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The Good Ship Batsheba – SOT2023
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The Good Ship Batsheba was taking a pounding; lurching and heaving, rolling and pitching, its crew being flung into the boiling sea. The peening rain
pounded her sails and hammered her oak deck; the twisted hull creaked and lamented, her four pine masts bowed to the will of the four winds.
The hurricane was upon Batsheba before the crew had had time to batten down the hatches, secure the sails and tie down the demi-cannons. One thousand tons of Spanish galleon was but a toy in the grip of the feisty waves and angry winds.
As the rain eased and the winds pacified, Batsheba returned true and level, the damage was immediately evident: the fore-mast and the stern’s lateen-rigged mast were history. Miraculously, the main and the mizzen masts had held firm, but her sails were reduced to confetti. With no billowing sails, she drifted with the swirling undercurrents of the still-agitated sea.
Finally, she hit land, or better, sand; an enormous sandbar beached her. Her bow pointing to the sun, her keel firmly embedded in the viscous amalgam of sea and sand.
This lull in the storm gives us a moment to reminisce about Batsheba’s journey that had brought her to nature’s “dry dock”. The Batsheba was born of oak and pine, a 16th century Spanish Galleon, square-rigged with four masts, she had been commissioned by the adventurer, Peter The Grey, so-called because, from a young age, his hair, beard and even his eyebrows had turned a metallic silvery hue; not a dark hair remained. He had baptized her with the name Batsheba, which meant “Daughter of Oath”. That day he promised himself that his travels would only be virtuous in the quest for knowledge and truth.
True to tradition, Peter, as her Captain, had a figurehead carved for her bow. He named it “Medeba”, a Biblical name that meant “Waters of Rest”; superstitiously, this effigy was supposed to guide drowned sailors through murky waters to the afterlife.
All that was missing was a crew. Batsheba was birthed in a port near Cape Horn, southernmost headland of southern Chile, so Peter had a plethora of worthy seafarers to choose from. He put together a motley, but loyal crew of about two hundred sailors.
Amongst them, he promoted some particularly savvy and skilled men to the key roles. For steward, he wanted Ottavio, an Italian to be in charge of the food stores, famed for his skill with crab cages. Then there was Bahtasar, the one-legged Greek, having had his limb bitten off by a shark. For his reduced mobility, Peter declared him his boatswain, who would ensure the Captain’s order were carried out by the crew. A ship with a sizeable crew needed policing, so the position of constable went to Hulburd, a Teutonic sort, who was inseparable from a macaw parrot that was always perched on his shoulder.
Other important tasks on board a ship of Batsheba’s majesty were those of a scribe, to log their adventures, a cooper, to conduct repairs, and a navigator, without whom the ship could not put out to sea. Therefore, Peter filled those positions, respectively with, Otomars - a German with outstanding penmanship; MacLaine - a Scotsman who had tools in place of hands; Malo - a Frenchman with an uncanny sapience of the oceans and stars. Last, but not least, an all-round factotum was always good to have aboard; the honour went to Branek, who came from an ancient Slavic tribe. For some unfathomable reason he always wore a red bandana. He was especially adept at surgery, as well as a Master gunner; this dual-role with the added responsibility of 200 demi-cannons meant he was awarded with double rations of his favourite cured pork.
The cannons Batsheba sported were not for offensive posturing, but rather for defence. Peter was not a pirate and neither were any of his crew; he made sure to allow only kind souls on his ship. Batsheba sailed the seven seas for more than two decades and faced many adventures, too many to narrate in this short tale. Suffice to say, Peter and his crew became like family. Alas, as with all seaborne adventures, Peter became weary and longed for terra firma, a chance to settle down and have a different kind of family. The responsibility of being a Captain for so long had taken its toll.
So, it happened that one day, whilst moored in a port close to The Horn of Africa on the Somalian Peninsula, Peter was accosted by a pirate who wanted to commandeer The Batsheba. His name was Bruno, a Corsican with a shady past. As Peter’s crew outnumbered Bruno’s, the latter decided not to fight, but instead, to negotiate Batsheba’s sale. Peter was heartbroken to abandon his good ship, but he trusted in his shipmates to look after her, as they had done from the day she had launched.
Bruno immediately took command and oversaw the changes he needed for his beastly deeds. He demoted some of Peter’s key men and forcefully disembarked others, reducing the crew from two hundred to just over fifty. Bruno knew of the sailors’ benevolent nature and their fealty to the departed Captain; mutiny was a serious risk. Also, he needed cannon fodder, not intellectuals; in fact, he had ordered all the cannons to be battle-ready. It was clear that Batsheba was destined to become a pirate ship.
And so it began, Bruno, now with his new crew, less motley - more muted, sailed out of the harbour and turned the ship around (in every sense of the phrase), heading southwards to Cape Agulhas at the southern tip of Africa. The journey was rather unadventurous and lasted a few short weeks. The crew becoming ever more nauseated, be it from sea-sickness or Bruno’s obsessive malevolence.
After a short stop for provisions and fresh water, Batsheba sailed northwards, hugging the African coastline. Bruno continued to purge Batsheba’s remaining crew at each port of call, preferring to take on slaves to man the ship in their stead. The ultimate plan was to reach the stronger south-easterly trade winds that would take them back across the Atlantic to the Caribbean. That is where Bruno knew the best booty was and he could not wait to reach that new haven of debauchery.
Bruno’s destiny was not favourable, though. He was not a natural navigator and did not know about the Doldrums off the Bight of Benin in the Gulf of Guinea. It was an equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean with windless waters, unpredictable weather, including sudden violent hurricanes – which inevitably arrived in a timely manner, and with a vengeance.
The Good Ship Batsheba battered by the sea and wind, lurched and heaved, rolled and pitched, flinging its crew into the unfathomable waters. The teeming rain and cutting wind left the masts threadbare, her sodden planks buckled; the warped hull groaned and wailed, her masts curtseyed to the will of Mother Nature.
The only saving grace for the shipwrecked pirates was that Medeba would save their souls. Little did they know that part of the Peter’s deal with Bruno was for “Neptune’s Angel” to be removed from Batsheba’s bow and for Peter to keep her as a memento. Bruno had agreed as he said the ship would be faster without her, and didn’t believe in nautical superstitions, anyway.
So, it came to pass that justice was served cold; it was a fitting end for Bruno and his pirates. Instead, we weep for The Good Ship Batsheba, after one score and four years, her glorious voyages had unceremoniously reached… THE END.
The hurricane was upon Batsheba before the crew had had time to batten down the hatches, secure the sails and tie down the demi-cannons. One thousand tons of Spanish galleon was but a toy in the grip of the feisty waves and angry winds.
As the rain eased and the winds pacified, Batsheba returned true and level, the damage was immediately evident: the fore-mast and the stern’s lateen-rigged mast were history. Miraculously, the main and the mizzen masts had held firm, but her sails were reduced to confetti. With no billowing sails, she drifted with the swirling undercurrents of the still-agitated sea.
Finally, she hit land, or better, sand; an enormous sandbar beached her. Her bow pointing to the sun, her keel firmly embedded in the viscous amalgam of sea and sand.
This lull in the storm gives us a moment to reminisce about Batsheba’s journey that had brought her to nature’s “dry dock”. The Batsheba was born of oak and pine, a 16th century Spanish Galleon, square-rigged with four masts, she had been commissioned by the adventurer, Peter The Grey, so-called because, from a young age, his hair, beard and even his eyebrows had turned a metallic silvery hue; not a dark hair remained. He had baptized her with the name Batsheba, which meant “Daughter of Oath”. That day he promised himself that his travels would only be virtuous in the quest for knowledge and truth.
True to tradition, Peter, as her Captain, had a figurehead carved for her bow. He named it “Medeba”, a Biblical name that meant “Waters of Rest”; superstitiously, this effigy was supposed to guide drowned sailors through murky waters to the afterlife.
All that was missing was a crew. Batsheba was birthed in a port near Cape Horn, southernmost headland of southern Chile, so Peter had a plethora of worthy seafarers to choose from. He put together a motley, but loyal crew of about two hundred sailors.
Amongst them, he promoted some particularly savvy and skilled men to the key roles. For steward, he wanted Ottavio, an Italian to be in charge of the food stores, famed for his skill with crab cages. Then there was Bahtasar, the one-legged Greek, having had his limb bitten off by a shark. For his reduced mobility, Peter declared him his boatswain, who would ensure the Captain’s order were carried out by the crew. A ship with a sizeable crew needed policing, so the position of constable went to Hulburd, a Teutonic sort, who was inseparable from a macaw parrot that was always perched on his shoulder.
Other important tasks on board a ship of Batsheba’s majesty were those of a scribe, to log their adventures, a cooper, to conduct repairs, and a navigator, without whom the ship could not put out to sea. Therefore, Peter filled those positions, respectively with, Otomars - a German with outstanding penmanship; MacLaine - a Scotsman who had tools in place of hands; Malo - a Frenchman with an uncanny sapience of the oceans and stars. Last, but not least, an all-round factotum was always good to have aboard; the honour went to Branek, who came from an ancient Slavic tribe. For some unfathomable reason he always wore a red bandana. He was especially adept at surgery, as well as a Master gunner; this dual-role with the added responsibility of 200 demi-cannons meant he was awarded with double rations of his favourite cured pork.
The cannons Batsheba sported were not for offensive posturing, but rather for defence. Peter was not a pirate and neither were any of his crew; he made sure to allow only kind souls on his ship. Batsheba sailed the seven seas for more than two decades and faced many adventures, too many to narrate in this short tale. Suffice to say, Peter and his crew became like family. Alas, as with all seaborne adventures, Peter became weary and longed for terra firma, a chance to settle down and have a different kind of family. The responsibility of being a Captain for so long had taken its toll.
So, it happened that one day, whilst moored in a port close to The Horn of Africa on the Somalian Peninsula, Peter was accosted by a pirate who wanted to commandeer The Batsheba. His name was Bruno, a Corsican with a shady past. As Peter’s crew outnumbered Bruno’s, the latter decided not to fight, but instead, to negotiate Batsheba’s sale. Peter was heartbroken to abandon his good ship, but he trusted in his shipmates to look after her, as they had done from the day she had launched.
Bruno immediately took command and oversaw the changes he needed for his beastly deeds. He demoted some of Peter’s key men and forcefully disembarked others, reducing the crew from two hundred to just over fifty. Bruno knew of the sailors’ benevolent nature and their fealty to the departed Captain; mutiny was a serious risk. Also, he needed cannon fodder, not intellectuals; in fact, he had ordered all the cannons to be battle-ready. It was clear that Batsheba was destined to become a pirate ship.
And so it began, Bruno, now with his new crew, less motley - more muted, sailed out of the harbour and turned the ship around (in every sense of the phrase), heading southwards to Cape Agulhas at the southern tip of Africa. The journey was rather unadventurous and lasted a few short weeks. The crew becoming ever more nauseated, be it from sea-sickness or Bruno’s obsessive malevolence.
After a short stop for provisions and fresh water, Batsheba sailed northwards, hugging the African coastline. Bruno continued to purge Batsheba’s remaining crew at each port of call, preferring to take on slaves to man the ship in their stead. The ultimate plan was to reach the stronger south-easterly trade winds that would take them back across the Atlantic to the Caribbean. That is where Bruno knew the best booty was and he could not wait to reach that new haven of debauchery.
Bruno’s destiny was not favourable, though. He was not a natural navigator and did not know about the Doldrums off the Bight of Benin in the Gulf of Guinea. It was an equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean with windless waters, unpredictable weather, including sudden violent hurricanes – which inevitably arrived in a timely manner, and with a vengeance.
The Good Ship Batsheba battered by the sea and wind, lurched and heaved, rolled and pitched, flinging its crew into the unfathomable waters. The teeming rain and cutting wind left the masts threadbare, her sodden planks buckled; the warped hull groaned and wailed, her masts curtseyed to the will of Mother Nature.
The only saving grace for the shipwrecked pirates was that Medeba would save their souls. Little did they know that part of the Peter’s deal with Bruno was for “Neptune’s Angel” to be removed from Batsheba’s bow and for Peter to keep her as a memento. Bruno had agreed as he said the ship would be faster without her, and didn’t believe in nautical superstitions, anyway.
So, it came to pass that justice was served cold; it was a fitting end for Bruno and his pirates. Instead, we weep for The Good Ship Batsheba, after one score and four years, her glorious voyages had unceremoniously reached… THE END.
A lovely, melancholy tale. I pour one out for Batsheba and her poor crew.
On The Good Ship - Batsheba
It's a beastly trip - to a sandy stop
Where pirates play
Sun bleached after a hurricane day
Or somethin', idk. Good stuff, miss Encia.
It's a beastly trip - to a sandy stop
Where pirates play
Sun bleached after a hurricane day
Or somethin', idk. Good stuff, miss Encia.
a reply to: 727Sky
Thanks, 727Sky
a reply to: SprocketUK
Cheers, SprocketUK. I haven't read Dudley Pope's books... thanks for the tip.
a reply to: Moon68
I'm glad you found it emotional, Moon68. Mission accomplished!
a reply to: Bigburgh
Ooh, that's very kind, Bigburgh! :blush:
a reply to: JJproductions
Thank you for the compliment, JJ.
a reply to: BeNotAfraid
Lovely quatrain, BeNotAfraid... I appreciate your input.
By the way, just a slight correction... I'm a ♂.
Thanks, 727Sky
a reply to: SprocketUK
Cheers, SprocketUK. I haven't read Dudley Pope's books... thanks for the tip.
a reply to: Moon68
I'm glad you found it emotional, Moon68. Mission accomplished!
a reply to: Bigburgh
Ooh, that's very kind, Bigburgh! :blush:
a reply to: JJproductions
Thank you for the compliment, JJ.
a reply to: BeNotAfraid
Lovely quatrain, BeNotAfraid... I appreciate your input.
By the way, just a slight correction... I'm a ♂.
a reply to: SprocketUK
Thanks for the extra info. It's weird how some writers do other work under pseudonyms.
Thanks for the extra info. It's weird how some writers do other work under pseudonyms.
a reply to: SprocketUK
Yep, agreed, H.P. reminds me of my school days. Although Rowling/Galbraith's Strike series will probably end soon... she's running out of adjectives.
Yep, agreed, H.P. reminds me of my school days. Although Rowling/Galbraith's Strike series will probably end soon... she's running out of adjectives.
a reply to: SprocketUK
That would be tough, it could be considered a telegraphese writing style. Interesting, tough.
End the story with STOP instead of The End.
That would be tough, it could be considered a telegraphese writing style. Interesting, tough.
End the story with STOP instead of The End.
edit on 8/6/2023 by Encia22 because: (no reason given)
a reply to: Encia22
Please stop beating me. I hate to admit I'm so vain but your continued far better stories are really becoming depressing. I can't do the grammar so good.
Joking aside, Great story. S&F.
Please stop beating me. I hate to admit I'm so vain but your continued far better stories are really becoming depressing. I can't do the grammar so good.
Joking aside, Great story. S&F.
edit on 8-6-2023 by Degradation33 because: (no reason given)
a reply to: Degradation33
Nonsense, your stories are winners from the moment you put pen to paper. Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, writing follows that same theory. I've often preferred stories that weren't perfect, even if I'm no scholar to judge. If the story is gripping, melancholic, funny or, better yet, a combination, the style and grammar don't matter in my book.
What I do hate to see is sloppy writing, walls of text and silly spelling mistakes; that just shows disrespect for the reader and the nonchalance of the "writer".
I've got just one more story up my sleeve and that's it... I look forward to your third entry.
Nonsense, your stories are winners from the moment you put pen to paper. Just like beauty is in the eye of the beholder, writing follows that same theory. I've often preferred stories that weren't perfect, even if I'm no scholar to judge. If the story is gripping, melancholic, funny or, better yet, a combination, the style and grammar don't matter in my book.
What I do hate to see is sloppy writing, walls of text and silly spelling mistakes; that just shows disrespect for the reader and the nonchalance of the "writer".
I've got just one more story up my sleeve and that's it... I look forward to your third entry.
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