on still waters

 chapter 1

1934

somewhere in the Indian Ocean

   She was an older sailing ship, beamy, proud, dependable, and well seasoned; a three-masted barkentine cargo carrier now serving as the vessel of travel for Stanley Wellington and company, the son and heir to the century old wealthy and successful shipping company and commercial holdings of the New England Wellington family. She was at full sail and making her way through the Indian Ocean toward a rising moon, responding with confidence to as much demand as her captain and crew put to her. She was the Crimson Glory, the onetime flag ship of the Wellington Lines and the final tall ship to be held by any of the family. All others had long been sold off and replaced by the great iron steamers or over the years simply used up and driven to the bottom of the sea as they were no longer deemed to be practical.

   Most of the crew and passengers of the Crimson Glory were settling down to enjoy a good night’s sleep after their incredible ordeal on Monkey Island. They were spent and eager to make port somewhere more civilized with good hot food, congenially served liquor, and hot baths. Although they knew the next port of call was many days away in Australia they weren’t too particular as to anywhere else they might actually go to port. What they wanted most was an opportunity to get back to who they were, to remind themselves they were still good men after seeing so much death and mayhem, including the loss of three of their own party. For the young Princeton rugby boys from the U.S., one of those lost was member of their own group and the manner in which he was killed, by crazed cannibals, was something so horrific they were not eager to tell it nor could they ever forget it. In addition they would have to explain his death to friends and family back home which they knew would not be accepted in any manner in which it was told and in no way that would leave them in good standing after the telling. The revelation of their story, the incredible facts and events of their adventure, even with their returning with a mountain of priceless diamonds, were unlikely to sooth the news of their good friend’s loss. To the very man they pretty much agreed they would sacrifice all of their newfound wealth if it would bring back their dead companions.

   Bartholomew Hail, Stanley Wellington, and Captain Horatio Buckmaster were taking in a final cup of coffee and a small snort of brandy before turning in for the night. As they did they perused the old Portuguese map that led them to the mysterious Monkey Island. The place had no name and so they came to call it Monkey Island after a thirty foot beast they befriended while there, the place from which they had just departed the day before. They weren’t there long, a little less than a month but long enough to experience a lifetime of unexpected marvels and fear. A place with wild beast the size of houses, trees equal to the great American redwoods, a tribe of cannibals, and an unexpected lost civilization of drunken natives. All this bursting with danger yet oddly enough it was a place to which they all felt they would like to someday return.

   “I’ve recorded the position of that island and have every intention of keeping it secret, young Stanley, as I’m sure you do as well,” said Captain Buckmaster.

   “And with very good reason,” replied Stanley.

   “But I have to say with all of our crew and your Princeton boys knowing its whereabouts, or just the fact that it exists, it’s a secret that’ll be hard kept. What with everyone sharing the incredible newfound wealth derived from those diamonds and especially knowing there are more to be had.”

   “Yes I know,” agreed Stanley. “Sooner or later the secret will make its way to the wrong people and what they run into when they get there may not be cordial and may not be pretty, especially if they’re not prepared. And from what I saw as we were departing, the size of Monkey’s parent, Myuko, my god. Is there anything on this earth that will deal with her if she gets angry? You saw what one of those things did to that old city, destroyed it. And what it did to that big four-master. I’d say we were pretty damn fortunate we ran into that little thirty foot child ape first.”

   “Not to mention what will happen to all those Bolu natives,” said Bart. “Or any other tribes that might still be on that island.” Bart took a long hard gulp of his brandy laced coffee and then sighed, “I kind of miss that big ape though and just calling her Monkey doesn’t seem to be right,” he said, looking to Stanley accusingly. “And what about that little kid. Can’t just keep calling him Boy,” continued Bart, referring to the native boy who joined them upon their arrival and has been with them ever since.

   “So what do you suggest we call him?” asked Stanley. “None of us can pronounce his real name. Not even Jonesy and he speaks a half dozen languages.”

   “Don’t know. Never named a kid before. Don’t even know how old he is or much of anything else. Not that there’s much to know. Just that he’s a gutsy little fart with a real bad vocabulary handed down by stranded sailors.” Bart thought a moment then said, “You know, Big Tiny has kind of adopted the kid so let’s leave it up to him.”

    “Fare enough,” laughed Stanley just before he finished off his coffee.

   Into the crews mess strolled their other newfound member of the group, Australian Roberta Kincade, known as Bobby. “Hello there mates. Still awake I see. Hey Jonesy, got any of that coffee left?”

   “Yes ma’am. More than enough,” replied Jonesy, the Chinese ship’s cook. “Hot and ready,” he said as he put down a cup and poured. “Any time you want coffee you come and see ol’ Jonesy.”

    "Holy shit Jonesy. You sure are getting accommodating lately,” said Bart.

   “With this lady you bet your ass I’m accommodating. Don’t want my galley to get blown up the way she blew up the side of that mountain and that cannibal fortification if she’s not a happy camper.”

   “Now why would I be an unhappy camper, Jonesy?”

   “Don’t know. Don’t want to find out,” laughed Jonesy.

   “Hey Jonesy, how ‘bout another cup of that joe?” asked Bart.

    “Help yourself there kiddo,” said Jonesy as he set the pot down on the table and walked back into his galley pointing his famous knuckle cracker big wooden spoon.

   “You know you’d think an Oxford Rhodes Scholar would be a little more considerate of a future lawyer wouldn’t you?” said Bart as he reached for the coffee pot.

   “He’s just a cook,” said the Captain. “With a cook’s temper.”

    “And a dislike for lawyers,” mumbled Jonesy, in Chinese as he walked away.

   “Yeah, a Rhodes Scholar cook who speaks more languages than you can imagine and can cuss with ease in each one,” said Bart.

   “We all have our little quirks,” entered Stanley.

   “Little quirks, little man, big, big brain,” said Bart.

   “Hey, I heard that,” came Jonesy’s voice from the galley followed by a few curse words - in Chinese.

   “You got to cut Jonesy a little slack, Bart,” said Stanley as he folded the old map and stashed it in his jacket. “He’s been through a lot lately. Hell, he almost got eaten by cannibals remember?”

   “Of course I remember. I was almost part of the main course myself. Bart flambeau! And you and Monkey saved me. But don’t worry; I won’t hold it against you, even though I’ve never been the center of attention at a formal dinner. I know how you like to be included in things, Mr. Stanley Corbit Wellington III, seeker of adventure and truth and any other excuse to get the hell out from under daddy’s umbrella. Well, you’ve conquered the monster and here we are, somehow still alive and kicking.”

   “And apparently you haven’t changed a bit from the experience,” laughed Stanley. “You’re still my favorite uninhibited hero.”

   “Uninhibited? There you go, using those two dollar words again. And in the company of us lower class minions.”

   “Now my good fair haired friend do you not agree that you are the smartest of all the students at Princeton?”

    “I might.”

   “And do you not agree that do to recent circumstances you are now a very, very rich man?”

   “I do.”

   “And… you love it?” smiled Stanley.

   “I love it?”

   “You love it,” Stanley continued to smile.

   “Well, maybe a little, maybe,” conceded Bart with a sly grin.

   “Maybe a lot. Or maybe I should tell our lady guest about your affair with that belly dancer.”

   “What belly dancer?”

   “You know what belly dancer. The one with…”

   “Nope, never happened.”

   "Of course it did. It was at…”

   “Nope.”

   “Yes, and…”

   “Nope. Nope. Nope,” insisted Bart.

   “I have to say that upon my observance to date that you two boys go together like, like… well, Laurel and Hardy,” said Bobbie. “Well, sometimes kind of.”

   “What!” said Stanley. “Laurel and…”

   Just then the First Mate popped into the mess and addressed Captain Buckmaster. “Sorry to interrupt you sir, but there’s some serious looking weather coming up off the stern and I don’t think we can avoid or out run it.”

   “How serious?” asked the Captain.

   “Looks damn bad, sir. Suggest we call out the crew, tie everything down, secure the ship, and batten down the hatches. We could be in for one hell of a ride.”

   “Young Stanley, what say we take a look at that weather and see what we’re up against,” said Captain Buckmaster as he rose to join the First Mate.

    “Right behind you, Captain,” replied Stanley.

   “There, you see? That boy attracts danger no matter where he goes,” Bart said to Bobbie.

   “And for some reason, mate, you always seem to be there to see it,” replied Bobbie. “Am I right?”

   Bart smiled. “Somebody has to take care of him.”

   “I’ll give you that, Barto. But I’m thinkin’ there’s some real mutual respect and brotherly love goin’ on, right mate?”

   Bart simply smiled, then said, “What say we pop up top and see what this storm business is all about?”

   When Stanley and Captain Buckmaster came topside they immediately saw what the First Mate was concerned about. To the east off in the horizon was a fast approaching storm the likes of which either of them had ever seen before, broad, high and dark, as though it were chasing the sunset in an effort to swallow the earth.

   “It certainly looks back of bourke,” said the Bobbie as she joined them. “But she’s fair dinkum.”

   “Um, what did you say?” asked Stanley.

   "Oh sorry mate. Forgot you don’t speak the language of Oz,” replied Bobbie. “I said it’s far off and it’s a true serious storm.”

   “Oz?” said Stanley.

   “Australia, mate,” replied Bobbie.

   “I quite agree there ma’am,” said Captain Buckmaster. “That’s one very serious storm out there and I’m afraid it’s going to overtake us right soon.”

   “Just how serious are we talking about, Captain?” asked Stanley.

    “More serious than I’ve ever seen, mate,” said Bobbie. “And I’ve seen a few. That’s an honest to God typhoon and a damn big one.”

   “Can we turn about and avoid it?” asked Stanley.

   “Afraid not. We’re going to have to rough it out,” replied Captain Buckmaster. “And pray.”

   He immediately began calling out orders to the crew and all others aboard as they came topside to lend a hand and secure the ship.

   “What can we do?” asked Bobbie.

   “There’s cargo and things below. If it’s not now tied down it all needs to be secured, and tell Jonesy to tighten up his kitchen and kill his fires. I’d hate to have to fight a fire and a storm at the same time. Nothing worse on any ship as a fire, ma’am.”

   “Agreed. I’ll get to the galley and give Jonesy a hand,” said Bobbie. You better grab your boys and secure the gear and cargo,” she said to Stanley.

   “Yes ma’am,” snapped Stanley. “And you make sure you’re in a safe place when that storm hits.”

   “Not a problem, mate,” she said as she sped off.

   “You there, Irish!” called the Captain to the lower deck.

   “Aye sir,” replied Irish.

   “Make sure those longboats are secured and check the anchor. I don’t want to lose it or have it bash out the side of the hull. Looks like we’re in for one hell of a rough night.”

   “Aye-aye Capt’n,” acknowledged Irish.

   The outer winds of the typhoon began to catch the Crimson Glory that now had only enough opened sail to maintain some form of control. Full sails would most assuredly result in their being capsized. The old girl began to rock and sway but soon she would be riding overhead waves that could possibly sink her if Captain Buckmaster could not keep the ship in line and into those same oncoming mountains of rough water. The crewman on deck had closed and battened the hatches and were now securing themselves to the mast and other parts of the ship with rope, some with enough line to allow them room to move about but still be attached to the ship and avoid being washed overboard. In spite of wearing life jackets, a trip overboard would assuredly mean they would immediately be lost to the sea with no chance of rescue.

   The storm was growing closer with each passing minute, they watched with tightened guts full of anxiety and the anxiety turned to outright fear as the seasoned sailors knew what was soon to come next when the heavy winds turn to screaming banshees of death through the top rigging. The typhoon seemed to reach out and grab their ship and surround it with despair. The Crimson Glory began to pitch and roll, seeming out of control and at the pure mercy of the seal and the storm. All fought the storm, holding on for dear life as they were encased in darkness and thrown about the deck like paper dolls. Captain Buckmaster assisted by his First Mate struggled at the ship’s wheel, trying desperately to keep her heading into the oncoming sea.

   While the storm screamed around them, over them, and on them, the extent of its grasp seemed to have no end and it carried them and the Crimson Glory along into the darkest of night. The ship rose vertically only to shoot into the air and down the other side of the huge waves, then to dive into the sea submerging the entire hull and crew. It would rise again to repeat the same ordeal, losing some of its rigging and sail. The crew recovered and brace for another round, over and over and over again all through the night until all they could do was surrender and pray.

   Below decks the Princeton boys who weren’t assisting the crew above were being thrown from side to side in the cargo hold while they struggled to keep the cargo secure when some of it would burst lose. Big Tiny was spending much of his time catching Boy as he was tossed about. Bart and Bobbie were now in the crews mess with Jonesy doing whatever it took to keeping the adjoining galley and crews’ mess intact.

   At the ship’s wheel the First Mate was struck in the head and unconscious when crashing water threw him to the deck leaving Captain Buckmaster alone to manage the ship, but it was too much for him to control, for any man or two men to control, even when he was joined by Stanley, and so the Crimson Glory took over and plowed her own course. She sailed almost as if by magic from giant wave to giant wave as though she had a mind of her own and actually challenging the sea and storm to give her their worst. All the while she sailed strong as she was repeatedly beat by the wind and sea. Captain Buckmaster was thrown to the deck and was washed against the rail that he grasp and held on in desperation for his life. Stanley stayed at the wheel struggling uselessly to control the ship. When he looked out he saw what he knew would be the last thing he may ever see, a wave so huge it nearly topped the ships mainsail – and down it came. He swore he could hear it coming, hear an enormous roar and rumble like a line of a dozen steam engine trains side by side, running at full power - and they were all rolling in to kill the Crimson Glory.

- end of chapter 1 -