by Ben Hammott
Myles took a step back and nodded when he saw the boatswain looking at him.
“Grapple her and lower the bumpers,” shouted Abiah.
Those crew nearest the grapplers, cleared a space around them as three-pronged grapple irons were swung and tossed across the gap between the two ships. Other crewmen tipped tightly compressed sacks of straw over the rail, buffers to prevent the two vessels from smashing into each other.
Men hauled on the ropes tethered to the grapples and slowly the gap between the two vessels decreased. The lines were then lashed around capstans and cleats until it was secure. The tethers creaked as they strained with the ship traveling in the opposite direction, turning the Hannibal to port slightly as both vessels achieved a matching directional speed.
“Send three men over to check if anyone is onboard. If so, determine their state of health and establish the nature of the cargo if the Spanish or pirates have left us any.”
Myles nodded. “Aye, Captain.” He turned to the men and picked out three. “Ratcliffe, Clark and Langham, board her, look for the crew and see what’s in the holds.” Myles pulled the three selected men aside. “You know we’ll only receive a share of the salvage prize if no one is left alive on the Fortuyn.”
The three men nodded knowingly.
“We’ll do that what needs to be done,” assured Clark, fingering the knife at his waist.
“Good,” acknowledged Myles, turning away. “Kilburn, the gangplank.”
“Aye, sir,” acknowledged Kilburn, and bridged the gap between the ships with the wooden plank he held ready for the task and lashed the end to the Hannibal’s top rail.
Ratcliffe walked the precarious rising and falling plank first, followed by Clark and Langham.
The crew aboard the Hannibal watched the three men cross the Fortuyn’s eerily empty deck and enter the stairwell through a door set in the side of the raised forecastle.
CHAPTER 12
Boarding Party
On reaching the bottom of the steps, the three men gazed along the unwelcoming gloomy corridor. The oppressive atmosphere prevalent on the ship had unsettled them as soon as they had stepped aboard, and all three feared an evil presence lingered on board the vessel.
Legends of ghost ships sailing the seas looking for fresh victims were rife among sailors, a superstitious bunch prone to put their faith in doom, gloom, and apparitions. They readily believed every legend they heard connected to the sea, whether it be mermaids, giant sea creatures that attacked vessels and dragged them beneath the waves, or mysterious phantom ships that should be avoided at all costs.
Ratcliffe jumped when Langham nudged him.
“Let’s be done with this quick-like so we can get off this accursed vessel before something bad happens,” said Langham, voicing the concerns they all felt.
“It’s just an empty ship,” said Ratcliffe, unconvincingly. “Creepy, yes, but no reason for it ter be anything cursed.”
“Guess we’ll soon find out,” said Clark.
With his two comrades following, Ratcliffe moved to the first door and peered into one of the three cramped officers’ rooms that seemed luxurious compared to their smelly and crew-packed sleeping conditions. The two beds either side of the door were empty. Neatly turned-back blankets and fluffed pillows showed no signs of recent occupation.
Langham and Clark found the next two officer quarters just as deserted.
Clark pointed ahead at a dark stain on the floor, and the long splashed arc on the wall. “Is that blood?”
Ratcliffe led them forward and wiped a finger on the stain. “It’s blood, but dry. Meaning it didn’t happen recently, which is its only saving grace.” He followed the others gaze along the blood trail leading to the galley.
Pots and pans hanging from hooks in the cooking area clanged against each other with the roll of the ship. To the anxious men, it sounded like ominous death knells warning of their impending doom.
“We should’ve armed ourselves with pistols afore stepping aboard,” moaned Clark, glancing behind nervously when a door, set into motion by the roll of the ship, banged against its frame.
“The blood ain’t fresh, so whatever was responsible is probably long gone,” offered Langham.
“Probably don’t fill me with comfort that it has,” worried Clark.
They moved along to the galley and stared at the tables set with half-eaten meals never finished. If the plates, cups, cooking pots, cutlery, and spilled food on the floor weren't evidenced enough that something untoward had happened here, the blood splashes around the room were impossible to argue with.
“By the stage of food rot, it has ter be a few months old,” offered Langham.
“What could’ve happened here to make them abandon their meal,” voiced Clark, his eyes darting around nervously.
All were aware of the meager shipboard rations most sailors faced. Unless they were ill, were being attacked, or death threatened, no sailor would leave a meal unfinished, no matter how foul its taste.
“Maybe they were attacked by pirates,” suggested Ratcliffe. “It would explain the blood.”
Langham dragged his eyes from the trail of dripped blood leading through the galley and shook his head. “They would’ve taken a ship in as good condition as this or at the very least plundered anything aboard of value or use.” He pointed at the food decaying in the kitchen. “Also, pirates wouldn’t have left victuals behind to rot. No, whatever foulness occurred here, Buccaneers weren’t responsible.”
They moved through the galley, past small dry-store rooms and entered the crew quarters.
Light spread by the crystal prism set in the deck highlighted splashes of dried blood on the floor and on some of the closely hung hammocks that swung with creaky groans from the sways of the ship, evidence some of the crew had been butchered in their unconscious state. Shadows moved eerily, adding another layer of fearfulness to the scene as the three men contemplated the massacre that had evidently taken place here.
“This is bad,” stated Clark. “Really, really bad. We should leave, now!”
“Calm yerself, man,” ordered Langham. “If them responsible fer this bloodshed was still here, they would’ve attacked or revealed themselves by now.”
“I still think it might be pirates,” argued Ratcliffe, his head turning to every swish of rubbing hammocks, creak of wood and a bottle that rolled back and forth with each rise and fall of the wave-tossed ship. “I’ve heard stories about pirates luring vessels ter them with ships that look deserted. They hide and butcher anyone who comes aboard and then steals ship and cargo.”
“Well, we’ve come, and we’ve not been attacked,” pointed out Langham.
“That don’t mean nothing,” argued Ratcliffe. “They’re probably waiting fer more of our crew ter come aboard before revealing themselves.”
“Pirates didn’t do this,” stated Clark ominously.
The others turned to Clark and looked at the three rips in the bloodstained hammock he stared at.
“I think an animal’s onboard,” added Clark, spreading three fingers wide to run along each rip. “Something big and vicious.”
“Better an animal than what I was imagining,” uttered Ratcliffe. “An animal can be killed.”
“Maybe we should go fetch some pistols before venturing farther?” suggested Clark. “Just in case...”
“Stay your fearful imaginations,” ordered Langham. “I’m not willing ter suffer the captain’s wrath because yer two ladies be afraid of the dark.”
“It’s not the dark that scares me,” defended Ratcliffe, “but what it hides.”
“Anyway, common sense dictates that if an animal did attack the crew, it’d be dead by now without water to slake its thirst. Come on, we’ve only the gundeck, hold, and bilge ter check down here and then we can return topside.” As keen as his two comrades to get the job done, Langham pushed hammocks aside as he made his way through the room and down to the gundeck. Though they would prefer to be heading in the opposite direct
ion, Clark and Ratcliffe reluctantly followed.
On entering the dark hold, the air infused with the aroma of exotic aromatic spices, Langham grabbed a lantern from a hook just inside the door and lit it. He held it high, spilling light a little way into the room. Something scuttled out of the light’s far reach and went behind some stacked crates covered in rope netting secured to the floor.
“What was that?” asked Ratcliffe, grabbing Langham’s arm.
Langham shook Ratcliffe’s grip off. “A rat.” Though he hadn’t seen the creature, what else could it be?
Following the blood trails, Langham took a few steps into the hold, shifting the light left and right to search between the stacked cargo of crates, barrels, and sacks.
Glancing at the sacks wrapped in oilcloth to repel moisture and seeping heady, exotic scents, Langham turned and shone the light on his two nervous comrades. “Spices and they look dry. We’ll all earn a pretty penny from this when we get the ship back ter port.”
The thought of the wealth they would earn from their share of the profits lowered the men’s unease slightly.
Another scampering sound, like a handful of dry twigs thrown across the wooden floor, turned them to a group of barrels a short distance away.
“That didn’t sound like no rat,” stated Ratcliffe, his anxiety heightened.
“Expert on rodent footsteps now, are we?” questioned Langham sarcastically, even though he agreed with Ratcliffe. “The countries this ship must have visited are filled with strange animals. We’ve seen some of them ourselves, any one of which could have crept aboard while it was docked. Or maybe it was brought onboard ter sell back home, and it escaped from its cage.”
“It did sound small,” voiced Clark, “so probably not dangerous and more frightened of us than we are of it.”
“I doubt that,” uttered Ratcliffe, glancing nervously back at the exit he wanted to flee through. “We’ve seen enough. Let’s go inform the captain of what we’ve found.”
“We still have the bilge and the stern areas to check,” reminded Langham.
Ratcliffe sighed. “Then let’s get it done and be gone.”
With heads on a swivel for the creature they’d heard, the three men crossed to the bilge hatch set in the floor at the rear of the hold. Their nervous attention focused on the bloodstained boards around the trap and the trails leading into the small gap around its edges.
Handing Ratcliffe the lantern, Langham knelt and reached for the large iron ring in the middle of the trapdoor’s front edge.
Ratcliffe grabbed Langham’s outstretched arm. “Yer really gonna look in there with all the blood indicating whatever yer gonna see inside is likely gonna haunt yer sleeping hours ‘till the day yer die?”
“Thanks, I’m less keen to do so now, but we need to find out what happened to the crew and if anyone’s hiding.”
Clark snorted. “We know what happened. They’re dead. That’s obvious by all the blood.”
“If I don’t look, the captain will send us back down again,” explained Langham. We’re here now, so...”
“Well, I ain’t looking,” stated Ratcliffe, taking a step back. “I’ve enough nightmare material in me head without adding more horrifying images.”
“I’m not so keen either,” added Clark.
Langham rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll look, ladies.”
From a short distance away, the two men watched Langham grip the iron ring and heave the hatch open. He gagged and turned his head aside when the cloying stench of rotten corpses whooshed over him.
Clark and Ratcliffe clamped hands over their mouths and noses when the reek assaulted them.
“I think we’ve found the crew,” said Clark, his voice muffled by the hand he dared not remove from his nose and mouth.
“What’s left of them,” added Ratcliffe. “By that stench, they ain’t gonna look pretty.”
Langham shoved the hatch back to rest against the side of the hull, placed the crook of his elbow over his nose and mouth, and peered into the dark hole. After a few moments, he reached a hand towards Ratcliffe. “Lantern.”
Keeping his face turned away from the hole lest he glimpsed its contents, Ratcliffe handed Langham the lantern and stepped back.
Though fearing the horrible sight he was about to witness, Langham lowered the lantern into the bilge and peered inside. Bodies, mostly bones with scraps of clothes and lumps of torn, ragged flesh clinging to them, floated and bobbed in the churning, black bilge water slopping back and forth. Fighting down the bile rising in his throat, Langham leaned deeper through the hatch to do a body count. He had reached sixteen when a group of limb-and-bone-linked corpses spurted from the water and fell back with a splash that raised a fresh wave of disgusting foulness.
Terrified by the horrific creature that erupted from the slimy foulness, Langham’s frightened gaze took in the glossy wet, evil monster. Whatever it was he knew it couldn’t be anything God had created. Though his senses told him to flee, his fear held him there. Langham trembled when the abomination against all that was holy screeched and moved closer, sending out ripples that bumped bones and partially-eaten corpses against each other. Bloated pale faces of the dead observed the clawed hand reaching for the stranger on their ship.
Dread rippled through Clark and Ratcliffe when something beneath the boards they stood on screeched an inhuman cry. They staggered back in fright when a claw shot from the hatch, hooked Langham around the neck and yanked him inside, taking the lantern with him.
Recovering from his scare, Clark rushed to the hatch to help his friend. The sight of the gruesome corpses swirling in the brackish bilge water was highlighted by the bobbing lantern’s orange glow, but there was no sign of Langham or what had grabbed him. He started when Ratcliffe appeared at his side and tugged at his arm.
“We need to leave! Something devilish is down here,” urged Ratcliffe, his fearful gaze focused on the eerie scuttling sounds of unknown things in the darkness around them.
It was all the encouragement Clark needed. The men rushed through the gloom to the exit. Scampering limbs homed in on them.
Clark screamed when something landed on his back. He screamed again when sharp things pierced his skin. Another creature fell on his head and stabbed claws into his face, aiming for his eyes. Clark grabbed at the spindly limbs slicing his face to the bone, yanked it free and flung it away.
Ratcliffe whimpered in terror when Clark screamed behind him. Fearing he would freeze if he turned and witnessed what was attacking his friend, he looked longingly at the dim light spilling in from the gun deck—only a few steps to go. He yelped when the foul creature with six crab-like limbs struck his head and slashed out, slicing his cheek. Grabbing its bulbous body as its limbs sought for a purchase around his face, he pulled it off and chucked it to the floor. It quickly righted itself and turned its evil eyes at him. Ratcliffe stamped on it as he sprinted past. Its body and limbs cracked with the sound of dry leaves crunching, splattering dark goo across the boards. Ratcliffe skidded to a halt at the door, spun to pull it closed and looked inside to see how his friend fared.
Clark faltered when three more creatures leaped upon him. Stabbing him with their claws, they sent him stumbling to the floor. He raised his head in Ratcliffe’s direction, both his eyes a pulpy bloody mess. “Help me.”
Spying more of the vicious creatures moving towards his fallen friend, Ratcliffe could see only one outcome; Clark was beyond any help he could give him. He guiltily began to pull the door shut. A screech from across the room halted him. He gazed into the darkness at the red eyes that rose from the bilge hatch. Hard quick taps on the floor accompanied the movement of the eyes towards him. The thing that had taken Langham was coming.
In fear of his life, Ratcliffe went to close the door fully when one of the smaller creatures leaped for the narrow gap and became trapped between door and frame, preventing it from closing. Ratcliffe yanked the door hard, crunching the creature’s limbs, but still it wouldn’t c
lose. A large three-fingered claw appeared around the edge, jerked the handle from Ratcliffe’s grip and ripped the door from its hinges.
Ratcliffe dodged the claw that swiped at him through the doorway and fled. Barely able to control his panic, he rushed through the gundeck, up the steps and barged through the swinging hammocks with the creature on his tail. He sprinted through the galley and along the corridor. When a fresh surge of adrenaline was produced by the harrowing claws clacking on the floor in pursuit, he directed it to his pumping legs. Hope surged through him when he glimpsed the steps lit by daylight streaming through the open deck door.
WHILE WAITING FOR THE three men to return with their report, the captain and first mate discussed their good fortune at finding the abandoned vessel.
“If pirates aren’t responsible for the ship’s perceived abandonment, and she was on her way home, she could hold a valuable cargo, maybe even spices and coffee,” said Myles to his captain.
“My thoughts are occupied with the very same notion,” replied Captain Warren, running an appraising eye over the ship. It was newer and in far better condition than the ancient vessel he commanded. His share of the prize money when they got it back to port would be considerable. He knew the crew would have already worked out their share of the salvage prize so would be just as keen to save it. “Even if the hold is empty, the ship’s in fair condition and will fetch a lucrative price if we can sail her back to port.”
Myles nodded his agreement. “The sails will need some work, but a skeleton crew should be able to handle her.”
A commotion aboard the Fortuyn directed their attention upon Ratcliffe rushing from below screaming, his clothes splattered with blood, a gash on his cheek. “Cut her loose! Cut her loose! The devil’s coming!”
The captain, his second-in-command and the crew on deck, confused by the man’s obvious terror and screamed demands, watched Ratcliffe sprint to the Fortuyn’s port side and jump onto the rail. Ignoring the gangplank spanning the gap between the two tethered vessels, he leaped across to the Hannibal.