Port Raider Writing Contest

The H.M.S. Poet by Dr. James Murphy

There I was, aboard this ship...
Dont go asking me how I managed to get here just now - I had the singular misfortune to vacation solo there in Belize one fine week...which included the usual picture perfect sands and views and privacy. Oh, lets include the Cat 4 hurricane that swept through with nearly no warning in this day and age. I saw the signs - I did - the waves coming ashore with greater insistence, with a sideways rip that meant the sandbars were surely to give. Problem was, I already was out fishing for my breakfast which consited of red snapper; the puffs of wind became a forthright gale which begat a storm. With waves nearly crashing across the bow, I had a choice, try for the distant Belizean shore or...dash headlong for some small isles in closer by that would offer some sanctuary for the craft (and hopefully me). A fairly easy choice.

With winds now gusting over 80 mph, I fastened myself to a palm tree with what rope I had, hanging there for hours as the tides swept up, till the storm surge remanded me halfway up the trunk . That I alighted back on the strands still tied to the tree and completely unconscious is another story. Thats where Capt. Steele came along into the picture...and why I am now mustered as part of his crew.

Can I tell you, it dawned on me swiftly - this was no ordinary boat....or ordinary team of sailors. Where did these men come from? I saw old time rigging upon the masts, block and tackle I'd only recollected seeing in antique stores. Limes stored above with kegs of rum and liquor. The men - all bearded - were rough hewn, bronzed, arms chiseled from the hours of hard work they put into running a tight ship. As for me, not a word was spoken til I'd come around. Awakening, I spit out some seaweed lodged in my teeth and wedged the sand out of my ears with tired fingers. " Heck", I thought..., " someone owes me an explanation ..."

"AVAST, YE SCHWAB!!", came a shrieked order..." STAND AND INTRODUCE YOURSELF!!!"
The man clearly was the ringleader here - if you could call him that. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME!?!" , came another order. I glanced up into the hard sunlight and peering forth, I saw a man, eyepatch and all - pointing in my direction with...with...an amputated arm severed just above the elbow with a steel hook attached. Wobbling forward, I caught my balance as the frigate surged upward in response to a swell below. "Sir...", I said weakly, coughing up more seaweed, " my name is Doctor James Mur-"

"WONDERFUL, GENTLEMAN!! LOOK HERE! WE NOW ARE IN POSSESSION OF A DOCTOR ABOARD THE SHIP!!" The men let out a hoorah that deafened me temporarily, so full of mirth they seemed. " YOU ARE NOW A MEMBER OF THIS CREW....AND I....I AM CAPTAIN 'LONG-HAND' STEELE.....at your service " he cried while removing his pirate bandana from his head in sweeping gesture. "WELCOME ABOARD THE HMS POET.....AND MEN, PULL UP THE ANCHOR!!"

Oh great. Now I had twin missions to accomplish. One was to figure out just how did these men aboard the H.M.S. Poet manage to survive, with little - if any- apparent damage inflicted by an un-godly hurricane that passed just hours before. And why, why was it that when I tried to explain that I was a physician that they immediately laughed outrageously so...as if they were in on a joke that only they could understand. Confounding the problem further - where were we going?

Captain Steele appraised me up and down while walking alongside of me - I sensed he was trying to discern what I might be good at doing as his new crew member. Swabbing decks, repairing sails? I thought I probably would make a good cook but something occured to me that took me aback - didnt the kegs I spied on deck....werent they marked with dates...clearly I saw 1814 carved into one oaken keg? Something clearly was amiss. And the limes - where was the ice to keep them cool? For that matter, as I was ushered below decks, where were the utensils, the mess hall? Didnt these guys need to eat, drink...and be merry? I put the notion aside, though uneasy I was at the moment. Had to be an explanation for all this...

I was roughly seated across from a table - in the Capt.'s stateroom. Long Hand peered directly at me, smiling the rough smile of being on the seas for ages. He sensed my predicament and offered me a glass of port...of the which I gladly accepted. When I asked if he would have a glass too - he shook his head, laughed uproarously with his entire frame shaking. "Me boy! Wine? Rum? Port?" Followed by a murmured, " What use would it do for me now?!!"

This cant be happening, I thought. This is absurd.

"Who are you, I mean....how did you come out of nowhere, literally ...on the heels of a killer
storm and send men to collect what was left of me on a deserted stretch of beach? And what, Captain, is it that you DO ?!"

Again, the uproarous laugh..... then, he saw that I was irritated with all the mirth at my naivette and leaning over conspiratorily, took me into his confidence. "Lad, listen for a spell. I'll tell ye what for - but you wont believe your ears once I explain."

Captain Steele rocked back in his chair, waiting for the port to settle in my innards. Calmly he began to tell me the story of the H.M.S. Poet, the ship that many had sung songs about, ballads for - and how he and his men of pirates had lived on this very ship back in the 1800's and were thieves of a very different kind. They hadnt use of for jewels, gold nor anything of material value. They were thieves, he explained, of a very different kind.

"What is it that you thieve? It must be something special alright", I said quickly.

That gleam was back in his eye as he waited for me to take the last of the sweet wine. I placed my glass on the oaken plank in front of me and studied his features. A scar ran across his face from below his left ear and down to his neck. Sharp steel - perhaps a sabre - did that neat work.

"What we steal....", said Capt Steele, " are WORDS. Words of ANY kind. Manuscripts. Poems. Haiku. Short stories. Novels. WORDS " , he repeated for effect.

Okay. I shook my head. You just survived a hurricane, I reminded myself. You are merely hallucinating. This is not a pirate, this is not a ship... I repeated over and over again.

'Ah!, said the Captain, " Ye dont believe me!? Perhaps you should realise one very important thing....that my crew and I were sunk on the sandbar off that very island we found you upon moments ago...back in '14 it was....and the storm was every bit as vicious as the one you just experienced for yourself! There is no use denying anymore one very important fact - that the sandbar that covered the entire ship after the storm sank us and then passed onward - required another one to set us free. And nearly 200 years later....here we are!"

God help me, I thought to myself. This guy, if what he is telling me is half true, is still loony through and through. How could such a ship be magically transported from nearly 2 centuries back? And WORDS! What pirate and crew would be foolish enough to steal WORDS!?

He slammed his hook down on the table and exclaimed, " MATEY! I KNOW WHAT YOU BE THINKING! YOU THINK THIS IS ALL DAFT! UNTRUE! Well....,' he said calming down, ' I'll show ye some mat'....and then he spoke of the scar on his face - the sword swept him across the jaw held by a British admiral who, when seeing Long Hand pillaging his safe on this very ship - searching for his memoirs and deeds. Moments later, that same sword swept down, neatly severing his lower arm from his upper from the elbow. The Admiral shortly after was run through and through by Long Hand's men who were nearby and quickly had applied a tournaquet to the Capt.'s upper limb. "AH YES!, he exhorted me, " what a price to pay...".

What was the point of stealing literature, I said. What was it that made it so worthy a profession? I mean poetry is poetry...

"SHSSH WITH YOUR THOUGHTS, BOY! DONT YE BELIEVE THAT I HEAR WHAT YOU ARE THINKING! The reason we steal WORDS is for one reason and one reason only...words are ALIVE! THEY are IMMORTAL! The written word breathes new life into souls far and wide and it is the curse of this crew to have forgotten that. 'And matey', he said conspiratorily....'that is where YOU come in!!" The cackle of laughter gave me a chill all the way through my spine. Why was I...?

"YES! Why would we need YOU!?", he bellowed forth, ' why in all saints name would you be important to US?!'

I thought this one through...quietly. He was of course reading my every emotion, my every word. I thought to myself - why not run a quick check to be sure? I thought quietly while thinking of Long Hand seated mere feet away....I said to him...., ' say arrggh'. 'Arrgh!", came the immediate response. The parrot perched atop his should repeated the same..., ' an arrgh for an arrgh", said the bird as he paced the Captain's shoulder. How uncanny! So, this time, I decided to send him another telepathic thought...."Captain," I thought deliberately and quietly, " you need ME for some reason to find WORDS that you cant find for yourselves"...?

"EXACTLY!!!!", he cried, "WRITE ON! ( the parrot flew off his shoulder in response, back to his cage hanging over the galley). But we need you to help us find certain KINDS of words, not just pirate garble or Victorian prose. We need to know HOW is it that you communicate in this day and age - for remember, we are just freed from the sandy confines of Davey Jones Locker. We THIRST for KNOWLEDGE...and PLENTY of it!!"

" I know you already know what I am thinking", I said, " so there's no use hiding this from you. You'll need a computer". Smiling softly, eye gleaming like starlight o'er the bay, he said quietly, ' go on...continue'.

" And you'll need someone conversant in computer speak, computer links....alternative energy sources to help power up a laptop and other accessories to commit this kind of crime since stealing is natural for you ", I thought in silence. He nodded his head affirmatively. "And you'll need to explain to me why is it that you cant do this for yourselves....?", I asked incredulously.

"It is," he said with great weight and emphasis, " because no one can S-E-E us...except yourself. We need someone - that is YOU my dear Doctor - to retrieve some of these items you just described and set them up, maintain them, attach them to the rigging and so forth - right here on the Poet. Do you see now? It isnt hard to decipher that YOU are the bridge from the here and the hereafter. You recall my words that words are immortal, " he said refilling my glass with sherry. "Oh! You'll be happy here - once you've returned with the goods, got the computers up and running, you'll be just like one of US...you'll be eating and drinking like your mortal self, taking care of mortal needs..unlike us." I had heard and seen enough but vanquished that thought immediately. No need making this gentleman angry..I thought that once ashore, I'd be free to leave and go wherever I please....who cares for Long Hand and his crew?

" Is that so?", he said quietly, " just take off on your own with care...leave your old crewmates behind, would you? Where are your scruples? And besides, dont you think there was a REASON for why you landed on that tiny spit of land just before a storm flattened Belize like hellfire breeze? And that having been said," he replied cryptically, " will you realise that the CURSE that is upon us extends to YOU - that if you dont return to us with the needed goods, you will breathe your last soon thereafter. "

I was suddenly chilled beyond compare. I simply knew that it was truth that this surly sailor was telling me...and I began thinking in earnest...what did I do in my previous life to deserve this? While roped to the only palm tree on that bloody isle, I recalled Poe's work - "Into the Maelstrom" I think the title was....and just before I leapt into unconsciousness I screamed out defiantly, "NEVERMORE!" just as a huge breaker from the storm surge swept over not only me but the very top of the palm tree that anchored me. It was most definitely the end of me.....not.

Long Hand stared straight my way, smiling with malevolent gold in his teeth, earring hanging from a lobe that he twitched thoughtfully as we both studied each other's demeanor in the darkened space belowdecks. "AHA! Now you DO know what you chanted as the wave struck you....and as fortune would have it, I was reading Edgar Allen Poe during that hurricane so very long ago and looked out the port hole to see the giant wave sending us all to our doom!" Nevermore! Nevermore!

That was enough. I thought to myself I would just go, get ashore, buy the stuff, return and do as I was told. Curse be damned. I figured once the laptop was humming and the boys were drunken with prose, why would they still need me to be there? No one could see this ship, these men....but the thought somehow boomeranged back upon me...could anyone now actually see me...meaning..my mortal self? Long Hand resumed laughing, shaking his head sadly. This whole event, beginning with an abandoned hurricane, the very epitome of Hades itself, this being rescued by an unseen crew aboard an unseen ship....

"You'll find gold in the leather pouch by the galleyway on your way out", he replied confidently. "And by the way," he said, ' no telling a s-o-u-l about what you've seen and heard here lest you be struck down as surely as this cutlass rests against your ear'. In a blink, the sword I never saw coming was reposited back into its scabbord equally as quickly. I felt my ear where it meets the scalp and a thin line of blood traced its way onto my hand as I looked dumbfoundedly at the Captain. "Hurry back!", the Captain cried. "Immortality awaits!"

Soon, I was launched on a rowboat, lowered to the waiting sea and given provisions for the haul to land. I could see Belize in the distance...though it was a long day's haul nevertheless. I rowed like a madman for fear I would be struck down by this curse of Long Hand's somehow - or was it Poe?! - and made due haste for landfall. With a start, the skiff struck the beach with a moan and groan and leaping forth, my bare feet made contact with the aqua waters of the Gulf. A large wave crashed ashore just then, giving me a jolt of saline and the froth worked its way between my toes.

Suddenly, I awakened.

Laying flat upon the beach, a rogue swell had coursed up the bay and while asleep, the tides had come in and with it, an angry wave completely doused my frame and soaked me to the hilt. Still, I managed to cling miraculously to my glass in the one hand and....a bottle of rum in the other. The label sported a picture of a pirate...and the name 'Captain Morgan' could be seen clearly on the colorful label. Could this have something to do with...????????"

My eyes searched across the sea before me, searching...searching for a galleon that no longer I could see. I hastened to remove some seaweed from my mouth that was deposited there by the rogue wave along with some grains of sand that made their way into the recesses of my ears. Shaking my head, I cleared my thoughts. I touched the ear where I had been near-surgically dissected and instead of a wound, there resided in my lobe a large stud diamond.

I can still see Long Hand himself, cautioning me to remember - 'Words are IMMORTAL! They be the life of ye yet!"

And now, I prowl the seas of an electronic biosphere, searching...pillaging. I laugh long, drink much and.....as Whitman instructed us all to do....' suck the marrow out of Life'.

I am the Captain of the H.M.S. Poet now.

Be ye warned.