[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

Pursing his lips together, the boy made encouraging sounds. The dog stopped sniffing and looked up at him. He held out his open palms to it and smiled. It put its head on one side, regarding him through its one great, sad, dark eye. Neb took a piece of salt-pork rind and tossed it to the dog. Gratefully it golloped the scrap down, wagging its tail. He made the noise again and took more rind, holding it out to the dog. Without hesitation it came straight up the gangplank and boarded the ship. Within seconds the boy was stroking the Labrador’s wasted body while it devoured the food. There was plenty of tough rind left from the salt pork, sometimes the hands used it for bait to fish over the side at sea.

While the dog ate, Neb took a rag and some warm water with salt in it. The dog allowed him to bathe its eye. Freed from the crust and debris of some old infection, its eye gradually opened—it was clear and undamaged. Neb was pleased and hugged his newfound friend. He was rewarded by several huge, sloppy licks from the dog’s tongue. Knowing the effects of salt-pork rind, he gave it a pannikin of fresh water. As the dog curled up by the galley stove, a fierce affection for the ownerless creature burned within Neb. He decided there and then that he was going to keep it.

Spreading some old sacks under the far corner of the table, he pushed the dog onto them, all the time petting and stroking it. His new friend made no fuss, but went quiet and willingly into the hiding place, staring at him with great trusting eyes as he covered it with more sacks. Neb peeped into the secret den. He looked warningly at the dog and held a finger to his tight-shut lips. It licked his hand, as if it understood to remain silent.

A sound from behind caused Neb to scuttle out from beneath the table. Captain Vanderdecken stood framed in the galley doorway, his teeth grinding as his jaw worked back and forth. Neb cowered, expecting to be kicked. Normally he slept beneath the galley table, but only when told to go to bed. The captain’s voice had the ring of steel in it.

“Where’s Petros and the rest, not back yet?”

Wide-eyed with fear, the boy shook his head.

Vanderdecken’s fists clenched and unclenched, and he spat out the words viciously. “Drinking! That’s where the useless swine will be, pouring gin and ale down their slobbering faces in some drinking den!” He stamped off, raving through clenched teeth, “If I miss the floodtide because of a bunch of drunken animals, I’ll take a swordblade to them!”

Neb knew by the captain’s frightening eyes that there was going to be trouble, no matter whether the crew arrived back early or late. For refuge he crawled back under the table and hid with his dog. A warm tongue licked his cheek as he huddled close to the black Labrador, staring into its soft, dark eyes and stroking its thin neck. Neb wished fervently that he could talk, to speak gently and reassure the dog. All that came from his mouth was a hoarse little sound. It was enough. The dog whimpered quietly, laying its head on his lap, reinforcing the growing bond between them.

Less than an hour later, hurried and stumbling footsteps rang out on the jetty. Neb peered out. The five men who had been sent for provisions came tumbling aboard, followed by Vanderdecken like an avenging angel. He laid about them with the knotted rope end that he had snatched from Petros, thrashing them indiscriminately, his voice thundering out with righteous wrath.

“Brainless gin-sodden morons. Half a day lost because of your stupidity! Can’t you keep your snouts out of flagons long enough to do a simple task? Worthless scum!”

The Dutchman showed no mercy. He flogged the five hands with furious energy, savagely booting flat any man who tried to rise or crawl away. Neb could not tear his eyes from the fearful scene. The captain’s coattails whirled about him as he flogged the miscreants. Knotted rope striking flesh and bone sounded like chestnuts cracking on a hearth amid the sobs and screams of his victims.

When Vanderdecken had exhausted his energy, he flung some coins at the chandler’s assistant, waiting by the jetty with a loaded cart. “You, get those supplies aboard before we lose the tide!”

Whilst the materials were being transferred, Petros raised his bruised and tearstained face. He had spotted something none of the others had noticed. The emerald glinted on the deck where it had fallen from the captain’s pocket when he was beating the crewmen.

Slowly, carefully, the fat cook stretched out his grimy hand to retrieve the gemstone.

“Eeeeeyaaaargh!” he screeched as the Dutchman’s boot heel smashed down on the back of his hand. Vanderdecken snatched the emerald, continuing to grind Petros’s hand against the deck, thrusting all his weight onto the iron-tipped heel.