Читать книгу Smithereens - Steve Aylett - Страница 7

In the course of researching my unpublished novel Velvet Dogs I heard tell of an elderly gentleman who had in his possession a collection of ancient ship’s journals - first-hand records of the great days of sail – and resolved to seek him out and ask him if he would lend me some money. The hermit-like figure which greeted me in a Bristol attic some months later was nothing if not eccentric, as he sat in a corner stroking a dry fern. ‘This is one of my few remaining pleasures,’ he explained in a whisper, and embarked upon such a rampant fit of coughing that I feared he would expire then and there; he soon recovered, however, and told me the details of his life until I could barely see. Bringing the conversation around to the subject of finance I established that he had in his possession a full eighty pounds, and offered to invest this sum in porkbelly futures. One of the items he removed while kneeling to search through an old oak chest was a thick, leather-bound volume such as I had originally heard tell in connection with this slavering gentleman. Taking up and leafing through its autumnal pages, I immediately recognised its likely value. At my questioning its authenticity, however, the ancient man took sudden umbrage, producing an antiquated musket the size of a water buffalo. As I took my leave he blew a hole in the roof and a shaft of sunlight burst through, at which the old man hissed and threw an arm across his eyes. A month later I attempted to return the journal and to collect my eighty smackers but found the hermit’s house boarded up, and learned from a neighbour that he had been dragged to an asylum hollering that he was inflatable. Thus I inherited the text which is here entitled Voyage of the Iguana.

The log relates the events of the most undisciplined sea voyage in maritime history. Captained by a Samuel Light Sebastian in 1808 for the East India Company, it was rarely mentioned with anything less than hollering ire and stabbing daggers. An 1815 Naval Chronicle alludes to ‘Master Sebastian’ in an article entitled ‘Damnable Treachery’, but this probably refers to a later incident. The maudlin voyage of the Iguana surpassed any other for aquatic entropy - Havanans still speak of the ‘kennel’ which floated into the harbour in 1808, and their name for Sebastian cannot be translated.

It was his first log, though his second voyage as Captain - the first was that of the Phantom in 1807, which he boarded as Midshipman. When mutiny broke out and the Captain and Mate were set adrift in a barrel he took over the Captaincy in a daring stroke which apparently involved plying the crew with sixty gallons of rum and then wearing a bonnet so that everyone aboard mistook him for their mother. Bringing the ship into Blackwall Harbour he received a hero’s welcome and a commendation from the Board of Control, who in blind gratitude formally promoted him to Captain a year later.

As Captain of the Iguana his main occupation seems to be throwing empty bottles at passing Hammerheads, which he constantly asserts are ‘sneering’ at him. His term is characterised by languid indifference and a startling ignorance of seamanship - he was frequently known to give the order ‘Bows full to stern’, a manoeuvre which would entail sawing the ship into two equal halves and folding it into a sandwich. A short time into the voyage he seems uncertain as to the ship’s destination, cargo (tea probably) or name - the easygoing First Mate Leggahorn voices the opinion that ‘if we cannot remember it it cannot be important’. The crew ‘discharge pistols’ at each other, make parting remarks while leaping overboard, are attacked by cannibals and hallucinate rampantly. Most remarkable is the fact that they never thought seriously to take over command.

Many questions remain unanswered. What was the ship’s course? How could it make half the journey without ballast? What was so horrific about the native ritual performed on August 7th that it caused Sebastian and the First Mate to black out? And most intriguingly, where did Sebastian keep his log? - he seems never to be parted from it. Few clues are yielded by maritime records - Sebastian’s name seems largely to have been struck out of history. On returning to England in March 1809 he was frantically demoted to ‘man without honour abode or employment’ and it seems to have been a full two weeks before he was once again at sea, as Captain of a 54-gun store-ship which Lord Cochrane commandeered and deliberately blew up to surprise the enemy.

Steve Aylett

27th May. SSW. Sailed out of Bristol harbour with a fair wind. Introduced myself and First Mate Leggahorn to crew, who responded with mirth. One man stood peeing over rail throughout. Second Mate Forfang interrupted my speech by yelling an obscenity, at which crew erupted into laughter. Morale high.

28th May. SWW. High winds. Leggahorn lost his hat and seven men restrained him from leaping overboard to retrieve it. Remarked to young apprentice Batch that nothing excused such behaviour, at which point all eight men stumbled back and trampled us underfoot.

29th May. SSS. Heavy seas - Mr Byron continually turns his back on wheel and leans laughing at activities of crew as course deviates. Leggahorn and myself forced to separate Forfang and bosun fighting at entrance to saloon - Forfang hammered my head repeatedly against door as big sea came aboard and lifted Leggahorn and bosun on to the fore yard. Everyone swore like the devil. Mr Byron remarks that the incident will provide me with something to tell my grandchildren.

30th May. SSE. Fair sailing again - rain let up, no sea aboard, bosun died down and wind dropped. Forfang lifted me up by the leg and pushed me against the sterncastle, with a mighty yell. All’s well.

31st May. SSW. Drenching thunderstorms, big sea aboard, funeral for bosun marred by returns of body. Mizzen-boom sail blown to ribbons. Went to question cook as to hull damage, but he had the gall to say it was not his concern. Spirits raised by Forfang, who is still celebrating yesterday’s fair weather. Sent first mate aloft to look for funny clouds.

1st June. SWS. Ship snugged down, lower topsails, fore staysail, reefed fore coarse and spanker. Crew fighting on deck. Leggahorn told us at dinner an amusing story about man who was eaten by a panther. Giving bosun seven lashes for firing musket on deck but wind blew him overboard.

2nd June. NNE. Spoke to Forfang in my cabin about morale, but swinging lantern which struck head upset his mood and he pursued me about the table, until in a position to dash my head upon it, with access of loud laughter. Have determined to indulge in draughts tomorrow. Leggahorn seen hollering obscenities on the topgallant footropes.

3rd June. NNW. Trouble in galley due to lack of food. Stray barrel below burst and flooded passage with rum, at which crew fought to lie down, gurgling and yelling obscenities. Leggahorn and myself strolled deck in coats and seaboots, sat down to play draughts. Pieces vanished instantly upon opening case. Struggle getting back to cabin through men in passage.

4th June. NNS. Ventured above with ship’s dog, which flew overboard on being released for exercise. John Tunny tells me through blur of waves that it is a bad start to a voyage when one cannot tell where ship ends and sea begins. Agreed with a laugh, at which he took offence and waded away.

5th June. SSN. Shortage of meat and provisions which cannot be explained. Am in process of checking cargo books. New bosun - Piper. Forfang tripped on the cathead and flew into a rage, breaking his own leg.

6th June. SWE. Provisions underloaded. Gathered crew on deck to inform them but could not make myself heard above the thunder and waves. Forfang hurled heavy barrel at my countenance. Harker continually pees over rail.

7th June. WWN? Leggahorn taught crew hornpipe dance on deck - seven overboard. Spoke to Batch in cabin about his duties as apprentice, but he was knocked out by falling ceiling. News of provisions provoked Berringer to wail ‘That’s it lads, we’re done for - damned to hell one and all.’ Could not help but admire his attempts at diplomacy.

8th June. Strolled the deck today, supervised manning of crossjack braces. Parkins and others swore at me through wind and rain. Turtle blown aboard. Hit Leggahorn while laughing on starboard rail. Bad omen.

9th June. Am worried about ship’s doctor, who on boarding ship at start of voyage, was suffering from typhoid. Had to retire straightway to rest and nursing by Mate, Leggahorn. Weather still stormy. Batch joined us for dinner - turtle. Flippers had been stolen by certain members of crew, who attached them to their ears and performed demonic ritual. Had those responsible scrub deck, but were washed overboard. Memorial service held, but was washed overboard. All now fastened below save for Harker, who is peeing over rail.

10th June. A glorious morning. Calm sea. Sail repairs going ahead well. Blue skies and fair sailing. Forfang in good spirits, despite broken leg. First mate singing on deck. Ten overboard.

11th June. Fair weather continues. Mr Byron sets his features and lashes himself to the wheel. About midday Forfang punched First Mate Leggahorn, who had been standing in good humour on the poop. Forfang unrepentant. John Tunny tried to heave him overboard, but Forfang knocked him out with lower brace. All’s well.

12th June. Had the crew mending sails. Hold taking in water. Took Batch to rail and spoke of the sea. Showed him how to annoy the Hammerheads.

13th June. Spoke to Forfang about his dribbling, at which he took a fragment of plank and attempted to strike me, screaming and foaming as Leggahorn wrestled him out of cabin. Polished my chinaware.

14th June. Bosun devoured by second mate. Laughter.