A shaft of light hit Bruno on the face. Groaning he tried to turn in his hammock and mumbled to Calvin, "Oi lad, get an old man a drink will you?"
Brightly, Calvin looked up from his woodcarving and replied, "Pablo said no rum while we are at dock. If you want something you have to go back to town for it."
"Miserable old sod - he has no heart" Bruno growled.
He wished his hammock would stop swinging and swaying in direct opposition of his stomach. Loud clomping and grunts down the stairs awakened most of the other crew and as they attempted to sit rubbing their eyes and spitting out the foul tastes from their furry mouths.
"Well lads, I‘ve decided to give you a preview of the treat I just landed – a good price an' all," boomed Pablo, mugs slopping over his fists. He thrust each conscious man a dirty cup filled with a dark ruby liquid. Drinking deeply and almost in unison, the men spat it out on the wooden floor.
"Blah… what the blazers is that swill?" exclaimed Hobbes, wiping his mouth with his filthy sleeve.
Pablo looked offended, "You'd better get used to it – I bought a half shipment of it instead of rum. I think the Portuguese call it Port."
"What a stupid name for a drink. Tastes like a fishwife's old socks," Calisto said.
"Yeah and you'd know," Rael slyly said.
"You want to say something about my wife?" Calisto countered, attempting to extract himself from his hammock to stand.
"You're kidding aren't you, Pablo – you did get rum in?" Pietro pleaded, ignoring the other two.
Pablo shook his head, "Sorry lads – with the English cutting off supply routes and this damned war looming, lots of provisions just aren't available – even in a big town like this. So – drink up – we have many barrels of Port to get through."
Pablo left and the men looked around at each other – the only noise the creaking of the boat as it rolled with the swell and the tap of the rigging in the wind.
"You know there is something wrong about a quartermaster who doesn't drink," grumbled Hobbes
Bruno swished the remaining port around his mug, hoping it would change into something more appetizing. "And I thought the rum we had last time was crap. Now he tells us we have to drink this swill."
Hobbes mumbled, "Besides the fact he has no idea what good or rough rum is - I reckon he waters it down to make it go further."
Further depressed silence ensued where each man thought of the long voyage with only port as a companion.
"We could make our own you know," a voice ventured from one of the hammocks.
"What?" Garcia questioned the cocooned figure.
The figure rolled elegantly out of a hammock at the end and Fielden brushed down his chambray tunic. "We just need a still. Then we can have as much rum as we like."
"Well that's easy. We'll just go to the markets and pick one up shall we?" Rael said sarcastically.
"I am sure one of us can … secure one," Fielden smoothly said.
Bruno tapped his head and brightened, "Yeah – I've seen one. Down on the docks near the whore house with that lass that.."
"Ehh hem – we have Calvin here," Calisto reminded him.
Piping up Calvin replied, "Oh her – did you know that she gets oranges and..."
"Calvin!" Calisto shouted in horror.
Pouting, Calvin whined, "But I saw her!"
"Calvin..." warned Calisto.
Calvin continued enthused at his experience. "Did any of you see the girl there with the snake? She actually…"
"Calvin!" they all cried in unison, horrified at what he might next allude to.
"Right, well – we all know the one – there is an old guy who supplies the doss houses with their own spirits," Bruno filled them in.
"Huh?" Garcia asked
Bruno sighed, "He makes it – he has a still. I think you just use vegetables or fruit, boil them up and out comes pure alcohol – strong enough to burn a hole in your gut."
"Be better than the stuff we've had lately," grumbled Hobbes
Garcia thought for a moment and asked, "So – are we going to go and buy some rum from him?"
Laughing, Bruno replied, "No – we are going to grab the goose that lays the golden eggs."
Confused, Garcia queried, "What? Are we going to market too, to get some geese for our voyage?" The rest of the men looked at Garcia in disbelief. He continued – not noticing their looks or attitude. "Does this mean we're all signing on then? "
Ignoring Garcia, Bruno asked, "Right so Fielden – what's the plan? He's not likely to give it to us even if we ask nicely."
Leering, Fielden replied, "We will pay him to build us one. We get it on board and then we brew us some rum – as much of it as we can keep in our guts. And Pablo can keep his damned Port and rations. Alternatively, we can convince this fellow down the docks to part with the one he has."
"Hurrah!" roared the men.
Rael stood, "Hmmm quite a plan. We don't have any gold – we all drank what the Captain gave us? And how the hell are we going to get it on board with out the Captain or Pete seeing it? I can just image us rowing it up alongside on the longboats balancing a still in the stern."
The men grumbled and looked at one another for inspiration
Pete nimbly leapt down the stairs. "Right you lot – look lively. All hands on deck Captain wants the ship in port immediately."
The men immediately brightened, grins spreading across their faces. Their plan was coming closer to being possible; and with thoughts of free flowing rum, they jostled their way on deck.
Brightly, Calvin looked up from his woodcarving and replied, "Pablo said no rum while we are at dock. If you want something you have to go back to town for it."
"Miserable old sod - he has no heart" Bruno growled.
He wished his hammock would stop swinging and swaying in direct opposition of his stomach. Loud clomping and grunts down the stairs awakened most of the other crew and as they attempted to sit rubbing their eyes and spitting out the foul tastes from their furry mouths.
"Well lads, I‘ve decided to give you a preview of the treat I just landed – a good price an' all," boomed Pablo, mugs slopping over his fists. He thrust each conscious man a dirty cup filled with a dark ruby liquid. Drinking deeply and almost in unison, the men spat it out on the wooden floor.
"Blah… what the blazers is that swill?" exclaimed Hobbes, wiping his mouth with his filthy sleeve.
Pablo looked offended, "You'd better get used to it – I bought a half shipment of it instead of rum. I think the Portuguese call it Port."
"What a stupid name for a drink. Tastes like a fishwife's old socks," Calisto said.
"Yeah and you'd know," Rael slyly said.
"You want to say something about my wife?" Calisto countered, attempting to extract himself from his hammock to stand.
"You're kidding aren't you, Pablo – you did get rum in?" Pietro pleaded, ignoring the other two.
Pablo shook his head, "Sorry lads – with the English cutting off supply routes and this damned war looming, lots of provisions just aren't available – even in a big town like this. So – drink up – we have many barrels of Port to get through."
Pablo left and the men looked around at each other – the only noise the creaking of the boat as it rolled with the swell and the tap of the rigging in the wind.
"You know there is something wrong about a quartermaster who doesn't drink," grumbled Hobbes
Bruno swished the remaining port around his mug, hoping it would change into something more appetizing. "And I thought the rum we had last time was crap. Now he tells us we have to drink this swill."
Hobbes mumbled, "Besides the fact he has no idea what good or rough rum is - I reckon he waters it down to make it go further."
Further depressed silence ensued where each man thought of the long voyage with only port as a companion.
"We could make our own you know," a voice ventured from one of the hammocks.
"What?" Garcia questioned the cocooned figure.
The figure rolled elegantly out of a hammock at the end and Fielden brushed down his chambray tunic. "We just need a still. Then we can have as much rum as we like."
"Well that's easy. We'll just go to the markets and pick one up shall we?" Rael said sarcastically.
"I am sure one of us can … secure one," Fielden smoothly said.
Bruno tapped his head and brightened, "Yeah – I've seen one. Down on the docks near the whore house with that lass that.."
"Ehh hem – we have Calvin here," Calisto reminded him.
Piping up Calvin replied, "Oh her – did you know that she gets oranges and..."
"Calvin!" Calisto shouted in horror.
Pouting, Calvin whined, "But I saw her!"
"Calvin..." warned Calisto.
Calvin continued enthused at his experience. "Did any of you see the girl there with the snake? She actually…"
"Calvin!" they all cried in unison, horrified at what he might next allude to.
"Right, well – we all know the one – there is an old guy who supplies the doss houses with their own spirits," Bruno filled them in.
"Huh?" Garcia asked
Bruno sighed, "He makes it – he has a still. I think you just use vegetables or fruit, boil them up and out comes pure alcohol – strong enough to burn a hole in your gut."
"Be better than the stuff we've had lately," grumbled Hobbes
Garcia thought for a moment and asked, "So – are we going to go and buy some rum from him?"
Laughing, Bruno replied, "No – we are going to grab the goose that lays the golden eggs."
Confused, Garcia queried, "What? Are we going to market too, to get some geese for our voyage?" The rest of the men looked at Garcia in disbelief. He continued – not noticing their looks or attitude. "Does this mean we're all signing on then? "
Ignoring Garcia, Bruno asked, "Right so Fielden – what's the plan? He's not likely to give it to us even if we ask nicely."
Leering, Fielden replied, "We will pay him to build us one. We get it on board and then we brew us some rum – as much of it as we can keep in our guts. And Pablo can keep his damned Port and rations. Alternatively, we can convince this fellow down the docks to part with the one he has."
"Hurrah!" roared the men.
Rael stood, "Hmmm quite a plan. We don't have any gold – we all drank what the Captain gave us? And how the hell are we going to get it on board with out the Captain or Pete seeing it? I can just image us rowing it up alongside on the longboats balancing a still in the stern."
The men grumbled and looked at one another for inspiration
Pete nimbly leapt down the stairs. "Right you lot – look lively. All hands on deck Captain wants the ship in port immediately."
The men immediately brightened, grins spreading across their faces. Their plan was coming closer to being possible; and with thoughts of free flowing rum, they jostled their way on deck.
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3 comments:
I enjoyed that again, thank you. I must add that port is a much maligned spirit perhaps not necessarily in keeping with the self respecting Salty Sea-Dog's image ... but a fine drop nevertheless
Considering the amount of Belgium chocolate port that was being passed around the table in the latter parts of writing the quitting of Lisbon (yes there is much more to come!) ... we are certainly not going to argue with you on the point of Port ... it's just those uncouth boys aboard the La G that would prefer to burn their insides out with bootleg rum. No accounting for taste!
Keep an eye out for the lady with the snake! Oh and welcome aboard Hedgemonkey ... it's so lovely to have a reader who knows how to use the comment box :)
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