A Spell On Watch

A SPELL ON WATCH ?

It's not often that one learns of voodoo being practised on a modern
cruise liner few would believe this fact to even have credibility.
Nonetheless voodoo was used with dire effect aboard the 'Three
funnelled, forty thousand tons of ocean going opulence S. S. Atlantic
Duchess.' That was how the travel brochures described the ship any
way.

Forty thousand tons of rust, bullshit and white paint was how the crew
described her. In their cups or in good weather, occasionally the hands
referred to her as the good ould Drunken Duchess. Their reason for
using the latter description was that in anything higher than a half
metre swell she would pitch and roll like a drunken overweight cow with
three legs. It was often said she would roll on wet grass in a light
breeze.

Today though the old girl was on her best behaviour in fact she looked
beautiful as she ploughed through the Caribbean. She had a bone in her
teeth, an apt description for her white bow wave. Bejewelled flying
fish darted out of this wave, that being the only surge in an otherwise
glass calm ocean. Scudding with the lower part of their tails in that
way gaining extra yards of flight. They skimmed across the sea for
several hundred yards, and then dropped back once again as if
metamorphosed in an instant from bird to fish.

The wake of the ship became less turbulent as the huge vessel reduced
speed to dead slow ahead on both the turbine engines. The reason for
speed reduction was to enable a small pilot cutter to come alongside
the liner, thereby allowing the pilot and his quartermaster to be
picked up from the cutter. According to navigational law the pilot
having local knowledge of channels would guide the large vessel into
Havana Harbour. This pilot would find that maritime dictate was not the
rational of nautical law the Duchess's skipper would all together
accept.

Most of the twelve hundred passengers crowded the starboard rail to
watch this event. Joining them at the rail was perhaps half of the five
hundred crew members. Even on vessels as large as the Duchess movement
of one hundred tons of people to one side of the ship from another
alters the trim. A total two hundred ton's disparity, this imbalance
causes a pronounced list that needs correction. For that reason as well
as having to carry out the procedures required to throttle the engines,
close air checks, pull boiler fires the engine room staff have to
transfer water from starboard to port tanks, to compensate the
ambulatory freight shift. This operation would be repeated many times
as the ship entered the harbour, and interesting sights appeared on one
side or the other.

Five minutes after boarding the ship the Cuban Pilot whose English was
somewhat limited and his Spanish-speaking companion arrived on the
bridge of the leviathan. This particular bridge was the domain of
Commodore Captain Sir Charles De Ponsi Jones (Bart) RN Retired. Better
known as Charles the Bastard by the crew.

Captain De Ponsi Jones although he was called Charles the Bastard, or
just simply the bastard by one and all never heard his nickname. He
never heard it as no one would dare to use that handle within the old
man's earshot. Normally drunk, Sir Charles at best was am evil-tempered
martinet. He only had three cherished dislikes this being any person or
thing that came under the heading of animal, vegetable or mineral.
There was however one exception to this rule and that was strong
alcohol that he adored.

It was said that the nearest encounter Sir Charles had to love was with
his wet nurse, but even she had taken to feeding him by catapult when
she got him weaned. One wag in the wardroom had gone so far as to
suggest that the nanny had been an alcoholic, and it was she who had
introduced young Charles to strong liquor by mammary injection.

Another officer established he'd learned the young baronet took up his
naval career after being expelled from public school. Reason for the
dismissal because after drinking alcohol stolen from Matron, young De
Ponsi Jones became passionate with a gargoyle in puns naturalibus (or
totally naked for the Latin illiterate). This may have been forgiven,
had it not taken place during Parents Day. Perhaps it might have been
excused if the carving being defiled had not been above the School
Principals' Dais, from where the head was delivering a diatribe on the
joys of chastity in the young.

This story consequently became shipboard myth. A first class restaurant
waiter claimed to have overheard the Surgeon telling the Chief
Engineer. "The old man couldn't help falling in love with the statue.
This was because it had been through some disease the bastard had,
which sounded like Eady Pussy Syndrome. Doc said that the old man had
got it through his jeans. Seemingly the gargoyle represented a mother
figure to him. Quack said this was according to some bloke he knows
called Freudian Quirk. Funny though! I never thought they would wear
jeans at them posh schools."

Presenting himself to the captain, Senor Julio Vilaverdi the Pilot
clicked heels, bowed and proffered his hand, all done in one slick,
well-oiled action. This would have been etiquette in a Prussian Royal
Court, even in a good class Mexican Whorehouse. However it was over the
top on a British ship. Others may have been bemused but flattered by
this grovelling show of respect. Sir Charles was not amused by this
apparent show of servility. Totally ignoring the pilot's hand he pushed
the official towards the rear of the bridge, while grumbling aloud
"Bloody Diego Bastard!"

The Cuban helmsman took the wheel and looked to his compatriot the
pilot for instructions. The British Skipper began immediately to issue
commands, totally ignoring the presence or the existence of the Cuban
Pilot, whom he was forced to suffer for maritime insurance purposes. No
doubt if any calamity occurred, the blame would be credited to the
luckless foreigners. After all on this ship the Cubans and everyone
else were subject to Charles the Bastard's Law.

Under a tirade of abuse that he didn't understand, the Cuban
Quartermaster steered the Duchess under the guns of Morgan's Castle
into the roads of Havana. Their safe passage so far was due to the
skill of the Latin Quartermaster. Most certainly it was no credit to
the pompous bastard with the scrambled egg on his cap, yelling four
letter Anglo-Saxon expletives at the Cuban.

During the ships' negotiation towards the wharf the Pilot could do
little more than stand and listen. He had to heed the harangue of
insults being heaped upon his helmsman, the outbursts weren't all
together unproductive. If nothing else it doubled the Cubans English
profanity vocabulary. As he cringed at the back of the bridge he was
philosophical about the experience. As he mulled over in his mind the
Spanish equivalent of It's an ill wind that does not blow some poor
bastard some good. Which when very loosely translated came out as What
is crap to the burrow is food to the rose. Senor Julio Vilaverdi was
not one to hold a grudge especially when against an adversary as
formidable as Charles the Bastard.

On the forecastle the windlass crew were mustered, where they'd been
since stand-by on entry into Cuban territorial waters. The windlass
crew comprised the Chief Officer Andrew (Nobby) Clark, Ships Carpenter
Chippy Evans, Able Seaman Bugsy Malone, Deck Apprentice Ginger Rogers
and Ordinary Seaman Patsy Fagin.

Windlasses serve a dual purpose, the capstan heads are for lifting the
anchors, and the windlass or winch heads for pulling ropes when tying
up the vessel. Both heads are driven by a common motor. Anchors along
with their chain are dropped in free fall by knocking out a wedge, the
intensity of the fall causes the flukes to be impacted into the bottom
thus giving the anchor purchase. Considering that lowering it gently
would allow it to lie on top of firm silt. For knocking out and
removing this wedge the Carpenter on stand-by carries a hammer.

Clark along with the rest of the crew hated the master, rumour had it
that on their last visit to Haiti Nobby had bought a Voodoo Doll. They
said he stuck pins in it, his steward let on that the idol had four
gold braids on each arm and a little cap with scrambled egg on it.
Besides that the manikin had a face like a gargoyle. "Like the very
devil himself" reported the Chief Officers Steward, but he didn't
specify which devil he meant.

Roy Kinkaid the Chief Engineer quipped to Nobby over a drink in the
cocktail bar. "They tell me it's got four braids Nobby I certainly hope
it's not my effigy," and he tapped the four gold braids on the
epaulette of his mess jacket. "You wouldn't do that to me would you, it
has to be Charley Boy am I right. I don't know where you're sticking
the pins, but the doctor tells me the Skipper's Steward was at the
dispensary collecting double strength suppositories. He tells me
Charlies been moaning like he'd a bee's nest up his arse. Well! I must
say it couldn't happen to a more appropriate guy. Keep up the good
work, perhaps keep up the pins might be more appropriate?" "Chief I
haven't a clue what you're talking about" answered Nobby with a
grin.

Clark loathed the commander but in his presence he showed him every
respect. One could say he displayed a humble, grovelling, fawning
respect. Making him to look like a three gold ringed Uriah Heap when in
the presence of the skipper. He almost saluted the bridge to fo'c'sle
telephone when he answered it and recognised his master's voice.
However at the same time he was thinking to himself, the next pin will
go down the idol's throat. His reverie was short lived as the voice
crackled down the wire.

The Chief Officer's blood turned to ice, he would wring Ginger's neck,
because Ginger had left the intercom plugged in since last stand-by,
contrary to standing orders. No doubt wind and spray had affected its
function. Nobby turned looked up at the red faced apparition glowering
down at him from the bridge. Behind him Nobby could hear the AB
Shouting something about the ship coming in too fast towards the jetty.
The mate had a sudden flash of inspiration. He pointed to the useless
phone and gave the old man the universally accepted fornication signal.
Nobby, his mind in a turmoil considered that he might well have pointed
to his career and signalled accordingly.

The captain picked up a bull-horn hailer and howled down it at the top
of his voice, totally ignoring the proximity or sensibility of the folk
lining the rail. "Drop the f? ing port anchor you daft bastard, you'd
make an arse of being a pantomime horse's after end, never mind looking
after a ship's fore end."

Nobby who by this time looked as if he'd aged forty years, yelled at
Chippy. "Port anchor! Port anchor! Knock the chock out!" The hammer
curved through the air scoring a perfect hit sending both wedge and
sparks flying, the twenty ton anchor released from its tether rattled
along with ten fathoms of chain towards its bite. Execution of both
strike and release were text book stuff.

By the time the order was obeyed the splayed bows of the vessel had
ploughed twenty feet into the jetty. Both anchor and chain continued
their headlong dash crashing through the red pan-tiled roof of the
Customs House. Luckily the officials who worked in this building were
outside. The staff were watching the arrival of the largest passenger
vessel ever to tie up in their harbour. They hoped that it would be the
last vessel that would ever drop anchor in their office. An ashen faced
Nobby looked down at his sleeves he could see in his minds eye his
three rings of gold lace fading away.

Normally a ship entering harbour, by careful manoeuvre, use of local
knowledge and tugs, will glide gently into dock. Only then using
windlass and ropes to bring her tied up alongside. The confused Cuban
Quartermaster who didn't know English let alone Anglo-Saxon curses, had
in his baffled state turned the wheel too hard-over. Dropping an anchor
at this stage was not normal procedure, but if dropped in time it would
have stopped the liner hitting the wharf.

Andrew dragged his eyes and thoughts away from the imagined evaporation
of his rank and looked towards the bridge wing. He could see the
bastard doing a good impression of the Mexican hat dance on his cap.
Chippy's Welsh Voice sang-out. "Mr. Clark shall I drop the starboard
anchor too?" The Senior Deck Officer sat on a haws-pipe and put his
head in his hands, then looked up and yelled. "Screw it! Piles are far
too good for him. Ginger go to my cabin, there's a box with some pins
on it fetch it we're going to stop that bastard up there doing the
highland fling." "Aye! Aye! Sir." Ginger replied dashing towards the
mate's cabin.

While Nobby waited for Ginger to return he started muttering his
version of the burial eulogy. "Ashes to ashes bastards to sharks." As
he chanted a grin spread across his previously drawn face. It was as if
the forty years slipped from his countenance in an instant.

One day out from Cuba Sir Charles De Ponsi Jones was buried at sea with
all the dignity and solemnity becoming a Peer of the Realm. The service
officiated by the now acting Captain Andrew Clark was delivered very
expertly. Expertly apart from a small prayer or incantation he muttered
at the end as the deceased slipped with a metallic clatter down the
Union Jack draped hatch board. The corpse made a loud splash as it
struck the Caribbean and sank quickly. No doubt helped on its way by
the massive link taken from the offending port anchor chain specially
for the occasion.

Rum tots were issued to all hands marking the old-man's passing. One
Cockney Stoker prone to use rhyming slang lifted his glass and said.
"Here's a toast to all the other Nobby Clarks who will be giving the
old bastard a real good chewing and I hope they find the bastard more
agreeable than we ever did."

By Don Passmore ?