Post by Steve on Feb 8, 2006 8:33:20 GMT -5
Somewhere along the Tropic of Capricorn, Indian Ocean...
The deck of the Leaky Dyke was awash in the pink glow of nearly-dawn. The calm, flat ocean stretched out before her like the arms of a waiting lover, warm, inviting and mysterious. It was here, every morning, that Captain Pietje took his coffee but this time, the sound of furious shouting from below deck spoiled his peaceful reverie.
Most of the crew would still be passed out drunk, so he could only guess who was causing all the racket. The hatch to the lower decks exploded outward and spat out the uptight Afrikaan land-lubber they had picked up in Luderitz. The captain set his jaw, and resumed gazing out to sea, determined not to let this gnat ruin his morning tradition.
"Captain Pietje!" Jan hollered, his voice straining, "Captain!" he was literally stumbling over his own feet in an effort to reach the forecastle. "Captain!"
His faced darkened into a stormy scowl. And this was going to be a pretty one, too. Never in his memory could the captain remember a time when forcing a pleasant demeanor had been so difficult. With great effort, he perked up the corners of his mouth, lifted his brow and turned to face the man, now panting on the deck just behind him.
"Good morning, Jan!" the captain beamed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. A hot red colour flushed Jan's cheeks, a sharp contrast to the pasty green he'd been for most of the trip.
"Captain," he gulped. "I've been calling you from the mess!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," the words like fish bile in his mouth, "Ears start to go at my age." Pleasant smile. It was the first time he'd ever wished it were true. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"
"I just heard some rather disturbing news."
Here it comes. "Oh? What would that be?"
"What's this about us turning around?" Desperation crept into Jan's eyes.
In his mind, the captain cursed every soul he'd ever sent to the bottom of the sea for not killing him instead. "Oh, is that all?" Hearty chuckle. "Wherever did you hear such a thing?"
"Well, I heard Bucktooth Casey and Flapjaw Dan talking about it over breakfast."
The captain's face fell for a moment. The fucking Micks. He would have the both of them lashed to the crowsnest by noon.
"Oh, now sir," the captain cooed. He couldn't exactly tell him the coast of Madagascar was choked with treasure from bootlegged French and British galleons. Nor could he tell him that one of the sailors had nearly been lynched last night when it was discovered he'd been holding out on a treasure map from his prior expedition aboard a Danish sloop bound for Mauritius before the Dyke and her crew overtook it in the Mozambique Channel some months back."Why would we do a thing like that? We've come all this way!"
Jan's eyes squinted at him, and he had a far away, suspicious look. "I don't know, captain. Why would we?"
"Oh now, sir." the captain clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly and began walking him back toward the hatch. "We have strict orders to get you to East Indies toot-sweet, where you'll be dry and happy and richer than Midas. And me and the boys can rest our weary legs for a spell a'fore..." he wanted to say 'sowing terror and wreaking havoc along the British, French and Japanese trade routes', but instead "a'fore... er... a'fore spending our hard-earned gold in the Company's best trading posts!"
Jan didn't look convinced. "You sure, captain? I heard the men talking..."
"Oh, the men! The men!" the captain interjected, laughing. "The men drink too much and have too much time on their hands. They come up with all sorts of fancy tales of buried treasure and sunken wrecks and ghost ships..."
"Ghost ships?!" this had startled Jan more than the captain had expected.
"Er, yes, but no more than tales spun by addle-minded soldiers1, I assure you." he tried to sound serious and reassuring "There are no such things as ghosts."
Jan still had a wary look in his eyes. They had reached the hatch, though and Jan had already started down the steps, almost in spite of himself. A few of the sailors passed him on the steps. "Alright, captain, fine. But you know that if my report to Chairman Baltus is..."
"Chairman Baltus is seven-thousand miles away." the Captain interrupted. He immediately regretted what sounded more like a threat than an assurance. "Er, don't worry, we'll be in Jakarta in time to see the dancing-girls."
"Dancing girls?" Jan brightened. The captain could see his mind racing with images of exotic, lithe, bronze-skinned beauties in grass skirts and smiles. "There are dancing-girls in Jakarta?"
The captain paused. His eyes shifted to the right slightly, then back at Jan again. "Er, yes. Yes, there are."
Jan finally seemed to relax, or at least resign himself to the captain's better judgement, "Fine. Fine, just - please, no more delays, okay?"
"Of course not, sir!" Winning smile. The younger man nodded, and disappeared into the belly of the ship.
Rejoining his men on deck, he grimaced. His face hurt from smiling too much. It was not a natural expression for him. Glancing out at the horizon, he cursed. The sun had fully risen, and he had missed it. He turned to the senior officer present and grumbled, "In one hour, bring the ship about, full sail." "We're headed to Madagascar."
Amid snappy salutes and 'aye, captain's the sailors ran to their morning duties. The captain started looking for lengths of rope, then stopped and cocked his head toward the crowsnest.
"Bloody Micks..."
(1) 'Soldier': a classical seaman's term for a sailor who dodges work. www.dieselduck.ca/library/other/classic.htm
The deck of the Leaky Dyke was awash in the pink glow of nearly-dawn. The calm, flat ocean stretched out before her like the arms of a waiting lover, warm, inviting and mysterious. It was here, every morning, that Captain Pietje took his coffee but this time, the sound of furious shouting from below deck spoiled his peaceful reverie.
Most of the crew would still be passed out drunk, so he could only guess who was causing all the racket. The hatch to the lower decks exploded outward and spat out the uptight Afrikaan land-lubber they had picked up in Luderitz. The captain set his jaw, and resumed gazing out to sea, determined not to let this gnat ruin his morning tradition.
"Captain Pietje!" Jan hollered, his voice straining, "Captain!" he was literally stumbling over his own feet in an effort to reach the forecastle. "Captain!"
His faced darkened into a stormy scowl. And this was going to be a pretty one, too. Never in his memory could the captain remember a time when forcing a pleasant demeanor had been so difficult. With great effort, he perked up the corners of his mouth, lifted his brow and turned to face the man, now panting on the deck just behind him.
"Good morning, Jan!" the captain beamed, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. A hot red colour flushed Jan's cheeks, a sharp contrast to the pasty green he'd been for most of the trip.
"Captain," he gulped. "I've been calling you from the mess!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," the words like fish bile in his mouth, "Ears start to go at my age." Pleasant smile. It was the first time he'd ever wished it were true. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"
"I just heard some rather disturbing news."
Here it comes. "Oh? What would that be?"
"What's this about us turning around?" Desperation crept into Jan's eyes.
In his mind, the captain cursed every soul he'd ever sent to the bottom of the sea for not killing him instead. "Oh, is that all?" Hearty chuckle. "Wherever did you hear such a thing?"
"Well, I heard Bucktooth Casey and Flapjaw Dan talking about it over breakfast."
The captain's face fell for a moment. The fucking Micks. He would have the both of them lashed to the crowsnest by noon.
"Oh, now sir," the captain cooed. He couldn't exactly tell him the coast of Madagascar was choked with treasure from bootlegged French and British galleons. Nor could he tell him that one of the sailors had nearly been lynched last night when it was discovered he'd been holding out on a treasure map from his prior expedition aboard a Danish sloop bound for Mauritius before the Dyke and her crew overtook it in the Mozambique Channel some months back."Why would we do a thing like that? We've come all this way!"
Jan's eyes squinted at him, and he had a far away, suspicious look. "I don't know, captain. Why would we?"
"Oh now, sir." the captain clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly and began walking him back toward the hatch. "We have strict orders to get you to East Indies toot-sweet, where you'll be dry and happy and richer than Midas. And me and the boys can rest our weary legs for a spell a'fore..." he wanted to say 'sowing terror and wreaking havoc along the British, French and Japanese trade routes', but instead "a'fore... er... a'fore spending our hard-earned gold in the Company's best trading posts!"
Jan didn't look convinced. "You sure, captain? I heard the men talking..."
"Oh, the men! The men!" the captain interjected, laughing. "The men drink too much and have too much time on their hands. They come up with all sorts of fancy tales of buried treasure and sunken wrecks and ghost ships..."
"Ghost ships?!" this had startled Jan more than the captain had expected.
"Er, yes, but no more than tales spun by addle-minded soldiers1, I assure you." he tried to sound serious and reassuring "There are no such things as ghosts."
Jan still had a wary look in his eyes. They had reached the hatch, though and Jan had already started down the steps, almost in spite of himself. A few of the sailors passed him on the steps. "Alright, captain, fine. But you know that if my report to Chairman Baltus is..."
"Chairman Baltus is seven-thousand miles away." the Captain interrupted. He immediately regretted what sounded more like a threat than an assurance. "Er, don't worry, we'll be in Jakarta in time to see the dancing-girls."
"Dancing girls?" Jan brightened. The captain could see his mind racing with images of exotic, lithe, bronze-skinned beauties in grass skirts and smiles. "There are dancing-girls in Jakarta?"
The captain paused. His eyes shifted to the right slightly, then back at Jan again. "Er, yes. Yes, there are."
Jan finally seemed to relax, or at least resign himself to the captain's better judgement, "Fine. Fine, just - please, no more delays, okay?"
"Of course not, sir!" Winning smile. The younger man nodded, and disappeared into the belly of the ship.
Rejoining his men on deck, he grimaced. His face hurt from smiling too much. It was not a natural expression for him. Glancing out at the horizon, he cursed. The sun had fully risen, and he had missed it. He turned to the senior officer present and grumbled, "In one hour, bring the ship about, full sail." "We're headed to Madagascar."
Amid snappy salutes and 'aye, captain's the sailors ran to their morning duties. The captain started looking for lengths of rope, then stopped and cocked his head toward the crowsnest.
"Bloody Micks..."
(1) 'Soldier': a classical seaman's term for a sailor who dodges work. www.dieselduck.ca/library/other/classic.htm