A Captain's Worst Fear

“Aye Captain, there be a storm a com-en.” warned Angus Murphy. “I feel it in me bones.”

           Captain Marvin Dogbody glanced west towards the prevailing winds. A dark haze was forming on the distant horizon. He looked back at Angus. He trusted his first-mate and his aching bones. They were more accurate than his expensive German barometer. “Have the men reef the topsails, but leave the main and the jibs flying.”

           “Aye, Captain.”

Captain Marvin Dogbody was patrolling the waters between England and France. He was sailing an old three-masted brig. All the newer warships were sent to America to quell those upstarts in America, and their so-called, Revolutionary War. The French had sided with the Americans and now they were enemies of England. The ship was well-armed. It had eight, forty-pounders fastened on the port side of the small warship and another eight on the starboard side. Each cannon, which shoots a forty-pound iron ball, weighs almost seven thousand pounds. The bow cannon, called the cannon royal, was a sixty-pounder, and it tipped the scales at a tad over 4 tons.

           Captain Dogbody came out of retirement to help protect his countries shores. He was an old salt at high seas warfare. 

The storm came at him fast with gale-force winds and sharp rolling seas.

           “Mr. Murphy,” shouted the Captain over the howling wind, “Muster the able seamen. We need to furl the remaining sails.”

           “Aye Captain.”

           Captain Dogbody was at the wheel. He had weathered worst storms. But the ship was old and it needed a soft hand. “And leave the jibs up,” he added. “I need them for steerage.”

           “Aye Captain.”

The storm was quick to temper. It shouted thunder and it spit jagged lightning bolts around the sturdy little brig, and the seas tossed it to and fro but the ship and its faithful Captain just laughed at the storm and enjoyed the ride. The retired captain had missed the sea.

           After the storm threw everything it had at the old brig, it shook its black thunderhead and decided to leave. It then lumbered north in search of other vessels to terrorize.

           The seas continued their steep swell but the wind lessened. The Captain sent the seaman up the ratlines to unfurl the sails and continue their patrol of these boundary waters. The storm had been good practice for Her Majesty’s newest sailors.

           As the able seaman climbed the ratlines, the Captain turned the vessel into the waves which lessened the roll of the ship and made it easier and safer for his seamen to work their way out onto the yardarms to unlash the furled sails. Captain Dogbody had a grand grin on his face while he watched his eager crew as they worked their way up the rigging. But his smile was soon to be replaced with a curse and a gripping terror in his chest.

           While the Captain was at the wheel, Angus walked to the bow of the ship to inspect the lines, the ropes, and the cables that kept the masts and the sails firm and snug; ship-shape. A slight movement caught his eye. It was the cannon royal, the big gun they used when chasing down an enemy ship. It was lashed down with a heavy chain, but it had a bit too much slack and the cannon rolled in its track a little with each wave.

           “Aye, that be not bloody good,” he said to himself as he got down on his knees to take the slack out of the chain. The bow dropped suddenly into the valley of a large wave which caused the cannon to roll forward. The chain tightened. The bow rose as the ship climbed the next wave. Angus steadied himself on the rail while he waited for the chain to slacken. The cannon slid back to the other end of its chain with a hard jerk and when it snapped to a stop, a worn link separated.

           “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” gasped Angus as he watched the cannon slip her berth. The cannon was free; and like a junkyard dog, it ran wild. Its rusted, squeaky wheel-bearings howled as is charged towards the stern of the ship.

           “God’s Blood!” loudly swore first-mate Angus Murphy. “Loose Cannon!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

           The captain gasped and cursed. He had heard horror stories of the devastation that these cannons can cause. This was his first one. He quickly spun his wheel trying to lessen the roll of his ship and slow down the charge of his four-ton adversary.

           The marines on board heard the cry and scrambled to the deck. Angus grabbed the loose end of the chain and dug in his heels as he tried to slow down the iron beast. It just laughed at him as it dragged him along the deck. The four-ton fiend was alive and bent on revenge for being chained up for so long. As it rolled by the mainmast, Angus leaped to the other side of the tall spruce spar with the chain to stop the rolling monster. But when the chain hit the mast, the cannon never slowed and the chain links were ripped through Angus’s hands shredding them to the bone.

           As the bow of the ship dropped down into the next trough, the cannon slowed and then stopped as it watched five marines climb on his back. The cannon reversed course and charged back towards the bow. The marines hung on like fleas to a dog. But this iron dog outweighed them and put his muzzle down and charged ahead without slowing down. As the bow started climbing the next wave, the beast again slowed. One of the marines quickly grabbed the bloody chain and tried to fasten it back to its station. But it was slippery and he was too late. The beast was angry and he charged back towards the stern. The courageous marine lost a leg when the cannon changed course. Two were knocked loose and the remaining two were thrown across the deck and slammed into the hard rail when the cannon solidly hit the mainmast. The mast stopped the iron brute but at a sacrifice. The mast was splintered and split into two. The injured Marines were quickly helped below to the ship’s surgeon who was just finished taping up Angus’s mangled hands. He was going to have a busy day.

           As the ship rolled on the next wave, the broken mast leaned precariously starboard, and then its ropes, the ones that supported the main spar on this old brig, snapped and the mainmast toppled into the water like a timbered tree. The six able seamen that were hanging on to the yardarms of the furled sails, rode it into the cold sea. They hung on to the floating mast. But it was now bobbing and banging against the hull as it was drug along the side of the ship.

           One the next wave the cannon snarled and its steel wheels squealed in delight as it charged towards the ship’s aft, and the Captain himself. At the last second, the Captain leaped out of the way, like a matador with a charging bull. The iron fiend took out the ship’s wheel and its pedestal. The Captain now had no way to steer his ship. It was now running at the mercy of the sea and of the whim of the tireless, iron, royal cannon.

           The remaining seamen on the foremast and the mizzen-mast began working their way to the ratlines. Without steerage, the wind turned the ship parallel to the waves causing the old warship to violently roll first to the starboard. And when the rail touched the ocean, the backside of the wave would toss it to its port side. The tall masts viciously began whipping back and forth. And like a slingshot, the foremast and the mizzenmast began shooting the young seamen into the turbulent sea.

           The Captain watched in horror as his crew helplessly splashed into the cold English Channel. He worked his way to the ship’s starboard longboat and cut it free and it dropped into the sea. On the next roll to the port, he slid down the deck and was able to release the port side’s lifeboat. He hoped and prayed that his young crew could make it to the longboats on their own.

           Royal Cannon, with his free run of the deck, began wreaking havoc on everything it touched as it rolled from side to side. It rick-o-shayed off of each remaining mast splintering and gouging them deeply, and it would ram wildly into the other cannons causing an explosion of sparks. When it hit a rail post, which was an extension of an oak rib, the boat would shutter and a plank would loosen. The ship now began taking on water.

           The Sergeant Molesworth of the marines worked his way to the Captain. He could see that this was Dogsbody’s first loose cannon. “Captain, what do you want me to do?”

           The Captain forced a smile showing his gritted teeth.

           “Stop that confounded cannon from sinking my ship.”

           “Aye, aye, sir,” responded the sergeant with confidence. And he took charge. He bellowed to his marines to go below and gather hammocks, old sails, ropes, and anything to throw on the deck to slow down and to tangle and trip the cannon’s steel wheels.

           But Cannon Royal shredded everything thrown at him, and if anything, he begged for more. Sergeant Molesworth was tall and agile. Most of his added height was in his muscular legs. He came up on the deck with a steel bar and a sturdy rope. And, like a bullfighter, he was able to sidestep each charge of the iron bull.

           With each roll of the ship, the beast would slack at the top of a wave. The marine would steady himself on a splintered rail and wait for that second when the wheels stopped turning. And just before the beast charge to the lower side, he would leap for the cannon with the steel bar and try to slip it between its spoke wheels. But the seas were steep, the deck was slippery, and the cannon was fast.

           Meanwhile, the mainmast that they were dragging against the starboard side began pounding on the hull’s old planking causing it to splinter and crack. And the ship began taking on more water. The captain grabbed an ax and quickly cut it loose. He saw one of the longboats quickly row towards the free-floating mast in an attempt to rescue the men still clinging to it. He then had every available seaman onboard, man the bilge pumps. He was trying to save his ship. He was a proper captain and, if necessary, he would go down with his ship, and take that bloody cannon with him.

           Cannon Royal and Molesworth were evenly matched as they danced and spared, and as they thrust and parried with each other, like warriors with swords. Besides the extra weight advantage, the cannon didn’t tire. After an agonizing thirty minutes, the marine lingered to catch his breath with his left hand on the rail and his right one on his bar. The cannon’s round barrel seemed to sneer at him, and he charged. The marine hurled his bar towards the spokes of the iron wheels and missed. Molesworth dropped to his knees and roared an obscene curse at the charging beast. The cannon angered and seemed to speed up.

           But just before Cannon Royal could pin Molesworth to the starboard rail, the sergeant of the marines took a breath and leaped into the air, and the cannon slid between his long legs and hit a damaged barrier. The thick oak rail exploded and the cannon continued on and into the sea. The nightmare was over.

The captain regained control of his ship by rigged a lower sail on the mizzen mast, and it acted as a wind rudder, and with this, he was able to limp his leaking and injured ship back to port. Other than a few injuries, he hadn't lost a man.

That evening in a crowded pub, there was a rousing cheer for the captain. And of course, the sergeant of the marines, Molesworth, who got full credit for saving the ship. And each time his story was told, it got better and better. And each time a round of beer was served, it also tasted better and better.