(no subject)
We've been at sea for nearly three months, the wind has been dead for the past week, and the whole crew is going a bit mad with cabin fever. This trip had been nothing but one problem after another, and I am at my wits end on how to deal with the latest. If I could just get a bit of rest, if the crew would just shut up for an hour, I could maybe, just maybe, come up with an answer.
With a sigh, I lay back on the deck and shut my eyes. Just as I was beginning to drift off, I was disturbed by a crack, shout and a splash. I quickly rose and started in the direction of the noise. As I rounded the cabin, I was greeted by my first mate.
With a blank expression, he said to me "Captain Daniel. (cutspectacle) We've taken care of the problem for you."
Rage. I pushed past him to inspect the scene. The crew stood together, saying not a word, as I approached. They parted as I stepped up, and I could clearly see the man slowly floating away from the boat, face down in the water. I turned from the sight, and looked at my men. One at a time, we stared at each other. I could tell they were close to mutiny, that if I spoke against a single one, they would all turn against me.
I said not a word and returned to my resting spot. I must let the moment pass and address it later.
The man in the water had once been a friend of mine. He had accompanied me on many journeys in the past. We had weathered many storms together and made runs that were considered impossible by many, on sheer will and our combined knowledge and experience. I would miss him from that, though our friendship had deteriorated on this trip.
His name was Joseph, and he was a weathered old bastard. He'd spent the last 50 years of his life out on the ocean, and there was not much that he hadn't experienced. At one point in his life, before I ever met him, he was a Captain of high regard. I met him several years after his downfall; a story involving gluttony, greed and lust, considered completely unforgivable by those who could possibly have saved his reputation. He had come to terms with his lowered station, and was content to be a simple deckhand. I took him on in the position, though I was hesitant at first, he proved to be the most capable seaman I had ever encountered. From that day on, I hired him for any journey I was to make, for I knew his knowledge was priceless, though he no longer considered it so.
Generally, he got along well with the rest of the crew. Occasionally they would pick on him a bit, for the favoritism he recieved from myself, and he didn't take that well, but it was never a problem that required me to step in. I did not treat him any better than the rest of the crew, he got the same meals and quarters that they did, but I did respect him a great deal more than any of the rest, and this was often misinterpreted as favoritism.
That was my history with Joseph, so when I was contracted to carry a load from London to Boston, I gladly signed him on. It had been barely a month since our last journey, and as far as I knew, Joseph was the same man he was when he last stepped off my ship.
The day we set sail I realized that I was mistaken. Joseph was not himself from the start. He had a squint to his eyes that hadn't been there before. I considered the situation, did not feel that it warrented any action, and assumed that once we were out at sea he would settle.
By the second week at sea, he was causing problems. He picked a fight with the cabin boy, and left the young lad quite battered. I had him confined for this, and tried to speak with him about it, but he refused to say a word to me. For a week he stayed in the cargo hold, in a sort of cell that had been hastily constructed for I had never before had to confine a crew member in such a manner.
When the week passed, I let him out. Many in the crew thought I was foolish, they thought Joseph should be contained until we reached Boston. I still had years of respect for the man in my heart, and did not want to consider the possibility that the crew might have better judgement than myself.
For several weeks the journey was uneventful. Joseph was working, fulfilling his duties, and the crew avoided speaking with him. Then the wind died.
The crew grew restless, and several men engaged Joseph in fisticuffs. Joseph, though many decades the senior of these strapping men, had little problem in winning these battles. This did not sit well with those he beat, and the talk began. I heard of it soon from my first mate. The men were saying that Joseph had made a pact with the devil, that he would remain strong and healthy for until doomsday. They spoke of his condition when I released him from his week long confinement down in the hold, how he looked as though he hadn't been locked in such conditions for a moment, and how such an old man should be effected by it, that any human should be. They had heard the tales in the taverns on shore of Joseph's downfall, and they considered that simply more evidence of his evil nature.
I had spoken to them all, I had brought out my Bible and tried to make them understand that Joseph was merely a man who had been at sea his entire adult life, a strong healthy man from the good work he has done. I argued that his downfall had reformed him, that he had become a better man from that, who had done no evil since. My words fell on deaf ears. The men were respectful of me, and played that they were convinced, but the talk continued.
And it had come to this. The crew, together, attacking Joseph, no doubt cracking his skull with some object, and throwing him overboard. A sad end for a man who was once great. Though he had fallen from my favor over the course of this journey, I felt a tear form in my eye for what he had been and lost. I sat, angry over this outcome, sad over this outcome, on the deck for an hour or more, and then rose to gather and speak to my crew.
In short order the men were gathered and I stepped out in front of them. I spoke softly, not to let my anger become evident and raise the mutiny that I still felt simmering. I repeated my arguments against their belief Joseph had made a contract with the devil, but made some concessions to their feelings on the subject. I told them that as their Captain, that it was my privilige to make such decisions, not theirs. I wanted to tell them I'd see each of them hang when we arrived in Boston, but contained it within myself. They were satisfied with what I told them, and felt that I was not going to punish them. They thought their Captain was only angry over their acting out of place, not the deed that was done.
The sun had set while I was speaking, and as I finished and the men went about their business, an unearthly red glow appeared off the bow. It was not bright, but it was unmistakeable. The men stood as statues, and I, too, made not a move. My first mate began uttering a prayer softly, with a shaking voice. A moment later, a voice came from the darkness behind me, a voice I knew all to well to belong to Joseph.
It was not clear what was being said at first, and we all strained our ears to hear. After a moment, I could understand.
A pact with the Devil, a pact. For life eternal the price only a soul. You cannot take my life from me, and I shall not spend eternity floating on the tides without a ship. You were wise enough to know, foolish to try to defeat me.
With the power of Satan behind him, Joseph stepped into the light of my lantern. He was dry, though he had just climbed out of the water. He grabbed the first mate, and they vanished into the darkness. Moments later, he reappeared and took hold of the cabin boy, who was crying shamelessly. And so it went, Joseph appeared, laid his hands on a man, and disappeared without a sound into the darkness, until I was the only man left.
I expected to meet my end, I was making hasty prayers to my maker, begging for forgiveness for anything I had ever done wrong. I was shaking terribly, waiting for my moment to come. It did not come. Exhausted, I must have collapsed onto the deck at some point in the night, still waiting for Joseph to take me into the darkness, and that is all I recall.
When the sun rose and awoke me, I was shocked to find myself alive. I surveyed the ship, looking for a sign of my crew and finding none. As I stood, I felt the wind beginning to blow, and I heard Joseph call to me to man the wheel.
A ship of this size, run by two men, certainly an impossible task. We arrived in Boston a week later.
With a sigh, I lay back on the deck and shut my eyes. Just as I was beginning to drift off, I was disturbed by a crack, shout and a splash. I quickly rose and started in the direction of the noise. As I rounded the cabin, I was greeted by my first mate.
With a blank expression, he said to me "Captain Daniel. (cutspectacle) We've taken care of the problem for you."
Rage. I pushed past him to inspect the scene. The crew stood together, saying not a word, as I approached. They parted as I stepped up, and I could clearly see the man slowly floating away from the boat, face down in the water. I turned from the sight, and looked at my men. One at a time, we stared at each other. I could tell they were close to mutiny, that if I spoke against a single one, they would all turn against me.
I said not a word and returned to my resting spot. I must let the moment pass and address it later.
The man in the water had once been a friend of mine. He had accompanied me on many journeys in the past. We had weathered many storms together and made runs that were considered impossible by many, on sheer will and our combined knowledge and experience. I would miss him from that, though our friendship had deteriorated on this trip.
His name was Joseph, and he was a weathered old bastard. He'd spent the last 50 years of his life out on the ocean, and there was not much that he hadn't experienced. At one point in his life, before I ever met him, he was a Captain of high regard. I met him several years after his downfall; a story involving gluttony, greed and lust, considered completely unforgivable by those who could possibly have saved his reputation. He had come to terms with his lowered station, and was content to be a simple deckhand. I took him on in the position, though I was hesitant at first, he proved to be the most capable seaman I had ever encountered. From that day on, I hired him for any journey I was to make, for I knew his knowledge was priceless, though he no longer considered it so.
Generally, he got along well with the rest of the crew. Occasionally they would pick on him a bit, for the favoritism he recieved from myself, and he didn't take that well, but it was never a problem that required me to step in. I did not treat him any better than the rest of the crew, he got the same meals and quarters that they did, but I did respect him a great deal more than any of the rest, and this was often misinterpreted as favoritism.
That was my history with Joseph, so when I was contracted to carry a load from London to Boston, I gladly signed him on. It had been barely a month since our last journey, and as far as I knew, Joseph was the same man he was when he last stepped off my ship.
The day we set sail I realized that I was mistaken. Joseph was not himself from the start. He had a squint to his eyes that hadn't been there before. I considered the situation, did not feel that it warrented any action, and assumed that once we were out at sea he would settle.
By the second week at sea, he was causing problems. He picked a fight with the cabin boy, and left the young lad quite battered. I had him confined for this, and tried to speak with him about it, but he refused to say a word to me. For a week he stayed in the cargo hold, in a sort of cell that had been hastily constructed for I had never before had to confine a crew member in such a manner.
When the week passed, I let him out. Many in the crew thought I was foolish, they thought Joseph should be contained until we reached Boston. I still had years of respect for the man in my heart, and did not want to consider the possibility that the crew might have better judgement than myself.
For several weeks the journey was uneventful. Joseph was working, fulfilling his duties, and the crew avoided speaking with him. Then the wind died.
The crew grew restless, and several men engaged Joseph in fisticuffs. Joseph, though many decades the senior of these strapping men, had little problem in winning these battles. This did not sit well with those he beat, and the talk began. I heard of it soon from my first mate. The men were saying that Joseph had made a pact with the devil, that he would remain strong and healthy for until doomsday. They spoke of his condition when I released him from his week long confinement down in the hold, how he looked as though he hadn't been locked in such conditions for a moment, and how such an old man should be effected by it, that any human should be. They had heard the tales in the taverns on shore of Joseph's downfall, and they considered that simply more evidence of his evil nature.
I had spoken to them all, I had brought out my Bible and tried to make them understand that Joseph was merely a man who had been at sea his entire adult life, a strong healthy man from the good work he has done. I argued that his downfall had reformed him, that he had become a better man from that, who had done no evil since. My words fell on deaf ears. The men were respectful of me, and played that they were convinced, but the talk continued.
And it had come to this. The crew, together, attacking Joseph, no doubt cracking his skull with some object, and throwing him overboard. A sad end for a man who was once great. Though he had fallen from my favor over the course of this journey, I felt a tear form in my eye for what he had been and lost. I sat, angry over this outcome, sad over this outcome, on the deck for an hour or more, and then rose to gather and speak to my crew.
In short order the men were gathered and I stepped out in front of them. I spoke softly, not to let my anger become evident and raise the mutiny that I still felt simmering. I repeated my arguments against their belief Joseph had made a contract with the devil, but made some concessions to their feelings on the subject. I told them that as their Captain, that it was my privilige to make such decisions, not theirs. I wanted to tell them I'd see each of them hang when we arrived in Boston, but contained it within myself. They were satisfied with what I told them, and felt that I was not going to punish them. They thought their Captain was only angry over their acting out of place, not the deed that was done.
The sun had set while I was speaking, and as I finished and the men went about their business, an unearthly red glow appeared off the bow. It was not bright, but it was unmistakeable. The men stood as statues, and I, too, made not a move. My first mate began uttering a prayer softly, with a shaking voice. A moment later, a voice came from the darkness behind me, a voice I knew all to well to belong to Joseph.
It was not clear what was being said at first, and we all strained our ears to hear. After a moment, I could understand.
A pact with the Devil, a pact. For life eternal the price only a soul. You cannot take my life from me, and I shall not spend eternity floating on the tides without a ship. You were wise enough to know, foolish to try to defeat me.
With the power of Satan behind him, Joseph stepped into the light of my lantern. He was dry, though he had just climbed out of the water. He grabbed the first mate, and they vanished into the darkness. Moments later, he reappeared and took hold of the cabin boy, who was crying shamelessly. And so it went, Joseph appeared, laid his hands on a man, and disappeared without a sound into the darkness, until I was the only man left.
I expected to meet my end, I was making hasty prayers to my maker, begging for forgiveness for anything I had ever done wrong. I was shaking terribly, waiting for my moment to come. It did not come. Exhausted, I must have collapsed onto the deck at some point in the night, still waiting for Joseph to take me into the darkness, and that is all I recall.
When the sun rose and awoke me, I was shocked to find myself alive. I surveyed the ship, looking for a sign of my crew and finding none. As I stood, I felt the wind beginning to blow, and I heard Joseph call to me to man the wheel.
A ship of this size, run by two men, certainly an impossible task. We arrived in Boston a week later.