Captain Bartholomew “Red Bart” Sullivan stood in his ornate cabin, running weathered fingers across the polished mahogany of his most prized possession - not the mountains of gold doubloons or precious gems scattered across his desk, but a simple wooden step stool.
“This little beauty,” he mused to his first mate Jenkins, “has more worth than all the treasures in the Spanish Main.”
Jenkins raised a skeptical eyebrow. The step stool was unremarkable - three crude steps of aged oak, its corners rounded by years of use. Yet the Captain treated it with reverence usually reserved for holy relics.
“You see,” Red Bart continued, lost in reminiscence, “every triumphant moment of my career began with this stool.” His eyes took on that distant look Jenkins knew well, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
“Was too short to spot my first prize vessel without it. Couldn’t reach the helm of my first commandeered ship. Even needed it to plant my flag atop the crow’s nest of the Royal Venture.” He chuckled, a sound like grinding stones. “A pirate captain of my reputation, needing a step stool - imagine that!”
The cabin’s thick air carried the mingled scents of beeswax, rum, and salt spray. Through the stern windows, the setting sun painted the waves in shades of amber and gold, much like the countless times before when Red Bart had shared his tales.
“Sir,” Jenkins ventured carefully, “the crew’s been wondering… about the Garrison raid tomorrow…”
“Ah yes!” Red Bart’s eyes sparkled with familiar mischief. “And you’re wondering why I insisted on bringing the stool?”
Jenkins nodded hesitantly.
“The governor’s vault, my boy - it’s built high in the wall. Even the tallest man would need a boost to reach it.” He patted the stool affectionately. “This old friend will deliver us the greatest haul of our lives.”
The next evening, as smoke rose from the burning garrison and the crew celebrated their victory, Jenkins found the Captain in his cabin, uncharacteristically quiet.
“The raid was perfect, sir! Just as you planned!”
Red Bart nodded solemnly. “Indeed. Though I fear this may be our last adventure together, old friend.” He gazed at the step stool, now sporting a fresh crack across its top step.
“But sir, it’s just a piece of wood! We can have the ship’s carpenter make a new one by morning!”
The Captain’s laugh held no mirth. “You still don’t understand, do you? This stool was more than a tool - it was a reminder. Every time I needed it, it showed me my limitations, kept me humble. Made me plan more carefully, think more cleverly.”
He sighed deeply. “Without it… well, I suppose I’ve grown too tall for my own good.”
Three months later, the notorious Red Bart met his end - not in glorious battle or daring escape, but by simply forgetting to duck below a low beam while boarding a merchant vessel. His crew said he’d grown careless, overconfident.
The step stool remained in his cabin, its splintered top step a silent testament to the fine line between pride and prudence.