The Captains of Circus Island

By William R. Luse

Pearl shellers, enemy merchant seamen, allied aircraft, refugees gone mad and gentlemen cannibals - pearl shelling in the midst of a wild and raging World War may be a devil's bargin. Grinnin' Jim is afloat in an ocean of insanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William R. Luse
• Release date: Feb 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311706195

William R. Luse

William R. Luse was born in 1946 and raised in Kansas City, a self-taught, mixed-media illustrator and muralist. He has published and illustrated two books concerning railroads in Kansas City and written and illustrated six novels.His most admired artists are Reginald Marsh, Thomas Hart Benton, Chas. Dana Gibson (inventor of the Gibson Girl) and James Montgomery Flagg.Mr. Luse has traveled much of the world through his service in the United States Navy, and thereafter for his own pleasure.

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THE CAPTAINS OF CIRCUS ISLAND

By William R. Luse

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2006 William R. Luse

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

GRINNIN’ JIM

THE DUTCHMAN’S COAST

MADMEN and GENTLEMEN CANNIBALS

SENORA GLORIA NUNEZ WARNER BALBAYAN

CIRCUS ISLAND

DIVE PUMP

PHOENIX RISEN

CRUELLY TORN, NEVER SUNK

EMPRESS of INDIA

THE TURN of the WORM

SPINNAKER

HEATHEN TABLE

SEA SHINE

BOOMERANG

THE BATTLE for the JETTY

ALL THAT GLITTERS

LONG BLUE DROP

RUPEES for PESOS

THEY WHO OWN the SEA

SKY and SHOT

TREASURES UNTOLD

I

GRINNIN’ JIM

Pearls for buttons! Buttons. It ain’t worth it, y’ hear. Buttons. Why, ain’t that a hoot? All you bastards is crazy. Y’hear?

From across the barroom –– nowhere close –– someone yelled back, Ahh, shut your beak! Get off of it, will ya. The joints got enough hot wind.

Jim threw back the gin in his usual fashion. And then he was quiet. He could think of nothing to say –– but only for a moment.

Who drinks gin? Stuff’s worse than medicine. Jim caught the bar attendant with a glassy eyeball. And then ya goes slippin’ quinine in it. Who’d drink somethin’ like that? Why it’s all enough to make you go slap your grandma. Well, who’d drink somethin’ like that? he queried. Well . . . who would?

You would! came the reply from off somewhere followed by much laughter.

Yeah? . . . well I’m stavin’ off the malaria, Jim replied with a touch of indignation.

And once again Jim had nothing to say. He stood quietly looking into the empty glass.

Another? asked the bartender.

Throw in scotch, said Jim.

Jim stood quietly, leaning heavily upon the dark bar, admiring the stained and spattered wood beneath his forearms. And then he spoke. He spoke rather loudly to ensure that someone could hear and particularly those close by.

Broome! Who’d name a town that? Broome. Why they shouda named this place Dustbin. There ain’t no Broome to it. Dustpan, I call it.

Ahh not you again. Shut yer clam! someone said, thusly upholding the dignity and repute duly accorded the mighty village of Broome –– a place at once unique and remarkable among places.

And then from out of nowhere –– or so it seemed –– Jim found himself sprawling along the filthy floor with brilliant lights flaring behind the pupils of his eyes if it were possible to actually see a thing from behind the pupils. This situation came about not by having been struck by a flying bottle but rather a bottle crashing into the edge of the bar beside him. He had struck his head with the floor after slipping.

Damn, he thought. It’s not supposed to hurt when you’re drunk. Jim rose up painfully.

Who threw that jug ya bastards?

It was him! shouted a multitude of voices from the darkness. Having focused into the smoky gloom of the barroom, Jim saw – or believed he could see –– hoary figures with fingers pointed in all directions.

Then someone said, We love you Jimmy. That’s why you were not murdered right off. And then another spoke. Pity, though. It was a full bottle. We should have at least emptied it properly.

The barkeeper crashed into the crowd of snickering men, fiercely using his elbows. Sailors! he said. A fine lot you are. Tramps, loafers and trouble-makers! If you do that again I’ll clear the bunch of you and crack some skulls to go with it. Sailors, my arse!

Jim glared off into faces he could not actually see –– men all clad in tan and gray it seemed –– and made a mighty scowl. A large, warm hand clasped his shoulder as he pondered paths of retaliation.

Ogilvie! Whata you lookin’ for? asked Jim.

Oh, you needed to be rescued from yourself, as usual, Jimmy. Only trying to assist. You’ll be grateful come mornin’.

Yeah, thanks heaps. Although I wasn’t expectin’ that from the captain of the veranda.

Jim turned to face a huge red-faced man in a white linen suit topped with a large Shantung Panama.

Well it’s business at that, Jimmy. As an American you shouldn’t begrudge me that –– an investment in opportunity, so to speak. C’mon along, sailor. Belly up to the bar, mate.

O.K., so I like water –– when you’re on top of it. Comes from being raised in Wyoming. Who wouldn’t? Jim paused a moment. I’ve been a cowboy all my life, he said, and then added thoughtfully, but I never stepped in any crap!

We’re raising cattle not many leagues from here. That should make you feel homey.

Go to hell! Jim said.

Now, now, mate. Stop it. We all know you have saltwater for blood. We’re givin’ you a lugger –– your own boat. All your own. And so what have you got to say to that?

We who?

Bar attendant! We’ll have two glasses of your finest Madeira!

The hell. I’m takin’ champagne –– the whole bottle. And so give me the finest you have of that. This bastard’s payin’ for it.

And very soon a giant bottle appeared, bedecked in painted pale flowers with vines.

Now that’s more like it. Don’t you try and Madeira me. And so now we can talk. A lugger, huh? Ain’t I the lucky one though? A pause. What in the hell are you talkin’ about, Ogilvie?

One moment, said Ogilvie, raising a hand. Would you come alongside please, captain Tono. Get acquainted with Jim here.

Oh, that’s great, Ogilvie. Now I’m palin’ up with the Japan-zees? Why that’s just plain traitorous, that is!

Oh come now, laddie. The war is new. Absolutely fresh, isn’t it? Captain Takeshi Tono, one of my most illustrious divers, wishes to give you a lugger to avoid internment as an enemy alien. Just sail off with him to the New Guinea Gulf.

Torres Strait? Not with a war on.

Exactly Jimmy. With a war on. And with you in possession of the vessel! There should of course be no mention of Captain Tono and his tender.

What are you tryin’ to do to me? Do you think I’m a fool. Hidin’ a boatload of Japan-zees in the gulf? Hidin’ in them rotten mangrove swamps til the war’s over? I’m glad you gimme this here jug, I’ll tell you that. Stupid bastard!

Jim’s eyes focused now on the slim Japanese before him, dressed plainly and smiling rather embarrassedly. A very young man which, as a diver, well he should be. There were no old divers.

Wher’s your rubber pyjamas, buckethead? he said.

I did not mean to offend you. I apologize, the young man said, and then stepped back into the gloom of the barroom.

Well? And what do you say to that? asked Ogilvie cheerfully. And what do you say to that? he said.

Me and a tubful of Japan-zees! I must be crazy. Well . . . I’m takin’ some of my crew along, y’hear

Well let’s see now. There’s Billy and Dutch Hoog. Then Black Tom . . . and then that bastard Toomey, cause we got no choice. O.K. by you? Well it better be. Who’s the Jap tender?

A gent named Nakajima Mike, Jimmy.

Yeah, well that makes seven. O.K. by you? If I can collect them, anyways. If the tub starts to sink under the weight, we’ll toss Toomey.

Certainly, certainly. That would be necessary at any rate.

Jim’s eyes glanced at the array of diving helmets behind the bar –– green stained and appearing to rot with verdigris –– the blue stain working onto the edges of the glass port lights. Men had died in those hats . . . and who could say how many.

I must be crazy, Jim mumbled once again. Say chuck this stump water. Get me a case of square face.

Gin? Oh certainly, Jimmy, certainly. Bar attendant. Set up a case of gin for this man. And see he gets to sleep here tonight. Spot him around in the back room so he doesn’t have to walk.

"Who pays up? It