Voyage in a Savage Sea

FROM CHAPTER 3 It was a cold, overcast morning late in january 1806 when Captain McCurty assembled the crew of the "Hound." He planted himself at the break of the poop, leaned on the rail and called down to the men. "All right gents, gather round here, I've got a few words to say afore I turn this tea party over to the mates." The men shuffled under the break; standing uneasily under McCurty's gaze as he began in a crisp voice. "Now then, unless you're some kind of fool ya all know the name of this here vessel is the "Houndstooth" and a fine ship she is. We're bound for Sydney Cove, the other side of the would...almost exactly" He moved a few paces to port and locked his hands behind his back. "Now then," he nodded to where the mates stood at the rail. "the big man ya see there's first mate. His name's Duggan. The second mate, standing next to him, is Beckins. Make no mistake. You call them Mister. They run this ship under my authority. An order from them is an order from me. My name is Captain Charles McCurty. You address me as Sir. I run this ship under the authority of it's owners, God and the Crown." He unlocked his palms and thrust out his arm, pointing a finger over the men like a sentence. "Now this here trip can be a Sunday picnic or it can be a flaming bloody hell. It's all the same to me. If you got spirts, put em over the side. If ya got a long pointy knife, break it off. I'll stand no foolishness. Hear?" McCurty's voice started to rise as his words flew down at the men. "Ya rise up when yer watch is called. You jump to at the mates orders. Ya stand yer watches pert, like real seaman." He gripped the rail and thrust his body forward like a gargoyle. "You get caught sleeping at the masthead or lookout"...his crossed eye swung over the men like a pulsing beam..."I'll skin you with the cat myself. When you hear the words, 'All hands to deck,' by God you come runnin'like a burning man to water. When this here trip is over...two years or there abouts...you can pick up yer pay; do as you like, proud as peacocks. But while you're part of this ships company you belong to me and the mates. Do what we say, quick, no sass, and we'll get along. Ya don't and you'll curse your mother for bornin' ya... It's up to you." He spun to face the mates. "Misters, pick your watches. We sail with the flow within the hour." FROM CHAPTER 12 Jeremy Holloway, braced in his bunk, tried to choke himself off lest he be hurled across the "Hounds" fo'c'sle like a rag doll. The whole living hell of a space in the forward part of the ship reeling like a drunk; the noise deafening, louder than the base of a waterfall. Each time the bow crashed through another wave, Jeremy counted to himself. One...two...how long could the ship hang in the air?....three....four...Then the sinking feeling as the bow pitched forward and started down, sending his stomach to ram against his throat, the enbsuing collision of bow into trough causing the hull to boom with a sound like a empty barrel being struck by a sledgehammer. Above him, the wind howled in the rigging, and the "Hound's" twisting, tortured planks groaned with each corkscrewing roll. Slimy water filled with bilge debris and dead rodents sloshed across the cabin sole to douse the bunks, carrying clothes, sea chests, and anything not lashed down back and forth in the dirty foam. The bulkheads streamed hundreds of tiny rivulets, and the sea rained down through leaking deck seams and around the foremast boot. Jeremy was fully dressed, though he didn't know what good his oilskins did...he was soaked to the skin. Jeremy had never known weather this violent.The storm had charged out of the night skiy like a stampede; a thunderous fury of crackling light over a black wall of rain...slashing like a claw. The wind, driven by a mass of energy swirling round a tranqauil eye, heaping the seas into huge rolling stacks. As a weather system it was unusual in this part of the would; a rampaging, tropical freak looking for something to kill. Jeremy was scared. At least it wasn't cold, he reminded himself. The wind must be forty knots, but he could feel the sweat on his back. He remembered China Jim explaining rounding Cape Horn: "Men in them ships face these winds every day, sometimes for weeks, beating straight into 'em too. The difference is, see, on the Horn there's usually a blizard. The water so cold the sails and yards is covered in ice. Freeze ya up like a cod in Norway." Listening to China Jim Jeremy vowed he'd never go to the Horn if he had his say about it.. When the weather had turned fierce, and the sails shortned, First Mate Duggan had sent Jeremy's watch below to "get out of it for awhile," but now that Jeremy was below he wasn't sure he hadn't been better off on deck. He watched the trunk of the foremast twist and groan in its wedges where it penetrated the overhead to crowd the crews living space. He was surprised that even more water didn't stream through the leaking boot and down the thick mast trunk set with pegs and swaying wet clothes. Sensing another plunge, he had no sooner jammed his feet against his bunkboard and tightned his hold. when a deafening sonic crack split his ears. Instantly the water leaks became sizzling blue lights snakeing down the mast trunk in a hissing display of steam and snapping, sparking electrical charge. Jeremy leapt from his soggy mattress like a shot rabbit. His ears felt as if they had been clapped between sheets of tin. He barely had time to regain his senses when a screaming voice hurtled down the hatchway. "All hands! Save ship!