Future Writer Chapter 1 (7 pages)

The Future's mine to write

Chapter 1

Downward splashes the bow of the schooner into a ground swell large enough to engulf its main deck.

"Hold fast, the starboard rudder," yells Captain Morgan over the blasting wind, "We must hit the squalls head on, Boatswain."

"Aye Skipper," responds the helmsman.

As the hull crests the wake of a swell, another swell follows right behind sending the rudder over the crest of another wave and out of the water.

Into the base of the next swell, the ship's figurehead plunges allowing the after-wash to pound hard onto the forecastle. Below decks, the master shipwright Sampson McKain is helping the cabin boy secure the loose debris.

"I tell you lad, it gets worse than this. We were once turning the point where the cape meets the deep when SLAM we were broadsided by the biggest wall of water mankind has ever seen. This ole tub took a thirty eight degree list.

If not for the load in the cargo hole, we would have capsized in a moment."

The cabin boy begins to feel relieved to the severity of the storm.

"It was right after that, when I saw my first flying sea turtle," Sampson continues, "It was as large as the cargo hatch itself. If not for the cook, we would have been its lunch, and of that, I'm certain."

"You're joshin’ me now," replies the cabin boy.

"Believe what you might lad, for I'm telling you that man only knows but a fraction of what this mother earth stores for us."

"How do you know that it was a 'flying sea turtle'?"

"Why lad, like I was telling you, the giant turtle leaped out of the water towards the ship, but at that same moment, the cook was hauling two buckets of rotted vittles scraps from the galley. He aimed to toss them over the side."

"You're just tellin’ me sea stories," says the cabin boy.

"Now lad, I wouldn't have believed it if not for seeing it with my own eyes. I tell you, the cook, seeing this giant flying sea turtle, panicked and threw the two buckets of rotted vittles scraps high into the air and began to run towards the stern, when the tail-wind caught the scraps and sent a spraying mist of galley food into the face of the oncoming turtle. The turtle quickly dove into the drink to wash off the toxic galley food from its face. The splash from the turtle sprayed all the way over the jibboom and onto the main deck.

I'm just thankful that we don't have a modern ship, otherwise the cook would have just sent the scraps out the discharge and the turtle would have eaten at least one of us for sure."

"How do you know that the turtle was flying?"

"It was in the air wasn't it?"

"Who’s to say that it didn't leap out of the water and you thought it was flying?"

"Now boy, one thing you don't do is question the shipwright, and besides, as soon as the turtle got a whiff of the chow, it quickly changed course in mid-flight. He could not have done that if it had only leaped. ... and to think that we eat the stuff."

Suddenly the ship's bell rings frantically. Sampson knows that something is wrong. Up the ladder he rushes. Un-battening that hatch, he slowly opens the dogs (hatch handles), then pushed it open. As he does, he is drenched by the wash from the white cresting wave. The force from the water slams the hatch closed, knocking him off the ladder and onto the deck below. He starts back up the ladder when the wash and wind caught the un-battened hatch flinging it open allowing the salty Caribbean seawater to forcefully drive him from his grip on the ladder.

As the ship rides up the next swell, Sampson scurries up the ladder and secures his life line to the railing. Before the next crest hits, he quickly battens down the hatch. The sky above is as black as night, while twenty miles away blue skies flicker over the horizon. He looks to the port side to see a mountain of water building up momentum.

"It's going to hit us broadside!" he thinks to himself, "What in the devil is that Helmsman thinking?"

Sampson quickly square knots his life line to the railing in anticipating a face to face confrontation with the oncoming wave. The ship lists hard to the starboard side as the base of the wave reaches the side hull.

"WUSHHHHH!" the water explodes through, and over, the railing. Sampson holds on for dear life. The ship is now listed so hard to the starboard side, that when the water resides, Sampson is hanging by the port railing. Fortunately, the ballast is heavy enough to counter the weight of the three masts that are now lifting from the water. Slowly the ship rolls back on its keel as the next wave increases in size. Before the next one crashes into the ship, Sampson unties his life-line and runs aft along the main deck like a mad man while trying with all his effort to maintain his balance on the rocking and swaying ship. The ship once again lists to the starboard side. Sampson knows that another broadside wave is soon to follow. He begins to tie his lifeline to the port railing when the ship shutters in a sideways motion knocking him off his feet. As he slides across the deck to the starboard side, he lashes out for anything that he can grab onto in order to keep him from going over the starboard railing, and falling into the sea below.  Finally as one last effort creates its opportunity, he awkwardly grasp the starboard railing as his legs swing over the top of the railing as a gymnast on a high bar, and hitting the starboard side hull. The ship dips even further to the starboard side submerging his legs into the sea. The strong current is too much for his grip on the railing. Suddenly, he is swept away by the sea. Just as suddenly, the mizzen mast doubling (rear mast rope ladder) scoop him up like a net as the ship rolls back onto it keel. The rolling of the ship throws him uncontrollably to the aft upper deck. He lifts himself to his feet to see that the next wave is still a long way off. He takes the opportunity to race across the deck to the helm. There, he secures his life-line to the stanchions surrounding the helmsman.

"What's with the bell?" Sampson yells over the top of the prevailing wind to the boatswain's mate.

Next to the boatswain's mate, at the helm, is the skipper, Captain Morgan.

"Aft look-out reports land sighted fifteen miles windward, just over the horizon," yells the skipper in response, "The rudder is not very responsive. If we don't get this ship turned around, the wind will blow us aground. I need you to go to aft-steering to see what the matter is."

About that time another wave hits broadside. Both the skipper and the boatswain stay upright while being supported by the stanchions that surround the helm.

Sampson, however, is swept off his feet and left to dangle off of his life-line.

Once the ship rights itself, Sampson slides down the hatch leading into the after-steering compartment. Sampson, being the master shipwright that he is, recognizes the problem immediately. Around the rudder shaft is a quarter-pulley known as the quadrant. From the helm mechanism there are tightly strung lines (ropes) that loop around this sheave (quadrant) and draw the rudder to the left or right. The overwhelming stress caused by the pounding current has created slack in the lines allowing the port side rudder line to pop off a portion of the quadrant. Sampson knows from experience that any attempted to remove the and repair the rudder line while maintaining a leeward (into the wind) course would cause the rudder to whip around uncontrollably at the whim of the current.

He rushes back to the helm to report his findings.

"Skipper!" he yells, "Port-side rudder line has popped the quadrant. I need to remove and replace the line."

"Do what you have to do Shipwright," orders the skipper.

"I need the ship to be turned windward," adds Sampson.

"Neigh lad. I can't do that. She'll run aground," responds the skipper.

"We have fifteen mile minimum to land. That should give us at least thirty minutes," remarks Sampson.

"Work with what you've been given Shipwright. You have your orders. Now go!"

"Aye, Sir!"

Angrily, Sampson slides back down to the after-steering compartment. Having only a marlin spike, he desperately tries to pry the, now frayed line over the lip of the quadrant. The raising, lowering, and the side to side motion of the ship makes its almost impossible work. As the stern lifts out of the water then back into the next swell, the rudder slams hard to the starboard side causing the rope that he is working on to suddenly tighten up. The marlin spike is thrown across the compartment and into the bilge. Down into the muck he searches. The current slams hard to port knocking him off balance. Finally, at the end of his reach he has found what he was after. He wipes the slime from the marlin spike and continues to work on the rudder, only this time, where the rope has folded over the quadrant two of the three strands of rope has frayed. Sampson knows that it's only a short time before the rope will be cut through completely.

He quickly runs to a rigging storeroom where he cuts a section of three stranded line to the approximate length of the frayed rudder line. He quickly weaves eye loops at each end of the rope and hooks it over the top of the existing rudder line. Conveniently the rudder is in the port position so the stress on the rudder line is at its least. He is just about to slip the rope over the quadrant eye when, "WHAM!" The existing rudder line has snapped and the rudder is now flapping back and forth at the mercy of the sea.

Above decks, Captain Morgan and the helmsman frantically spin the non-responsive helm.

The forward lookout yells back, "Land, ten miles!"

The skipper yells to the helmsman, "Its McKain, He has taken control of the ship."

The captain knows the risks of removing the anchor from its cradle in such rough seas. Anchors have been known to swing into the hulls ripping a gash into the bow between the times of un-cradling and releasing the capstan. But the desperate captain sees no other choice but to take his chances and dropping anchor.  

"Forward look-out, uncouple the anchor," orders the skipper.

"Aye, Sir!" replies the forward look-out.

Below, Sampson is fighting with all of his might maintain some control over the flapping rudder. Fortunately, the wind has turned the ship windward as Sampson had earlier requested of the skipper. This causes the rudder sit idle while Sampson makes the repairs to the rudder.

"Crash!" Sampson hears a crunching sound echoing through the hull.

"We've hit a REEF!" Sampson thinks to himself.

Sampson continues to make the last twist of the turn-buckle, tightening the new rudder line.

Sampson returns to the upper decks to find the skipper and other crew members stretching over the starboard bow railing. The anchor had ripped a gash in the bow just at the waterline.

The skipper seeing Sampson yells, "You did this McKain!"

"Did What?!!"

"Mutiny! You took control from below and steered her towards land against my direct orders. You gave me no choice but to drop anchor!.... then this!"

Sampson looks over the side to see the damage. Although the ship is taking on water, Sampson knows that the damage is not a threat. He knows that the ship is partitioned so that the water will only fill the forward void and chain locker.

"I'd throw you in the brig McKain but I need someone to fix that gaping hole in the bow before we sink!"

Sampson looks back over the side. Shock and horror come over him as he sees the anchor chain shutter. He knows that the ship is dragging the anchor.

He rushes to the skipper, who is now working his way back to the helm, "Skipper, I know we have our differences but the ship is in greater danger than you think."

"Come out with then."

"We’re dragging the anchor, Sir. We'll hit land soon if we don't take care of it."

The captain looks over the side to see the quivering anchor chain and says, "What would you suggest, McKain? Plant dynamite in the bilge?"

The skipper turns and continues making his way to the helm. Sampson yells to him over the wind, "The rudder is fully repaired. We could hoist anchor to thirty feet below the waterline to keep it from hitting the hull until the weather clears."

The skipper stops to review the logic, "Man the capstan. Hoist the anchor until it just clears the bottom. Helmsman, turn course heading south, southwest. McKain. Fix that hole!"

Narrator: Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sampson McKain III, and that man that you just read about is my grandfather. He was one of the last true sailors. By 1899 most wooden ships were scrapped and traded in for the steel hulled freighters.

My grandfather once wrote, "You can't really experience the sea until you become one with the sea." I think that is why he chose life on a three mast schooner over the more modern steel hulled ships. Although I've never met my grandfather, through his writings, I feel as though I know him on a personal level. Those who knew him tell me that I am a spitting image of him. My grandmother often confused me for him in her later years. Many say that his spirit lives within me. He was a high spirited, adventurous man with a passion for all that life had to offer. Besides his spirit that couldn't be tamed, my grandmother never spoke a harsh word of him. The skipper never sent him to the brig. The skipper knew that my grandfather had too much respect from the rest of the crew. If the skipper were to send him to the brig, he would lose complete respect from the other crew members and possibly lead to mutiny.

How do I know so much about a man that I've never met?

Every night my grandfather wrote of his daily life in a ledger. This was no ordinary ledger. This was a book filled with endless page that, when read, would place the reader into the mind of the writer. I would feel my grandfather's life through my bone when I read his journal.

Covered with treated, woven bamboo reeds, and hand carved coconut shells, this journal is said to have been given a spell which empowers the contents.

Where my grandfather came to having this ledger is unknown. Rumor has it that it originated in the black magic voodoo realm of Jamaica. Others would say that it came from the devil himself, and from what I now know I wouldn't doubt that. My grandfather never came home from that voyage in the storm. Those on the ship swore that he just disappeared. He was last seen walking into the main cargo hold, where he often went to write in his ledger, and he never came out. Only his ledger was left behind. According to his shipmates, he would never leave the ledger in that way. He was very secretive when asked about his writings.

Nobody really knows what became of my grandfather. The skipper swore that he was the devil in flesh.

After the voyage, his possessions were sent to my grandmother. She placed the ledger in a box and there it stayed until just over a year ago. My grandmother was cleaning out her attic and came across the ledger. Knowing that I like to write, she sent it to me.

I believe this ledger is what put me into the trouble that I'm in today.

People say that each person has control over their destiny. Thanks to this ledger, destiny is not a virtue, it's......

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Author's Note

Enjoy!

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I do believe this must be a "sea story", although you didn't begin it with the classic "Now, this ain't no s**t." Sorry--I had to say it!
The story is rich in detail and action-packed, but may be difficult to understand for those unfamiliar with all the jargon and nomenclatures. There are quite a few small nits to be found, but nothing that couldn't be easily fixed. Something I'm a little confused about is whether this is pure fiction or based on real life events.

[Dave Potter]

Thanks Sam. This is all fiction. The jargon is from sail boaters that I knew at the time that I wrote it. AND... you're right, If this were a Navy story it would begin with 'I S**t You Not...' I wrote this in 1998 and I'm trimming the fat to shorten the story before posting it... There are 21 chapters in all. I'll be posting more chapters soon. Thanks again, Dave