The Continution of the Lost Ship Journal

By Peter D. Bull

Captain James Bull sails to Boston to meet up with his partner Nat.
He needs to go to Cuba on the way to buy more cigar leaf. They get driven off course by a mighty storm and almost perish. When he finally arrives in Boston, he finds it devastated by the storm. Nat's wife and child are dead.
Nat re joins James on the "Bessie" and they continue their adventures at sea. More women and more trouble await them as usual.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244714529

Book preview

The Continution of the Lost Ship Journal

THE CONTINUATION OF THE LOST SHIP JOURNAL.

BY

PETER D. BULL

COPYRIGHT

Published by Lulu Enterprises Inc.

3101 Hillsborough Street

Suite 210

Raleigh, NC 27607-5436

United States of America

Copyright © 2018 PETER D. BULL

Category: Fiction, Fantasy

ISBN: 978-0-244-71452-9

Front cover image © PETER D. BULL

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

It was six months before I received a letter from my partner in Boston. Nat had told me that he’d been forced to kill Broderick and the Murphy brothers after they’d conspired to murder him. The letter came via our London office and was sent onto me on board a cargo ship bound for Cadiz, where I was living at the time.

I was mightily surprised to hear that Nat had killed the three men, although I must admit to harbouring thoughts of them taking their revenge on either Nat or me, or both of us at some stage or another. It warmed my heart to be told that my father and my friend Benjamin had been instrumental in saving Nat’s life by appearing as they had from the spirit world. The phenomenon was not unprecedented however. They had previously saved our lives in similar circumstances.

Nat also told me that he’d had his doubts as to whether I had survived the voyage from Boston to Cadiz. Apparently my father had looked so much like me even in spirit that he thought I’d died en route and had visited him myself. I assured him in my letter of reply that I hadn’t yet entered the spirit world, although at times on the return journey, I thought I might be taking up residence at any moment. I keep this journal going as a mark of respect for my beloved father captain John Bull (deceased.) For the benefit of those readers that may not have read the journal thus far, my father started to document his life and times for my benefit when he realised that he was dying. It has become a habit, and dare I say, a labour of love to continue the story of our family’s adventures both on and off of the sea since that time. It has been an obsession to keep it up to date, and as accurate as possible, given the prolonged periods of time between entries.

Meeting Nat, who is the son of one of my father’s original partners, is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Although he could be one of the most irritating and infuriating people to be around at times, he was and still is like a younger brother to me. I felt that way from the moment I met him, when he was just eighteen and I was twenty years of age. His womanising got us both into so much trouble that I cannot imagine how he has lived to be approaching forty five years of age. But I love him dearly and would do anything for him. It was his womanising that kept him in Boston when he met and fell in love with Annie. She was about to be married to Broderick until Nat appeared on the scene. We were only in port for a week, but it was long enough for Nat to throw the whole port into turmoil.

When Nat and I formed our new company in Boston, it was to facilitate Nat staying there with Annie, but at the same time we had decided to take advantage of the relatively new trend in Boston and London to smoke the cigar leaf. In our case it was to be the Cuban cigar leaf. And so it was that Jaynat shipping started the route from Havana to Boston and from Boston to London and Bristol, the much loved home of my dear late mother and father.

In my letter of response to Nat, I informed him that I would be selling my properties in Cadiz, where I’d been living since inheriting from my father, and re locating in London, as that was where most of our cigar leaf would be sold, along with the ready rolled cigars. Although I couldn’t be entirely accurate with the timing of my plans, I did tell him in my letter that I would be there with him in Boston, after having sailed to Havana first to buy more of the leaf. I calculated that it would take a matter of three months or thereabouts before I would set eyes on his ugly face once more. My letter was sent via one of my last cargo’s of tobacco from Cadiz to London, and then from there to our Boston office for his attention. During my six months back in Cadiz, I’d made the acquaintance once again with Juanita and Maria. They had been told that the Bessie II was back in port and had made it known to me that they would like to get together with Nat and me. I informed them that Nat was now married and was by now a father, and that he had settled in Boston. They pursued the idea of a threesome, but after careful consideration, I’d decided that it would have had the effect of stirring up an old hornet’s nest, and that was something that I could well do without.

I’d had relationships with both of the ladies and as the reader may recall, they were untrustworthy to say the least. It was in actual fact, due to them in a roundabout way that Nat had got himself into trouble in Boston, as he was very much on the rebound from Maria, who we found to be having a lesbian affair with Juanita. That situation was very nice to be involved with for a while, but it was not something that any man would want to invest his future in. So I declined their invitation with reservations. But decline I did.

I had decided after much reconsideration, that I would not sell my properties in Cadiz, but that I would rent them out to various recommended tenants. Both families were of the educated sort and were connected to the port in one way or another, so they were known to people that I was dealing with already. I felt comfortable with the situation and I considered that at least the properties would be covering their expenses and would be looked after in my absence. And so I left Cadiz in the March of that year bound for Havana in Cuba. I must admit to having missed my partner and friend immensely, and although he had been juvenile and impetuous on occasions, I could hardly wait to surprise him with my arrival. In Nat’s absence I’d become more dependent on the member of the crew that we all knew as Street Fighter. I’d never thought to ask him his real name but one day when we were both putting the crew through their fencing lesson. I asked him outright.

It’s Tom sir. Tom Crow.

Well Tom Crow. I said. How would you like to be my official first mate?

He looked down at the deck instead of jumping at the chance, which surprised me a little. On acceptance of my offer, he could expect a little more money and a bit more respect from the general crew.

I think I’d make you a fine first mate captain. He finally said with a toothless smile. Thank you sir. He added.

That’s good Tom. I said. Now that my partner is no longer aboard I need someone that I can trust by my side. So you’re now officially the first mate. I’ll tell the crew later. I said.

Well I can’t promise to be as skilled with the sword as mister Hawkins sir, but I’m deadly in other ways, and the crew WILL listen to me I can promise you that at least sir. He said with a kind of menacing smile.

I know only too well how deadly you are Tom, I remember the night outside the cathedral. Now carry on with the lesson and we’ll talk later. I said.

Tom turned on his worn out heels and addressed the crew for the first time as first mate.

Alright you lazy lot of fairies, get your pansy arses down here with your weapons. It’s time to learn how to fight like a street fighter. Now move! He bellowed.

The crew hadn’t yet been told about Tom’s new position but his tone told them to do as he’d told them. He was definitely not a man to be messed with.

I watched as he put them through their paces, and to a man, those hard seafaring men took insult after insult from him.

Not like that you fucking tit sucking baby. I said swipe at his stomach as you bend your knees, not fucking tickle him to death. He bellowed.

I had to turn away as it was too humorous to watch without laughing. Those cutthroats were shitting themselves at his every word, and although his tactics were definitely not skilful in the true sense of the word, the men were definitely learning a different style to that of the more refined style of swordplay that Nat and I had taught them.

I thought that a little of both styles would be a benefit them all.

That night just as it was starting to darken, I called Tom Crow to my cabin. I informed him how much more he was going to earn for the job as first mate, and what I expected from him. He was pleased with the new terms and assured me that the men would be fighting fit by the time we got to Havana.

I thought they were fighting fit already. I said.

Not in MY way of fighting sir. Was all he said. "

Once again I had to cast my mind back to the night outside the cathedral when he ran at our would be killers, wielding his cutlass like a maniac. He’d downed most of them before Nat and I had even come in contact with them. If Tom Crow could teach the crew to fight as dirty as he did on that occasion, we’d never have a cargo taken from us by pirates. I thought to myself with a smile.

Alright Tom get to it. I said.

He ran off at double time and disappeared, but I heard him shouting out orders that were never going to be taken lightly.

The weather was kind to us for the main part of the voyage, but three days out from our destination, a monstrous storm developed and engulfed us. At mid day it became so dark that we couldn’t see to attend to our bad weather drills. The clouds were dark grey and white, the wind was as strong as I’d ever known it before or since and the hail when it eventually came hurt our faces as it was pure balls of ice blowing in almost horizontally.

The sounds were that of hell it’s self with screaming from the crew who were scared for their lives, and the howling of Satan’s own wind that put me in mind of the after world that I’d read about as a small child. It was then that we spied a funnel of water heading toward us. I’d heard of such things before, but had never actually seen one until that day. There was no way that we could out run the monster, and no way that we could go around d it. We were forced to sit there bobbing around like a cork on the sea, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

And happen it did in fantastic proportions. I thought that our skin would be blown from our faces as the ship was tossed around at the whim of who knew what. I’d never seen nature so cruel before and was scared for my life. I had resigned myself to not coming through the day. In my mind we were already dead and lost at sea. Even if I could have given words of comfort and encouragement to the crew, they wouldn’t have heard me above the incredible noise. All of a sudden we were in the midst of the funnel, and everything on deck that wasn’t tied down disappeared into the air, including two members of the crew. The ship herself was being sucked into the air. So much so that we could feel ourselves almost floating above the waves at times and were unaffected by the swell of the sea. We prayed to God, every last man of us.

Our steering had gone and we’d totally lost control of the ship. Sails had been lowered as soon as we’d seen the funnel, but they were damaged too. Ripped from their ropes, they flapped around uncontrollably and could not be brought under control for fear of being torn in two by one of them. They were like giant whips cracking into the cold air. 

After God knows how long, the wind very slightly started to die down a bit and we saw the funnel disappear in front of us. It was heading for land and the poor souls that were in its deadly path. The funnel of water actually appeared to be getting bigger the further away it got from us. It was another two hours or thereabouts before we could start to check the damage done. The wind took that long to die down before it was safe to go up on deck. The rudder had been smashed and we were at the mercy of the sea. We were miles off of our chartered course and had to try and establish where we actually were. It was not an easy task without points of reference to be guided by.

We started to see flotsam appear. It wasn’t long before we found one of the crew that had been taken into the air. He was quite dead of course and missing an arm. The other poor soul was never found however. Another two days of repairs brought us to the point of exhaustion. We had to get the ship seaworthy and so could not get much sleep until we had made progress with the necessary work. The sea became calmer and we felt it safe to send someone into the water to check the rudder. Everyone on board was a good swimmer, but nobody wanted to take on the job. As captain I couldn’t go, and to be honest with the reader I didn’t fancy it either. I told Tom Crow to get the crew to draw straws. Ironically the ship’s doctor wanted to be put into the draw as he was a good man and a fair man, but he’d injured his arm during the storm and so I didn’t think it wise to risk the life of the only man on board that had the slightest knowledge of the human body and its workings. Dick Clancy drew the short straw and so into the sea he went to check for damage.

Dick was not the fittest of the crew. In fact he wasn’t even in the top ten of the fittest of the crew. He was only submerged for a few seconds before he had to come to the surface for air.

Tom Crow lost his patience with the man.

Get out of the water you fucking pansy. He called. We may as well have sent the boy down to check the damage.

Before Clancy was out of the sea, Tom Crow had dived in and was checking things out. He bobbed to the surface and called up to me.

The rudder is damaged but it’ll be alright until we make land, but the metal bracket that controls it is bent to buggery. I’ll have to remove it and get it on deck to straighten it. He shouted.

It took hours to remove the rusty bracket and two more men had to join Tom in the water to get it loose from the joint. A rope was tied around it and eventually after nearly a day of drifting on the tide, it was hauled on deck and repaired as best we could as we had no way to heat the metal to make it pliable. We were losing the light so the bracket couldn’t be put back onto the joint until the next morning. The water was as clear as a bell by that time, and the weather was back to normal. It took another six hours to fit it back on because a wrench was dropped to the seabed. Another wrench was eventually found in the hold and so the job was completed and we were on our way again.

We finally found our bearings and I must admit to being surprised that we weren’t too far off of our course. We found Havana at last but couldn’t believe the damage that had been caused to the port by that ungodly storm. From the sea we could see that almost every palm tree had been blown down, and buildings were roofless with timber joists sticking out of the roofs like the bones of a half eaten chicken. There was not a building standing that hadn’t been damaged as far as we could see from where we were positioned. We couldn’t enter the port as there were damaged ships half submerged in the shipping lane. We anchored and sent a row boat ashore with a small party of men to ask for permission to enter the port, a few men at a time. I got the thumbs up from Tom Crow and made for shore myself. There was nobody there to either give or deny us permission to enter port. The devastation was complete. There was hardly any sign of activity at all, save a few dogs and chickens running around.

I walked up to where I’d remembered the office to be. There was only debris and a foundation where there used to be a building. I could see bodies of men, women and children in amongst the debris. The whole area smelled of death too. It was a godforsaken sight, the likes of which I’ll never forget.  We walked further inland and started to find people looking for their loved ones in amongst the flattened buildings. People were crying and calling out the names of the lost souls that were probably dead by then. It was total destruction everywhere I looked. I didn’t know where to start looking for life. Then Tom Crow called out to me.

Captain Bull look over there sir.

I looked to where he was pointing, and there in amongst the devastation I saw a warehouse which appeared to be largely intact. Then I saw someone walk out of the building. We called out to him but there was no reaction from him. When we approached the man he looked up at us and shrugged his shoulders.

I don’t know where to start. He said. I’m the only survivor of the business. Seventeen men worked here but I’ve just buried the only two that I could find. This is like a ghost town. I’ve only seen twelve people in all that survived. How the hell are we going to start again after this? He asked. Where do you hail from friend?

There was nothing that I could say to make the situation better for the man. I couldn’t give him help, and I couldn’t in all honesty, give him hope either. It was as though the world had come to an end in Havana after that storm.

We come from Cadiz in Spain, but we’re based in London and Boston too. I said.

Boston? He replied. That’s the direction the storm came from I believe. I hope you fared better there than we have friend. Are you here for the leaf?

Yes we are but I don’t expect there’s anything left to buy from the look of this area. I said.

I can’t even recognise the road that I took out of the port to get to the plantation that we bought from.

Well I don’t know who you bought from friend. The man said. But the closest plantation to you from here is through those two trees over there. Just keep on that road and if there’s anything left of the place, you’ll find the Princeton plantation. God only knows if they’ve survived. He added.

I appreciate your help my friend. I said. Is there anything that I and my crew can do for you whilst we’re here? I asked.

I thank you for your offer. He replied. But I’m just looking for the dead. They need to be put into the ground or burned soon. It won’t be long till disease sets in. If I were you friend I’d do my business and get the hell out of here before it’s too late.

He then turned and walked into what was left of the building. I nodded to Tom Crow towards the two trees. Without a word being said, we all started to walk away. There was nothing that we could do to help as far as we could see. In fact it felt to me as though the stranger was too wrapped up in his grief, to think straight enough to direct us to any place that we could have been of help.    

On the road to the plantation we saw even more devastation than we’d been expecting. After an hour or more of walking in the heat, I was just about to order the crew back to the ship, when a man on horseback came around the small clump of trees that were just to our left. He stopped and asked us if we’d seen any survivors. I told him of our encounter with the man. He knew of him already and was on his way to help with the burning of bodies. I asked him if he knew Princeton plantation.

You’re on it. He answered.

"Oh! I didn’t realise. Is there anybody there? Did anyone survive the