The Lost Ship

By Peter D. Bull

John Bull and Alfie Turps are two friends having a drink at the "Fat Duck Inn."Both of them are knocked unconscious and hours later find themselves on a ship and bound for Spain. They've been kidnapped by a privateer. When they regain consciousness they're given the opportunity to either join the crew or be thrown overboard. They both choose the former. And so their life at sea begins, and they love it. On one of his voyages to Bristol, John visits Lucy who is a past lover. She is an innkeeper. She becomes pregnant, but John doesn't know about it as he's returned to Spain. When he returns, he's overjoyed at the news that he's the father of James,but alas he can't stay long. Whilst he's away Lucy is pestered by a bully that has moved into the village.John deals with the bully, but has to see off his crew to Spain and takes Lucy. He returns to find the inn destroyed.The bully and his son were seen setting the fire, they die mercilessly. Only young James can see the ghost of a boy. He's lost his toy ship.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9780244616991

Book preview

The Lost Ship

THE LOST SHIP

By

PETER D. BULL

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2017 PETER D. BULL

Category: Erotica

eBook ISBN: 9780244616991

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be produced 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.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my late godson, Sam Murphy, and his brother Ben.

Permission was kindly given to use their names by the family, as the characters in this book had been used three years before Sam’s passing on Christmas day 2016.

The characters in this book, in no way reflect the nature or the behaviour of Sam and Ben Murphy.

Their names were originally used because they sounded good to me and in a way, it was intended as a small tribute to the sons of my oldest friend.

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CHAPTER ONE

As I sit here now, an old man of more than seventy years, having spent most of my adult life at sea, I cannot help but remember my experiences with a wry smile.

My time on this earth is nearly at an end. The quack that has visited me on four occasions has no more idea about what ails me than I have myself. I only know that I’m sick every day and that I am now pissing blood. My weight is that of a young boy, but I am warm in my chamber, and am being cared for by my long time partner named Lucy Flannigan. I thank god almighty for allowing me to enjoy the pleasure of Lucy’s company for many years. Unfortunately all that has passed now, and the memory is now stored under the heading of wonderful times in the back of my ailing brain.

I have to content myself with the knowledge that I have had more adventure than I could ever had imagined on the day that I was kidnapped by the press gang whilst celebrating on my nineteenth birthday at the Fat Duck inn. Drinking in the inns of Bristol was always a risky business in those days. The chances were quite high that either the navy would be out to press you into service, or as in our case, some under manned privateer who was running out of time before setting sail, with a contract to deliver his cargo on time, would scoop you up at the last minute. So on that fateful day, what started out as a couple of tankards of ale with my childhood friend Alfie Turps, ended up with us both having been clubbed into oblivion from behind, and eventually waking up on board ship.

We were both invited to join the crew, or to be thrown overboard. The latter was not an option as we were woken after having been at sea for half a day already, and neither Alfie or I could swim. So having been invited to join the ship’s crew, we accepted and became able seamen Bull and Turps, and were on our way to Spain.

The hardest part of the whole experience was not getting to say goodbye to my mother and father. My father, if he had been there with me in the Fat Duck, would have died in his quest to save me from the gang that snatched us both, so it was a blessing that he was ill at home with my long suffering mother nursing him. I never saw either of them again. I regret that to this day.

Alfie and I suffered all the indignities imaginable on board that ship. We were both the same age, and as the youngest and most recent members of the crew, we were given all the worst duties and could be called upon at any time of the day or night, to do just about anything that needed to be done.

Many a night we were woken after a fourteen hour shift on deck, and given orders to climb the rigging to unfurl a sail that had got stuck, or to help the cook in the galley to prepare a meal for the captain and his officers. The journey to Spain was long, probably a month or more. It’s hard to say. I had never before experienced such cold. The sleeping area was damp and dark. There was an oil lamp that swayed with the rhythm of the ship rolling on waves of icy water and foam. It was impossible to stay clean, and it was clear to me that nobody else on board even considered the option of washing themselves. We being recent land lubbers, still had the desire to wash, but it soon became clear that fresh water was at a premium, and that a bucket hauled over the side into the freezing sea, was the only way we would stay clean. The salt would then dry on our puny bodies, and would sting our eyes all day long once we’d started to sweat. Washing became a distant memory for Alfie and me. We began to take on the smell of animals, along with everyone else on board. We were rapidly becoming sailors. We anchored at a port known as Malaga, in Spain, and after a brief talk from the captain about what would happen to us should we be stupid enough to try to escape whilst unloading the cargo, we stepped onto dry land for the first time in weeks. We made the acquaintance at this stage of our duties, with another young crew member who told Alfie and me that he also had been forcibly taken, and had been invited to join the crew.

This was his third voyage to Spain, and he assured us that things would become easier for us when we knew the ropes. A whip across my back was a sharp reminder that we should not be speaking to each other of such matters. Blood was drawn to the surface of my skin, and was sticking to my shirt before the third strike. Whilst bending to untie a knot, the young man said. Sam Turner’s the name.

John Bull. I replied through gritted teeth. And my friend is Alfie Turps.

Sam was only sixteen years old, but had the body of a twenty year old. He’d worked on his father’s farm and so was well used to hard work, which was why he was so muscular. Alfie and I on the other hand were pathetic specimens of men; we’d have to work hard at survival.

Other than the three of us, everyone else in the crew were hardened sailors, well used to the work and the hardships of being on board ship. They actually seemed to like the life. There were two men in particular who were bullies and would taunt all three of us at every opportunity. I remember that after unloading the cargo with the other men that day, Sam Alfie and I were told to scrub the decks.

We were on our hands and knees scrubbing with course hard brushes and soap, and were washing it away with sea water every couple of feet or so. The two bullies came up behind us and kicked us up the arses onto the buckets of fresh sea water, which spilled everywhere. Sam jumped up and shaped up to one of them ready to hit him. The man, who I never learned the name of, drew a knife from his belt and lunged at Sam.

The man was too slow, and Sam was too quick for him. As the knife reached Sam’s waist area, he grabbed the sailor’s wrist, and with the strength of a bull, twisted his arm up behind his back, put his left arm around the bullies’ neck, and took the knife from him with the bending of his wrist. It looked so easy to do, but it was Sam’s sheer strength that prevailed that day.

The sailor, having lost face in front of the crew, lunged once more at Sam, and ran onto his own knife, which by that time Sam was holding. He slumped to the ground bleeding from the mouth, and died at Sam’s feet without a word having been uttered. Luckily for Sam, one of the officers had witnessed the whole thing, and walked up to him with a smile on his face.

You’re handy with your hands aren’t you Turner? Where did you learn to fight like that?

I didn’t actually fight with him sir; I just stopped him from stabbing me.

A fine point Turner. A very fine point indeed. The officer grinned. Now throw the bastard overboard and get on with your work all of you. The captain will have to hear of this, but don’t worry Turner, I saw the whole thing. He asked for it.

Thank you sir. Sam replied.

Sam was summoned to the captain’s cabin that night, and given the chance to explain himself.

Well don’t make a habit of it Turner. The captain said. You and your mates will have to take on more duties to cover for the loss of an experienced sailor. Now get to your bunk.

I remember that after that day, all three of us were treated with a little more civility than previously was the case. The word respect would be taking it too far, but certainly civility fitted the bill.

Over the coming months we were included in the company of the other men, who it seemed were not too fond of the dead sailor either. Gradually we were becoming seasoned sailors. All three of us lads were becoming more and more close. Alfie and I were beginning to fill out too. Our bodies were becoming manly. The two boys had disappeared to be replaced by men of character and strength. We were now thinking like sailors, and were on our way to becoming hard men of the sea. We now really did have the respect of the crew as they saw us quickly turning from boys to men.

On another visit to Malaga, we took on another cargo bound for Africa. We were told of the black men that we would see there. All the crew other than Sam and I, had seen them before, but for a couple of days, we thought that they were joking with us. Weeks past by and we experienced the worst weather that any of the crew could recall. I thought we’d all die on that voyage. It somehow seemed darker than usual at night, although I doubt it was. It wasn’t possible to see my hand in front of my face in the dark, and with the howling wind, and driving rain beating down on our faces, it really was hell on earth. As I sit here now in front of the warm fire, with Lucy’s old dog lying at my feet, it seems like it was in another life that we went through such torment and danger. I suppose that very soon, for me it WILL have been another life that it happened in, as I’m becoming weaker by the day.

The nights would give way to sunny, hot days where we could hardly breath due to the heat. Some days the captain would allow us to sleep if we wanted to, due to the ferocity of the night’s conditions. On that voyage we all lost an immense amount of weight due to the lack of food, and the amount of sweating we all did during those blistering days. I actually looked forward to going up into the crow’s nest, just to stay cooler than those down on deck. It was usually a duty I detested as it was so dangerous. More men were lost from that particular duty than from any other.

Whilst in the nest on this occasion, I spied another vessel heading in our general direction. I yelled to the deck hands, telling them what I could see. The captain came on deck and was using his spy glass to get a look at the vessel. They were still a long way off of our port side, but were gaining on us very quickly. It would only be an hour or less, before they would be on us if they kept their course. We took on more sail and started to make headway on them. There was a danger that they were pirates, but as we were now making good knots, they were no threat to us, so the voyage continued with no further danger expected. They appeared to change course and disappeared from view. By now we were only a few days away from our destination.

That night, as we approached the cape, the weather got worse than I’d ever experienced before. There wasn’t a man on deck that didn’t pray for his life. The ship rose out of the water like a breaching whale, and then sunk back down with a crash that could wake the dead.

If the ship that we’d seen had been a pirate ship, they may well have not survived the night. At first light we prayed for their souls just in case they too were a trading ship. It amazed me on that voyage, how hard men of the sea could become so god fearing at such a time. The sea can be a frightening place on a night like that. I saw men cry with fear when facing death in the face, then laugh like playing children when danger had passed us by. We arrived in port with the sea as calm as a mill pond, we were safe for now. It was time to go ashore and drink copious amounts of rum, and sample the local women. We’d been at sea for over two months, we needed a distraction.

The captain told us that we’d be in port for five days. We had to unload the cargo the next morning, and then half of the crew could go ashore whilst the other half stayed on board to protect the ship. Then we would swap with them, they would return and we’d re load the hold with a new cargo. Spices and ivory this time. In those days, I’d never even heard of spices like cinnamon, cardamoms or peppercorns. We brought them back to England all those years ago, but couldn’t afford to buy them ourselves. How strange life can be eh?

We had a raucous old time ashore that year. We all came back with enough money to keep our families in food for months. When I went to my home town to re unite with my mother and father, I found that they’d died the year before from the cold winter weather. I had nobody else to go to, so I went back to sea with my captain and the rest of the crew members that I’d now been accepted by, and whom I now considered as my friends.

Sam and Alfie joined me on board too. They’d become true seamen and now longed for the open seas as did I.

The captain had become a wealthy man thanks to the lucrative routes that he’d been taking. Not everyone wanted to take on such dangerous trips. He told us all that he was buying a new ship, and that with the new vessel, we could go to such faraway places as the America’s and Australia. This pleased us all very much, because not only were they new and exciting lands that we’d be visiting, but the money was good. We’d all come back rich.

We had one more voyage down to South Africa, and then we would come back to Bristol, pick up the new ship, then sail to North America to pick up tons of tobacco bound for England.

We set sail for Africa on a sunny June morning with a cargo of corn. We were full to the Plimsoll line. 

Alfie told me that when we returned from the America’s, he was going to settle down with his childhood sweetheart, get married and have lots of children. If the trip was as lucrative as he suspected it would be, Sam was going to buy a farm of his own now that his parents also were dead. They had died of a fever of some kind just months before he’d returned home. He was devastated. We were three young men about to make our fortunes at sea, but we had no idea just what adventures awaited us.

The voyage was uneventful for the most part. It was even pleasurable as we approached northern Spain. We had become used to the hard work on deck. It was different now that we had chosen to go back to sea, rather than having been forced to go when young. We were now men with choices. And we chose a life at sea.

As I feel my life ebbing away from me now, I remember with pride how strong I’d become in those days. It seems unbelievable that I’m here now, sitting in my own piss, and coughing up blood. What happened to me? I didn’t see this coming at all. I was an adventurer, I was invincible. I was a young buck and I was into every woman in every port. I was full of myself, I can see that now. I was Jack the lad.

As I played dice with Alfie one day, I heard the lookout cry from above. He’d seen a ship in the distance and was calling out that it was gaining on us. Once again, just like before, that captain used his spy glass to try to identify the vessel. He watched it for half an hour or so, then called out for the quartermaster to arm the crew.

They fly no colours. He’d shouted to us all. They could be pirates. The scum of the seas. He’d added.

We had been given exercises on deck to keep ourselves fit, and that involved sword craft. We’d become fairly proficient but had never fought in anger. Now we faced the prospect of doing just that. Our trainer had always told us that one day it may be necessary to defend the ship, but it was a remote chance in our young minds. He was now shouting at us that we were every bit as good as the next man at sword craft, as he called it.

The captain was a master with a sword, and made it clear that he expected every man, sick and able to be on deck with his sword to defend the ship if it became necessary. He’d been good to us since the first days of our kidnapping, we’d become close to our captain, and he to us. We were not about to allow pirates to take our cargo. We were hard men. We’d do what was required of us. It became clear as they got closer to us, that they were indeed pirates. Spanish pirates.

We had an unlikely assortment of weapons on ship. It was a hoard of everything and anything that had come the captain’s way. I was given a Turkish style cutlass. It was a different weapon from that I’d been trained with, but it was deadly, and so was I.

The captain called out above the sounds of panic that were beginning to be heard.

John Bull over here, Alfie Turps mid ships and Sam Turner you keep an eye on where they’ll try to board us. The rest of you fill in where you can, and watch these three for guidance.

That was the very first time that I had ever heard Captain John Hawkins call any member of the crew by their Christian names.

As the pirates got closer, it was clear to see why they gained so much on us. They were only two thirds the size of The Bessie, but had lots of sale area, so were cutting through the sea like a hot knife through grease. They seemed to be high in the water, so probably had no cargo in their hold. We’d supposed. Why would they be full? They would need the space for our cargo.

Although we had twenty two men on board including the captain and surgeon, we only had four cannon on the port side and four on the starboard. The pirates however could be seen to have at least eight on each side. The only reassurance that we could take from the situation was that they would not want to sink us at least until they knew what we were carrying in the hold.

The Santa Maria pulled alongside us on our port side, and it wasn’t long before the grappling hooks came flying through the air in order to slow us down. We were all shouting at the gang of would be cutthroats, and issuing them with every insult under god’s sun.

In no time at all the dark skinned heathens were swinging across to us. There were cross bow arrows darting everywhere, we just were not prepared for that. As quickly as we were cutting their ropes, more appeared. I saw men that I had grown to call friends, cut down by these little projectiles.

Harry Toop took one to the neck, and fell to the deck gurgling thick dark blood from his mouth. Billy Bond also took an arrow to his right temple; he was dead before he hit the deck. The noise was like I’d imagined hell to be like. Screaming and shouting, crying and whoops of unfounded confidence, and all the time the sound of the sea washing up over our ship as she listed under the weight of the Santa Maria hanging onto us.

Captain Hawkins was screaming out orders that were hardly audible, as we did our best to keep the pirates at bay. A savage looking man that I took to be the captain of the Santa Maria was standing on the upper deck with his arms folded, just watching the battle with a grin. He was taller than the other pirates, although none of them were over five feet or so as far as I could see. His hair was jet black and was wavy. It was long and greased back and was slightly receding at the front. His sword was hanging loosely and moving with the motion of his ship. He was a fearsome looking adversary alright, with a facial scar disappearing into his chin beard that I could see even from that distance.

They were quickly putting us under more pressure on deck. Men were still flying in on ropes, only to be cut down before they touched the deck in some cases, but still they kept coming. One of them came at me with a pointed pole that he’d taken from Harry Toop. As he lunged at me, the list of the ship shifted and took him off balance, so I swiped at his belly with my cutlass, and watched as his guts emptied onto the deck as he looked on. He wouldn’t fall so I split his head down the middle like a coconut. He fell then, his brain making the deck slick with red matter. It was an awful mess.

I took a glancing strike to the thigh with a cross bow missile. It was only a flesh wound but it stopped me in my tracks for a moment. I was approached by a greasy, ugly looking bastard with an axe. He raised it above his head as if to split me in two. I held my cutlass with both hands at the grip, and swiped it upwards slashing at his bollocks, and rising through his stomach and chest. He dropped the axe behind him and showed me his rotten teeth in a grimace of death. But it was not yet on him, so I slashed at his neck, and saw his head bounce across the rope coil that I had put there earlier that day. I’d killed men for the first time that day, and still they came.

I saw Alfie making a fine job of dispatching