The Scourge - Pirates & Privateers

Chapter 16: The Careening Bay

By some miracle, no lives had been lost to the storm. The crew had escaped with only a few minor injuries, though the same could not be said for the Scourge herself.

If she had been considered a wreck before, she was fresh from the shipbuilder's yard compared to what she was now. The hull was as flimsy as a fractured skull, the bilge-pumps had been worked almost to until they shattered, the masts were cracked, the sails shredded, and they'd lost more cargo than they could afford for such a long journey.

Captain Percival made it clear that it was necessary to take a short detour to an island the Quartermaster had worked out lay in their path. Its bay made an ideal anchorage. The woodland around was perfect for harvesting timber needed for repairs, and the season was ideal for the trees and bushes to be abundant with fruit and berries. The fruit would bring boar, deer and any other wildlife that would go away to replenish their stores of salted meat, and the animals would lead them to fresh springs to water the crew for the remainder of the voyage.

It soon became clear that only thing in worse shape than the ship was her crew's morale. The mood on deck was tumultuous at best and outright mutinous at worst, coming to a head when a fight broke out between two men, who had previously been mates. Captain Percival had no other choice but to have the Gunner lash the pair for their behaviour, which only made the mood fouler.

So, the Captain implored the Cook to break out his secret weapon.

***

The island was a thin whisp of an archipelago, made up of two larger land masses joined together on one side by a bridge of sand, forming a naturally shallow lagoon. Martin almost missed it as they approached as the island's peak didn't stand more than a few feet above the sea. A grove of tall trees bound it to the sky, and when they were close enough that they could see the leaves waving them in, the Captain ordered the sails reefed, and the crew to feed the ship into the bay on foot with hawse. The dense nest of trees on either side hummed with life as they limped between the sandbanks.

The men anchored down and prepared to disembark, though Cook was the first to touch the sand. He hefted with him a cauldron stuffed with utensils, then ordered two of his mates to scout around in the trees. In the time it took the crew to pitch tents and divvy up tools, the pair returned with two ripe nanny-goats. Cook grinned, and before the crew felled their first tree he had constructed a tripod with which to mount the cauldron, and filled it to the brim as best he could with goat's milk.

Martin watched as Cook built a roaring fire underneath. When the milk was alive with froth and cream, he unwrapped a packet containing a clay-coloured brick of something not unlike lard, shaving perhaps half the contents into the cauldron with his knife. Cook loomed over the broth, looking down at it from over the tilt of his upturned nose, before picking up a basin at his feet and adding more milk. He repeated this, humming a tune as he went, dancing between milk and clay lard until the mixture within was almost bronze in colour, thick bubbles bursting like magma.

Cook nodded to himself, then smirked and took up his spoon.

Martin watched in amazement as he swirled the smooth molten-gold, turning his hum into a cheerful whistle. He tapped the spoon against the cauldron, then shovelled a finger full of the mix into his mouth. He smacked his lips, appearing greatly satisfied. The spoon rapped against the side of the cauldron ringing out across the whole island.

'Come and get it, lads!'

'What's going on?' Emily set down the package of canvas and rods needed to build her tent and watched in amusement as the crew descended into an excitable frenzy. 'Is something happening?'

'You're damned right it is!' Martin threw aside his axe and put out his hand to Emily. 'Come on. You'll want to be the first in line.'

'First in line for what?' Emily took Martin's hand. Her shoulder almost popped from her torso with the force exerted as Martin dashed across the beach.