Winds of Fury

by Peter Duysings

  Heinrich glanced at the men and shook his head in disbelief. “Sometimes I believe I’m on a ship full of dysfunctional madmen.” He said as he strode off.

  Günter and Fritz looked at each other, and they both simultaneously pointed their index fingers at each other, blaming the other for their fit of laughter. Fritz said that he had things to attend to as he quickly scampered away. Günter also decided to make himself scarce before Otto heard them laughing and came to investigate the reason why.

  * * *

  Karl and his crew had outdone themselves by preparing a grand feast the following day. Along with the fish were fresh fruit, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked bread. It was a spirited affair as the crew dined in splendor, al fresco on the deck. They usually ate in shifts due to lack of space for the entire collective crew. Tonight, they filled every square foot of space the ship offered so that as many sailors as possible could dine together. Also included was plenty of grog that the men downed in large quantities. Everyone was in a jolly mood drinking and laughing the night away. Heinrich felt good seeing the crew enjoying the evening. The event was a morale booster. He made a mental note to do this more often. The camaraderie was something that helped the men gel as a cohesive team.

  “I’m going into town tonight for a little mischief,” Otto exclaimed to Heinrich when he had finished his report.

  “That’s fine. You certainly could use the time off. I hope you behave yourself, so I don’t have to bail you out of the stockade,” Heinrich stated in jest.

  “Look who’s talking,” Otto remarked taken back by his friend’s words. “It’s all right for you to frolic with the opposite sex, but you think your first officer isn’t up to it? For that matter, you forget who counseled you in the art of attracting the attention of lovely women. Don’t concern yourself; I still have what it takes to interest females.”

  Heinrich was smiling as he listened to Otto’s ranting with the help of the rum. “Well, have a good time then. I hope you meet the woman of your dreams.”

  “Dreaming is the last thing I’m doing tonight. I shall see you whenever I see you.”

  “I hope that’s before we sail. I’d hate to have you left behind.”

  “Oh, Heinrich, don’t be such an arse.” He got up and left before his friend could respond.

  Heinrich grinned at the thought of his best friend sitting all alone in some dingy tavern waiting impatiently for the establishment’s wenches to make their way over to his table. And once they did to only find out their solicitations came up short of their intended goal, became humorous stories when Otto returned to the ship. He knew his friend’s bluster was just talk. Otto would not allow himself any fling with a woman out of his faithfulness to Helga. At best his attempts at sexual advancement was limited to slight flirtation. He was becoming ever so sad in missing Helga. “I hope he has a good time,” he thought. “Now what to do with my time tonight? Check the ship out? No, my boatswains have everything under control.” There’s no need to bother them. He instead went to meet with Günter to go over the next leg of their voyage.

  He found old Günter Dietz smoking his pipe at the bow.

  “Guten Abend – good evening, captain. Nice night to look at the stars isn’t it?”

  “Ja, you are right, Günter. It is indeed a beautiful night.” In the murky darkness, the stars above shone brightly, but the shoreline on the other side of the Savannah River was barely visible in the moonlight.

  Günter was the eldest member of the crew. Since he was a young lad he had been at sea. What he would do if not aboard a ship was unthinkable; it was his entire life. His sailing knowledge was the broadest Heinrich had ever come across. He was the perfect man for the sailing master’s job.

  “Nights such as this bring out the true heart of a sailor, Heinrich. The drudgery, the brutal labor, and the crowded cabins all form a part in a sailor’s life at sea, so I always appreciated quiet nights with just my thoughts to keep me company.”

  “It must be wonderful to be content with so little.”

  “To me, it is not little. The vastness of the sea and the expansive heavens above are all I need. I stand in awe of it.”

  “You have sea water in your veins, Günter.”

  “That I do, captain. The ocean is my world, and I will never leave it even after death. Promise me, Heinrich, when that time comes, you will bury me in the deep blue sea.”

  Heinrich muddled over that statement a while. As he thought, the creaking of wood decking was the only sound that punctuated the silence. At this time of night, there was a satisfying stillness compared to the daylight hours.

  He felt an intimate connection with Günter. He had a high regard for the sailing master’s vast experience and wisdom. He also had a keen mind, a kind spirit, a gentle way of counseling others, and without exception, a friendly disposition. But more than that, he was also a romanticist. He was always approachable and full of tales. Everyone liked him, as did Heinrich.

  One could name a European or North African port, and Günter intimately knew every ripple of the water in its harbor. He had not, however, been to the Caribbean. The only one on board to have been there was Diego Cordoba.

  “You want to talk about our course to the West Indies,” he said as a statement, not a question. At times Günter was also a bit clairvoyant.

  “Ja, I do. So far, our voyage has been routine. But, once we leave the port of Savannah, we will be on the lookout for pirates.”

  “Treacherous waters await us, captain,” he stated emphatically.

  “Is that what the stars have told you, Günter?

  Günter smiled through blackened, broken, and chipped teeth. “Nein, Heinrich, you are not the only one that walks the docks and talks with other men who have sailed those waters. I have talked with dozens of crewmembers and several ships’ officers. And I have spoken with Diego at length. Although the golden years of piracy came to an end several decades ago, there is still plenty going on. Many buccaneer ships are in these waters.”

  “That is a curious word; buccaneer. Any idea of the origin?”

  “From what Diego tells me, it comes from the French word boucaner. It means smoking one’s meat on a wooden frame over a fire. The open flame roasting the meat is called a boucan. There were incidents where pirate castaways attracted ships that spotted their fire on the beach. The ships hoped to instigate trading but instead were ransacked. That is how the name originated long ago.”

  “Interesting how the meanings of certain words have come about. I have learned from not only ship crews, but also port authorities that most of the pirate vessels have ceased their treacherous attacks due to the many naval ships patrolling the waters. Where piracy once flourished, it now has decreased enormously. However, it takes but one time, and if it happens to be our ship, we stand to lose everything. That is why I believe in having a potent defense against their like.”

  “I do see your point, Heinrich, and I am not against being prepared even for that one fatal incident. Here is another interesting point as well. There was a time when piracy of merchant ships was actually supported by nations to weaken another country’s means to do battle. In those cases, it was legal. They called it privateering instead of piracy. The French, English, Spanish, and Dutch practiced these methods. But that was a long time ago during the 16th century when those nations were at each other’s throats, especially the Spaniards. The famous English pirate Henry Morgan was even knighted for his privateering successes and then later made Governor of Jamaica. For that matter, Sir Francis Drake was also known for his privateering. By the early seventeen hundred, European countries began to outlaw piracy, but from what I have heard, English and even some Americans had taken up privateering at times when it served their purpose. Privateers still sail the seas even though I believe they do so without the formal blessing of their home countries. However, I have been told, naval vessels have been busy patrolling the Caribbean waters in combating piracy.”

  “So there probably isn�
��t any one particular place in the Caribbean where piracy dominates. So, we have no choice but to be prepared,” Heinrich surmised.

  “That is not necessarily true. According to Diego, there are still well-organized pirates doing a lucrative business. Many years back there were many safe havens for pirates, such as Nassau and Port Royal, but not anymore. Now the pirate ships have to be mobile to survive or find safe hiding places. My personal opinion is; anyone who sails under the flag of piracy has to be brazenly foolish, for it is a foregone conclusion their way of life will soon be at an end. Times are changing.”

  “You would think so, Günter, but there are always those who think preying on merchant ships is a rewarding lifestyle. The prize can be of great value.”

  “Ja, I suppose you are right. There will always be those that settle for the easy way to make a fortune no matter what the risk. Perhaps piracy will never come to an end as long as there are those who prey upon others and those who do not have the means to properly defend themselves. That has been the way of the world since its beginning, and certain aspects do not change in men’s hearts.”

  The two men continued their discussion for a while longer. They discussed and finalized the route to their ports of choice. Having concluded, Heinrich departed for his cabin leaving Günter to his thoughts and the night sky.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  OTTO’S ESCAPADE

  It took every bit of concentration and muscle strength to take each step. Otto stumbled on unbalanced legs. It was early morning. How he had made it back from town, up the gangplank and across the deck was anyone’s guess. Making it to the afterdeck house, he groped for the sides of the door frame to help himself straighten up just as Heinrich stepped out of his cabin door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his struggling friend and rushed over.

  “Help here!” and two sailors nearby ran up to assist the captain in half-carrying their first officer to his cabin one door down the hallway. It was not an easy task in the narrow space given Otto’s weight, girth and arms flaying around in his intoxicated state. Once inside the cabin, Otto tried to take a step toward his bed and tripped over his own feet, crashing to the floor as the others let go of him. It would have been futile for them to have tried to catch him. None wanted to get hurt in the process.

  His eyes were brutally bloodshot, and his attire was as if he had slept in them. The stench of alcohol was strong. Heinrich gaped at Otto and engaged the man.

  “Otto, what happened to you? Did someone jump you and then leave you lying in an alley to rot?”

  Mumbling, Otto found just enough energy to answer him, “A … a sturdy chair … would do fine right now.”

  Otto was trying to rise; rolling from side to side in an awkward attempt to get to his feet. Then he stopped moving and looked up at Heinrich with glazed-over eyes.

  “Why … why are you looking at me that way? Can’t you see … I am in nee … need of a chair my dear fellow?”

  “Let me help you up,” said Heinrich, as he got behind Otto and grabbed him under his armpits. The maneuver only made Otto giggle.

  “Stop your foolish cackling and get your arms up so I can lift you.”

  Wild howling erupted, and Otto’s entire torso began jiggling. The man was obviously still very inebriated. Heinrich couldn’t get his hands underneath him.

  Heinrich wiggled his nose in an effort to staunch the reek of alcohol mixed with sweat.

  “All right, you giggling donkey, you can just lay there on the floor for all I care.” Heinrich stepped away and sank in one of the chairs exhausted after attempting to lift his hefty friend.

  “That will be all, Herren. Leave him there, and later we will attempt to get him into his berth.”

  The two sailors left. After a minute the laughter stopped, and Otto cried out, “I need you … to help me … up.”

  “I tried that, you drunken butterball.”

  “Butt … butterball?” Otto emitted a huge hiccup. “You called me a … butter … ball! Now what … kind of … fiend would call someone in … my con … condition such a foul name?”

  “That’s ‘friend’, not ‘fiend,’ you idiot,” stated Heinrich.

  “Oh … now it’s … idiot is it? I’ll show you … who’s an id …idiot!”

  Heinrich rolled his eyes. There were plenty of times Otto had been drunk over the years, but this was the first time he had seen Otto this impaired. He knew the man really missed his dear Helga, but to get so drunk, while most likely trying to carry on with some wench in a tavern to satisfy his emptiness was useless. Heinrich truly felt sorry for him. Heinrich carefully looked him over for injuries but found none. That was a good sign at least. Apparently, no one had tried to assault him. If anyone had, Heinrich would have been enraged and would have paid the place a visit to dispense some justice.

  Several minutes went by, and Otto stopped squirming. He was still conscious if it could be called that in his condition. The calm didn’t last long as Otto produced a loud snore. Heinrich thought, “Oh my ears! How could Helga have gotten any sleep with that blaring noise?”

  Heinrich decided to let Otto stay put, while he gingerly stepped around the rotund body and went out the door. By all indications, Otto would be out for the entire day. He would check on him later that evening and get the scoop as to what happened last night – at least he hoped he could if Otto’s memory hadn’t failed. How the man found his way back to the ship was beyond him. At least he was safe on board.

  Two hours later, Heinrich recruited four burly sailors to come with him and checked in on his friend. It seemed Otto had not moved an inch from where he had left him. The four crewmen looked at their first officer and began chuckling. They had never seen him out cold like this. Heinrich didn’t stop their laughter; what for? It was a rather pitiful scene at that. He figured once the men tried to lift Otto, their laughing would cease.

  The four commenced to lift the heavy load, and indeed, their chuckling was soon replaced by groans as they strained. Otto stayed asleep and continued snoring as the men got a good hold on his limbs and picked him up. Accomplishing that was only part of the battle, they got him halfway on the bed as they strained to maneuver his massive dead weight. Then they proceeded to swing his legs around the rest of the way.

  Suddenly, Otto changed from snoring to snorting.

  “Damn the man,” Heinrich found himself saying out loud. “He sounds like a pig in heat.”

  One of the sailors commented, “Captain, have you ever heard a pig in heat?”

  “Nein, of course not. I was only attempting to compare those disgusting sounds to something.”

  “Well, I grew up on a farm, and I can tell you that he sounds nowhere near a pig in heat. I would take the noise of a pig in heat anytime over this thundering racket.”

  The other men busted a gut in reaction to what their mate had said. Heinrich now realized the entire crew would be apprised of Otto’s situation before the moon came up tonight. Not knowing what else he could do for his friend, he was about to leave when Fritz Huber came in.

  “I never believed I would witness this,” Fritz said to Heinrich from a few paces away. “I’ve known Otto close to fifteen years and never once saw him drunk out of his skull quite like this. He has, for the most part, controlled himself at taverns. Something serious must have happened.”

  Heinrich let it be. He didn’t offer a comment. If Otto wanted to discuss his personal matters with his closest friends he could do so at his will.

  “Please see that he gets looked in from time to time, Fritz. I need him sober by tomorrow.”

  “Auf ihren Befehl, Kapitän – On your order, captain.”

  * * *

  It was twenty hours later when Otto began to come out of his drunken stupor. When he was told how long he had been asleep, he forced himself off the bed. Moaning from the painful hangover, he mustered enough energy to take his shirt off and wash himself using a water basin, which took a great deal of effort. Most of the water splashed out of t
he basin. He was still groggy, and his balance was off kilter. His stomach was in spasms, and his head lolled on his ox-like neck. He thought, “Just my luck to drink grog that was improperly fermented.”

  He slumped in a chair and brushed his hair back. It seemed like forever, but he eventually dressed, although rather sloppily, he was in no mood to straighten out his outfit. He stumbled to the door and grabbed the door frame with both hands to steady himself. When he had gone two paces out the door, his stomach lurched and brought up foul-tasting bile, at the same time his body coiled into a ball and he went down onto both knees, bracing himself with his hands. “Ohhhhhh! What misery!”

  With much effort, he pulled himself to his feet and stood there swaying. After what seemed an eternity, Otto found he was standing on both legs and not faltering. Somewhat surprised at having regained his balance, he shook his head to clear his vision, but it made him dizzy, and he seemed to be swirling in circles, causing him to lose his balance once again. His hands shot out and found the stability of the wall and steadied himself. “Quite a feat for a drunken reprobate,” he thought.

  “Don’t shake your head. Just step easy,” a voice said. And now he felt his body being pulled forward, not under his control. Slowly he turned his head to one side. He saw a big man at his side, strong hands under his arm. He turned to his other side and saw the same thing.

  “Don’t fight it,” the same voice said. How long it took, he wasn’t about to guess for it was useless, but he was at a cabin door. It opened, and the two sailors got him inside and sat him in one of the chairs. His energy was completely spent.

  “Can you stand up straight, first officer?” one of the human props asked.

  “Ja, ja. Not to … worry, men. I have been … been much … worse.”

  Suddenly the door closed with a thud, and his helpers were nowhere in sight. He tried to slowly focus on items in the room while he avoided moving his head too fast and going into freefall once more. For the first time, he was conscious of his throat and mouth being very parched; he was having trouble swallowing.