William Balch. He was a very kind-hearted soul who always felt the need to assist the wounded from those with internal hemorrhaging to the sailors who complained about back pains. Whenever he felt the urge to aid these young men who complained 80% of the time, he sent me to alleviate their minor scars. On occasion, I would end up going to bed late and then I’d sleep past roll call - at 2:30 am the next morning just to be yelled at my loud-mouth of a father.

Suddenly, something peculiar occurred: the deck was silent. The floorboards weren’t creaking, the drunken sailors weren’t obnoxiously ruffling my hair, and my father wasn’t grabbing me by my cravat, yanking me above deck. Everything was quiet. I leaned over the side of the net bed and I grabbed my old blue coat with the shiny gold buttons, and I bolted above deck. The ship was almost like a ghost-town. Nobody was working on cleaning the deck or furling the sails. “Dad? Dad, are you here? I’m sorry for sleeping in late!” I hollered, slowly opening the door to his captain’s quarters. “Is anybody here?”

Nothing. Nobody was around. I paced to and fro around my father’s office, biting my fingers in anticipation and concern. For hours, I muttered to myself in attempts to soothe the billions of worries that were floating around inside of my