The Infinite Sea

4 - The Northern Splendour

The Northern Splendour had no set itinerary that Jonas could tell of, it seemed the plan was to move following the winds and best prices for whatever cargo they happened to have taken on board. Although this was the Splendour's maiden voyage, her crew were all so experienced, many having sailed together previously, that they quickly gelled into a tight, efficient system. Sails were run up and down, huge mounds of coal shovelled into the roaring furnace at the heart of the ship and chains formed to convey goods on and off board as they stopped at various ports. Most of the crew were Scandics, Dutch or French although there were some Britannians and an Eirishman named Doyle that everyone seemed to know and adore.

English was the common tongue, though it certainly wasn't the King's English, but rather a mish-mash of mispronunciations and slang that had evolved over the years amongst those that travelled the ocean waves. This exclusive language was sometimes referred to as Pig English or Muckle; a tumbling, off-key melody that echoed throughout the long, hammock room where Jonas, and most of the crew slept and spent their free hours.

Jonas had expected himself to be the youngest person aboard the ship and although he was, he was surprised to find a handful of the sailors were only a couple of years or so older than he was — fifteen or sixteen at most — and yet they seemed to carry as much responsibility as their elders, and could certainly smoke and curse in equal measure.

There was nearly always a game of dice or cards on the go and although at first Jonas didn't know how to communicate with these scraggy, rough-cut men of the ocean, he quickly began to earn himself acquaintances for knowing how to play Cribbage and Niners. When the sailors weren't playing games, they were exchanging tales or carving intricate little figurines out of whatever little chunks of wood or bone they could scavenge. And when they weren't doing that they were fighting. The sailors loved nothing more than a good brawl, despite such behaviour being strictly forbidden onboard.

The first time Jonas had walked in one of these matches in the hammock room, half asleep after the day's labours and longing for his hammock, he'd found himself faced with a wall of backs. Peeking over, he saw Heron, a towering man with a blurred tattoo of a swallow curving around his neck, laying into a smaller, bare-chested man. The smaller man had wrapped his belt around his knuckles but to little avail as he was taking a terrific pounding — one eye was little more than a messy, purple bulge and a long dribble of blood ran from his mouth and nose, down onto his chest. At first Jonas was shocked by the brutal violence, bewildered at why all the other sailors were so eagerly willing them on, rather than trying to drag them apart. Then, with little explanation, the fight seemed to be concluded and the two pugilists laughed and embraced happily, propping each other's swaying bodies up as around them coins and trinkets exchanged hands.

"Hey what is this? What is this?" called Thorsten, entering the cabin, an instant figure of authority in his dark blue officer's uniform, silver trim around the wrists.

The crowd quickly dispersed as he headed over to berate Heron and the smaller man although, unlike the Captain, Thorsten understood the need for this outlet of rage. Long days, sometimes weeks, away from land started to claw at the mind of a man, he would later explain to Jonas, and without a controlled outlet of frustrations and energy, men could snap. Sometimes they would stop working or proper fights would break out.

"Hope you're not encouraging them eh, Mr Jonas?" he smiled at Jonas as he headed back up deck.

Thorsten and Jonas had developed a quick friendship. Jonas often liked to go up to the prow and just stare out at the heaving waves passing about them, in awe. There he often met Thorsten who had usually snuck away to smoke and get some peace.