|
Copyright © 1998 Mark Collins.
All rights reserved and reproduction without written permission expressly prohibited.
So Sails the Slow Ship
The ship Sister Cistelle was grafted to the rocks; upon her were the pirates Tam would
never see again: Filthy Pete, Merthy Meg, Mouldy Martin, Blind Bruce and Rutter. Their
bodies
would now be washed and swayed by the sea, trapped within the decks. How could he bury them?
He could not, he knew. Let the fish take their eyes! For now he was alone, all alone. And he did not
know if he even cared.
He had loved the confinement of the ship, finding safety within the creaking cabins. He had
found security in the proximity of the crew, the bullying, barracking and comradeship. He liked
the closeness of the unwashed bodies, their sweat, odour, their grease and even their farting. Any of the men
had rarely been more than six feet apart from another. But none of them could help him
now. Now suddenly alone the next few weeks survival would be all the more awesome, here,
upon this Caribbean island in the middle of nowhere. There would be no one to share his
labours. Yes, let the fish gnaw at their bones!
[End of this extract. The full story was published in
Gravity's Angels]
|
