Posts tagged ‘ship’

03/22/2013

Acockbill

by Pierce Nahigyan

It was a very old anchor was on the bow of the Lady Johanna. Morley, the cabin boy, liked to look at it when he got a moment away from Havish, the ship’s cook, who was always ordering him out of the hot kitchen to the quarterdeck or down below. Never still, never at rest was Morley, except when he stole away. He’d always be punished for it; still, a moment to himself was a minor blessing. True, he did not strictly have his time to himself to himself; with such a large ship there were always crewmen and mates scuttling around, swabbing the deck, spinning hemp, fastening lines. He did have time without orders, though, and it was that time that Havish said made him a piss-poor sailor.

Morley liked to look at the old anchor fastened to the cathead, her flukes bent acockbill like iron wings, and loved best watching her ascend from the sea when the men reeled her up to make way.

03/13/2013

Aclinic

by Pierce Nahigyan

Strange things were found when the ship sailed over the aclinic line. The wind ceased, the sea calmed. There was a screaming heard briefly, over the last flapping of the mainsails and the snaky twitching of the riggings, like someone we’d left behind calling out to us to come back, turn around. And many a man turned around to see what shrieked. And to a man, none of them would return from the voyage.

Strange things bumped against the hull, strange things that looked like flotsam but moved like eels. And there were no other ships that we saw, nor animals, just these wriggling rags and timber colored fish. They smelled like fish. I asked the captain what bearing to take but he hushed me with a thick, dirty finger. He’d been rubbing his thumb into the bowl of his pipe, burning it, tamping down until there was nothing but a hard sediment of tobacco not fit for smoking. “Don’t speak,” he said. “Keep your eyes to the horizon. Hold fast to the wheel.”

I felt the helm push against me. Despite the pull of the current or the push of the breeze, the tiller ropes growled. And for a moment, while the men turned back to the voice of the crier, I faced the horizon, and the horizon faced me. I felt the vast line of earth and sky glare, and stare. Such a terror lurked behind that red vacancy that I nearly let go of the wheel. I wanted to cry out. My knees knocked like bones drumming the wet boards. But the captain reached for my shoulder, and his fingers bit into me, hard, digging through my pea coat. “Eyes to the horizon,” he commanded. “Don’t lose it.”

The horizon moved.

I held the ship on course for hours, with the captain at my side, his hand never wavering upon my shoulder, and I kept the horizon before me, where I knew it should be, where it sometimes did not seem to stay. And when the darkness came, with it came strange, revolting stars.

No man relieved me. The captain kept the watch. And in the morning half the crew was gone, and the compass swung north once again.

11/29/2012

Accommodate

by Pierce Nahigyan

Assured, apart from crowded pier, she stepped.
While jacktars jeered in Macy‘s swinging rigs,
I breathed. Then lay my mop beside the mast.
What frightful creature beckons, I thought, and woe
Betide the sailor caught in maelstrom whirling
Behind such eyes, such condescending eyes.

She smiled at me and pointéd to three trunks
Borne seaside trussed to one poor Chinaman.
Staggering, knock-kneed, silent save his wheeze,
He fell upon the planks beneath her chests,
Become quite flat, not dead, a pancaked man;
And she honey trod nimbly o’er his head
Cream smooth, like butter beaming brightly, gold
And gold hair shining danced between a rat
That crossed her way and dog not far behind
To float under the shade of Macy‘s wings -
For pier and poison eyes driftéd tidely
And she not minding stood despite the drift.

“I am your passenger,” she said. “Captain?”
“Not captain, I,” said I. “A bosun, ma’am.”
“Swainboat or first mate, last mate or none,
Rum runn’r or gunner, catfish or cod,” she sighed,
“Fetch hither yon captain wedded to Maude. I’m Maude.”
She flashed her ring. I knew it well. “My skip,”
I said, “sent you that ring, sight unseen, aye?”
Said she was so, his letters she had, his ring
Last thing to trip from lips that kissed, and caps
Can wed whom pleaseth them. “So fetch him now,”
She said. “I can’t,” I said. “Get him,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “Patience tested, I ask,
Once more, bosun. Get thee thy captain. Do.”

“Respectfully, dear Maude, I’d lower you
An accommodate ladder
Were it my power to give. But, ma’am, our cap,
A brave sailor, tall tale teller, a prince
Of sea, dear man – when in his cups resolves
To marry merry pretty spinsters, and writes
And sings to woo them. Honey, hie thee home.
And sell your gold. ‘Tis real, I know, or else
His many wives would be our endless wake
A’swim behind us churning drunken revels
Athwart those broken hearts we leave where’r
We berth. Sweetie, you have my sympathy.”

She spat and ripped the ring from her finger.
“I need no sympathy,” she said. “Fuck him.”
A finer wife a sailor will not know
As stalked from off that pier with Chinese train
And left upon the salty slimy gang
A golden captain’s ring.

04/23/2012

Abradant

by Pierce Nahigyan

The shark’s skin was smooth from gill to tail. When he dragged his palm towards the massive head, the dermal denticles, minute teeth that formed the aft edges of the gray, oily skin, tore his palm. He pulled the hand back to inspect the blood.

“Just because it’s dead don’t mean it ain’t dangerous,” the old whaler told him. He grinned over the coil of lines in his husky arms.

He shuffled to the bow, his heavy tread arousing a chorus of groans from the salt-swollen shipboards. Rene wiped his bloody hand on his tarred shirt.

The shark was massive: A whole great white, thick from tail to snout, like an overgrown, bloodless pork sausage, over twenty feet long and Jove knew how many hundreds of pounds. The whaler had killed it last night, when the tempest was at its most unforgiving, the waves higher than their masts, the spray tumbling over the ratlines and rails – even with the drainage ports the water roiling about their knees thick with seaweed and sea life, horrendously misplaced crabs and glowing, ornery squid. The shark had come soaring over the bow, open-mouthed, eyes black.

“Pardon, boys!” it had bellowed over the cyclone. It flattened McDonald, killed him outright. “Terribly sorry!” it had screamed, then it rolled to the port side as the ship tipped, the wave carrying the brig higher and higher. It smeared Seamus and the second mate to the taffrails, impaling them on the pins. When the ship bucked and came crashing down on the far side of the monstrous roller the two men went over into the abyss. The shark flipped end over end; each sailor prayed to his God that it would sail beyond the edge of the aft cabin but, instead, it shattered the captain’s rotten wooden leg and swallowed half the helm. “This is dreadfully embarrassing,” the shark could be heard to mumble over the splinters in its tooth-ringed jaws. The ship yawed alee once more and the captain was crushed by the iron ten-pounder. Rene and the whaler had tried to push the gun into the sea when the squall first began but had both been flung to the main deck by their half-mad first mate, and so it fell freely. Yet the captain made a valiant attempt to crawl away from it, half sunk into the pale belly of the shark.

Before the storm had ceased and the few still remaining had their wits once more about them, they circled the shark where it came to rest on the main deck. It bawled; long, low howlings, lisping occasionally with the shredded bits of the wheel still trapped in its gums. The whaler beat it senseless with their last (and broken) harpoon. When that was nothing more than a split switch of wood, they decided to jump on it. A throaty hiccup, and another burbled apology, and Renton’s misplaced boot coincided to separate the man from his lower half, between the jaws of the abashed shark.

They spent the night killing the damn thing, until only Rene and the old whaler were left, and the shark’s sloppy grief was only a fresh, irritating memory. There was no place for remorse in the deep blue sea.

03/28/2012

Aboutship

by Pierce Nahigyan

Near the northern tip of Catalina Island we faced a sudden gust of unseasonable wind. It came on heavily for so early in spring, so we tacked within sight of Two Harbors. I scrambled up the shrouds, right over the lubber’s hole, forgetting the harness (it would have taken too long and the ratlines and wood were mostly dry). Owing to lazy hands before me, the baggy wrinkles nearest the topgallant yard were in a state, and somehow the lines to the royals had come loose.

The lines flapping across my ears, high upon the topm’st, I couldn’t hear the frantic shriek of Bethany, our ship’s cook, when a monstrous heron dropped a fat garibaldi on my face. The eviscerated fish flopped wetly against my cheek, its insides slithering down my neck, into my blouse. Instinctively, I reached up, just as we swung aboutship.

The fish and I were suddenly off the mast, in open air high above the decks, nigh on ninety feet. I didn’t hear Bethany’s next cry either, nor the mate’s. I did hear the ragged wind flood the curled holes in my ears, dropping thick thunders upon my eardrums, spilling upward through my hair.

Flailing through the air, the world growing bigger and bigger, the mostly intact fish unfurling with the mast, I thought, that heron must have had a big breakfast this morning to have given up the rest of his meal. It’s funny, in situations like that, what hits you first.

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