CHAPTER 2

Weeds

The storm, formidable and ferocious, had come out of nowhere, as is often the case around the Cape of Good Hope, often referred to as the Cape of Storms, and tossed about the Dutch Indian ship, the Fortuyn, as if it was a child’s toy. Brutal and savage, the gale-ravaged waves smashed against the hull, as if trying to destroy the obstruction in its path. Something its crew suspected was likely from the disquieting creak of timbers. Spray constantly washed over the deck from all sides and drenched the anxious sailors battling the tempest that had appeared so suddenly they’d had no time to set the sails for bad weather; a task they were now forced to do.

Tossed about by the erratic movements of the ship, the crew climbing the rigging, whipped back and forth by strong gusts, and those working on rain slick wooden yardarms with heavy, water-soaked canvas, tried to prevent themselves from being thrown off to be dashed to the deck far below or ditched into the merciless sea. Both would prove equally fatal. The air was chocked with the angry sea’s salty stench that worked its way into every crevice, above and below decks.

The Dutch captain of the stricken vessel, Bernard Fokke, steadied his stance against the swaying quarterdeck and peered through his telescope at the distant ship far beyond the bow. The Maira, his companionship vessel for the voyage from Batavia to Amsterdam, was also a ship of the Dutch East India Company. Though both ships were of a similar design and size, and on the same tack, the Maira, strangely, had made better headway and was drawing quickly from their sight. The Fortuyn seemed unusually sluggish, as if Neptune or the Devil, held them back.

Fokke glanced up at the flapping sails and thrumming lines where men high on the stern mast’s yardarms furled the sails to prevent the ship from slewing in the gusts, which could prove disastrous in a storm this powerful. He switched his focus to the men on the foremast, occupied with double-reefing the mainsail and foretopsail and then looked at the billowing jib as he pondered the notion of bringing more sail into play in the hope they’d make more headway against the storm. If they could round the Cape they’d be out of the worst of it and might be able to reach Cape Town. His gaze flicked to the turbulent sky when the dark clouds flashed with internal lightning that illuminated their swirling masses. He watched as they gathered together, shutting out what was left of the daylight, blanketing the erratically tossed and rolling ship in gloom as thick as the crews’ dismal mood. As thunder rolled through the heavens, rain fell, adding to the crew’s misery.

“Light the lanterns,” shouted the boatswain from the middeck, his booming voice loud enough to be heard against the wind screaming across the ship like phantom banshees rejoicing in the crew and ship’s distress, willing all to their doom.

Fokke gazed the length of his struggling vessel. He could barely see the forecastle in the darkness shrouding his ship. Patches of orange light, barely adequate to chase away the shadows, appeared along the decks when lanterns were lit.

First mate Collas Drasbart, gripped the rail when a powerful swell lifted the ship before slamming it back into the sea with a violent jolt. Men knocked from their feet, slid across the sloping deck and grabbed at the rail to stop themselves being flung into the swirling ocean. A man overboard in this weather wouldn’t last long.

“Perhaps we should consider turning about to seek a safe harbor until the storm blows itself out, Captain?” suggested Drasbart.

Fokke turned his head to his first mate. The captain was renowned for the speed of his trips to and from the lucrative Netherlands to Java trade route, causing some to suspect him of being in league with the Devil. His secret was that he used a different route to most, that took advantage of favorable winds and currents, shaving weeks off the trip. “We press on,” stated the captain firmly. “We’ve ridden through worse and survived, so I don’t expect us to falter this time.”

“Aye, sir.” Drasbart frowned at the huge rolling swells. Luckily, they had a full hold to give the ship some stability against the raging weather.

Fokke turned his head to the helmsman when the bow turned slightly and saw him straining on the wheel. “Hannigan!” he shouted to be heard. “Straighten her up man before we turn side on to the waves.”

Grunting from his efforts to turn the wheel, it was exactly what Hannigan was attempting to accomplish. If they turned broadside to the weather, they would likely be broached. A capsize was what all sailors feared, especially in a storm as ferocious as the one they were caught in. “There’s something wrong, Captain,” he shouted back. “She’s fighting me.”

Shoving his spyglass into his first mate’s hand, Fokke crossed to the wheel and grabbed it. Between them they slowly turned the ship bow into the storm again.

The boatswain, Hans Janzen, had felt the ship turn and sensing something was amiss, climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. Spying the helmsman and captain fighting the wheel, he grabbed one of the ropes used to hold the wheel in place, slipped the noose over a wheel spoke and pulled it tight to take up the slack.

Letting go of the wheel, Fokke nodded his thanks to his boatswain. “She’s pulling to starboard for some reason.”

“Aye, I noticed, sir,” said Hans. “Storm damaged the rudder, you think?”

“Aint’ that,” stated Hanigan confidently. “Something’s pulling her.”

Hanigan was an experience helmsman and one of the best he had sailed with, so Fokke trusted his judgment. “Could the current be responsible?”

Hanigan shook his head. “Unlikely, sir. Feels more like a fouled rudder.”

“If that’s the case there’s nothing we can do to remedy it until the storm’s released us,” said Hans.

Staring at the creaking rope straining with holding the wheel from turning, Fokke cursed his luck. “Let’s double lash the wheel in case she goes the other way. And get two men up here to assist Hannigan keeping us headways until the storm’s passed.”

“Aye, Captain,” acknowledged the boatswain, moving swiftly to double-lash the wheel before climbing down to the middeck to choose two men to aid the helmsmen.

Fokke crossed to his first mate and took back his spyglass, now useless in this light. “I’ll be in my cabin if I’m needed.”

“Aye, sir.” As the captain left, Drasbart walked to the front of the quarterdeck and peered down at men rigging safety lines and adding an extra rope around one of the large water barrels that showed signs of breaking free. He directed his gaze upon the cabin boy who suddenly appeared from below deck, rushed to the rail and spewed his dinner over the side. A flash of lightning lit up his sickly pallor. It was the boy’s first voyage. At fifteen years old, he was the youngest soul aboard. Drasbart descended the steps.

Tom Hardy retched until his guts were empty. When lightning flashed its stark light on the furious waves, he noticed something around the hull.

“Don’t worry, son, it’ll pass.”

Tom wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he turned to the first mate. “Sorry, sir.”

“No apology required, young Tom. This storm is rough enough to send the hardiest sailors to the rail.”

“I think I saw something, sir. In the sea by the ship.”

“Yer did?” Drasbart moved to the rail and gripping it with his hands to prevent from being launched over the side by the lurching ship, peered down.” If there was anything below, the darkness concealed it.”

“I think it was kelp, sir,” answered Tom, fighting down the bile his churning stomach hurled up his throat.

Drasbart gazed around the heaving deck and spying the boatswain, called out, “Hans, bring me a lantern.”

Hans was at his side in moments. “Here’s the lantern, sir.”

“Hold it over the side. Tom said he saw weed along the hull.”

Doing as instructed, Hans joined Drasbart and Tom peering down at the mass of seaweed highlighted by the lantern’s glow. The thick leaves were about a foot wide and three times that long. Some of the broader, rounder leaves, had strange, elongated flowers spouting from them, their petals closed against the tempest.

“Storm must have dragged it from the seabed,” offered Hans.

Drasbart took the lantern and shone it along the side of the ship. Stretching out a few yards from the hull, the weed continued sternward. On some of the leaves, attached by a finger-thick stalk, was an object the size of a slightly stretched ostrich egg. Translucent in the lantern light, there was something dark within. Tendrils sprouting from the stalks holding the leaves together in a leafy net, had what looked like suckers on their tips and swayed serpent-like in the air. Whether by purpose or put into motion by the storm was difficult to determine.

Hans swept his eyes over the sucker tendrils nearest the hull to find they were attached to the ship. “The damn stuff’s holding on to us,” he exclaimed. “It must think we’re a rock or something.”

With a creased brow, Drasbart looked at the boatswain. “You ever seen kelp like this before?”

Hans shook his head. “But the sea’s full of strangeness and she aint none too quick to give up her secrets.”

“What’s that over there?” called out the sharp-eyed cabin boy when another lightning flash lit up the ocean.

Drasbart directed the light where the boy pointed and all three stared at the dolphin snared by the seaweed. Its lack of struggles indicated it was no longer alive. Sucker-tipped tendrils attached to the dolphin, throbbed steadily, as if something was being drawn through them.

“It seems to be feeding on the dolphin,” said Hans, shocked by the revelation.

“Plants don’t eat animals, do they?” asked Tom, fascinated, his nausea temporary forgotten.

Drasbart shrugged. “It seems this type does.”

When he held the lantern higher, five more dolphins being feasted on by the flesh-eating plant were exposed. Some were little more than bones stripped of flesh.

Hans pointed at one of the roundish, egglike objects. “What do yer think those things are?”

Bran shrugged. “Seed pods, I suppose.”

“At least this explains what’s been slowing the ship down and likely fouled the rudder,” said Hans.

“We’d better let the captain know.” Drasbart turned to the cabin boy. “Tom, go inform the captain of what we’ve found here and see if he wants to come se e.”

“Aye, sir.” Using one of the safety lines to steady his footing, Tom headed for the captain’s cabin.

Drasbart turned to Hans. “Let’s check around the ship to see the extent of the weed that has us in its grasp.”

Han’s grabbed another lantern and together they walked along the rail intermittently shining the light over the side.

*****

The captain sat at his desk writing up the storm in the ship’s log. Hampered by the rolling ship and the two lanterns swinging above the desk and the map table in the middle of the room, that constantly threw moving shadows across his work, he gave up, closed the book and stowed it in the desk drawer.

Fokke turned to the door when a soft knock rapped upon it. “Enter.”

“What is it, Tom?” enquired the captain, when the cabin boy entered.

“Mr. Drasbart sent me ter inform yer there’s seaweed around the ship, sir. Some kind of strange kelp which eats dolphins.”

Fokke’s eyebrows rose disbelievingly at the extraordinary news as he scrutinized the lad. “Dolphin eating kelp is it, me lad?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. It also has hold of the ship. Boatswain thinks it’s what’s slowing the ship and fouled the rudder.”

Finding it hard to believe but finding no sign of deceit in the lad’s face, Fokke rose from his seat and crossed to the bay window almost stretching the width of his cabin. Wind and sea spray blasted him when he opened a window and poked his head out. His gaze down at the mass slightly darker than the sea, proved the truth of the boy’s report. Pulling his head in, he unhooked a lantern and returned to the window. The lamplight picked out the tendrils attaching the strange kelp of a variety he hadn’t come across previously and stretched out behind the ship like a bride’s train. Some had climbed so far up the stern they were close enough to touch. He focused his gaze and the light on the nearest of the bizarre pods dotted across the kelp and wondered the nature of the dark thing within. If it was edible, it might be a welcome source of fresh food. Payback for its inconvenience.

Fokke pulled his head inside and held his hand out to the boy. “You got your knife with you, Tom?”

Nodding, Tom pulled his knife from its sheaf around his waist as he crossed the room and placed it in the captain’s hand.

Fokke handed Tom the lantern. “Hold it by the glass so the light shines through.”

Tom did as he was ordered and pressing his nose against the cold glass, watched the captain stretch down and cut free one of the pods.

After bringing it inside, he crossed to the map table and placed it on top.

Tom fastened the window and not sure what to do next, crossed to the table and observed the captain cutting along one the edge of the pod. Both he and the captain gasped when something flopped out with a squelch, filling the room with stagnant stench.

Both stared at the small creature covered in clear gelatin substance. After a few seconds of stillness, it jerked, and began to squirm weakly. What seemed to be an umbilical cord attached to its belly, slipped out of the severed stalk and oozed a dark substance. As if smelling the foul goo, the creature unfurled its two front limbs, dug the single talon that tipped each one into the table and dragged itself around to it. A long, thin tongue slithered from its mouth and lapped up the black sludge. When that was gone, it started eating its umbilical cord.

“I’ve never seen the like,” stated Fokke, staring intensely at the strange sea creature.

Its long, thin body was varying shades of green mottled with patches of uneven brown spots. Though difficult to tell due to them being furled around its body, it seemed to have at six limbs. Four towards its rear and the two spindly arm appendages at the front, below its neck. Its pointed head had a stubby tusk protruding from the top of its upper jaw. The captain watched in fascination as the creature’s tiny, sharp teeth ripped into its self-cannibalistic meal. If it had eyes, it hadn’t revealed them yet.

“It’s a strange beast, true enough,” said Tom, a little scared of the vicious creature. Will yer throw it back into the sea, Captain?” he asked hopefully.

Fokke dragged his gaze away from the feasting creature and looked at the boy. Ever conscious of making a profit, he had a better idea. The strange new species might be worth something to someone. “No, find something to catch it in. Something we can seal.”

Though uncertain it was a good idea, Tom wasn’t about to argue. He moved off to find a suitable container.

The captain’s halted his rush out the door. “You should find something in the hold, if not ask the purser.”

Tom nodded and closed the door after his exit.

Fokke poked at the creature with the knife and gasped, snatching his hand away when the creature reacted with such speed its movements were impossible to follow. It leapt at what attacked it, wrapped its limbs around it and clamped it teeth on as best it could. Its jaw horn spilt open. A thin tendril shot out and stabbed at the knife, as if trying to penetrate it. When it failed to do so, the tendril retracted into the horn, which closed again. The creature released its hold on the thing that could not be killed or eaten and returned to devouring its cord.

“Will this do, Captain?” asked Tom, entering.

Taken aback by the creature’s viciousness and speed against an attacker, Fokke glanced at the small, empty wooden rum barrel Tom held and nodded.

Tom plucked his knife from the table, prized off the lid and looked at the creature. “How do yer want to do this, sir? Will yer pick it up and drop it in?”

After what he had just seen, Fokke wasn’t certain he wanted to do it at all. He certainly wasn’t going put his hands anywhere near the vicious thing. “We’ll put the barrel over it and then slide the lid underneath to trap it inside.” He took the cask from Tom. “We’ll have to be quick though, it’s a fast bugger.”

“I assure you, Captain, there won’t be no dilly-dallying on my part.”

“Okay, get ready?”

Concentrating on the creature that had returned to its feast, Tom held the lid ready.

Fokke stretched the open end of the barrel towards the creature and then suddenly lunged at it. He slammed the barrel down atop the creature. It screeched angrily it seemed, at its imprisonment and scratched franticly at the cask.

“Quick, slide the lid under while I release the pressure slightly,” ordered Fokke.

Worried the infuriated thing would attack if it got free, Tom placed the lid on the table beside the barrel slipped it under. He felt the creature attacking the lid as he slid it in until only a slither of it remained showing. “That’s as far as I can get it, yer need to come my way a touch.”

Fokke glanced at the askew lid and shifted the barrel until it dropped over the lid. Due to the recess in the cast top, they wouldn’t be able to secure it firmly in place until it was turned over.

“Now what, Captain?”

“Stand back. I’m going to get a hand underneath and flip it over.”

Tom backed towards the door, prepared to rush out if the creature escaped.

Fokke took a deep breath, slid the cask to the edge of the table so it overhung slightly and pressed his fingers against the lid. Inch by inch he slid the cask off the table until he had his whole hand pressed against the lid. In a quick movement, he turned the barrel over and put it on the table. Holding the top firmly with one hand, he thumped the lid with the edge of his fist until it was seated firmly in place. As the creature scratched frantically at the walls of its prison, Fokke slowly released his hand.

Fokke let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and smiled at his accomplice. “We did it, Tom.”

Tom nodded. “Will it be able to breath in there?”

Fokke looked at the cask. “Good point.” He unscrewed the dispensing tap. The small hole should let enough air in. “Tom, go fetch the carpenter and bring him back here with a hammer and some small nails to secure the cask lid. When that’s done, put it in that chest,” he pointed to a large sea chest against one wall, “and then come and find me to let me know the task’s been done.”

“Aye, sir.” Tom headed for the door.

“And Tom, you did good,” said Fokke.

Tom smiled. “Thank you, Captain.” He went to fetch the carpenter.

Wondering what part of Hell the sea had dragged this strange creature from, Fokke stared at the small claw it poked through the hole and prodded around the edge, as if testing the strength of its prison. Surely such a unique species would be worth something to someone. A zoo, museum or one of those traveling shows that display the unusual, and at times, horrific, oddities of human and animal deformities. Grabbing his coat, he headed topside to find out the full extent of the weed problem.

*****

Drasbart and Hans had done a complete circumference of the ship to determine the scope of the kelp problem, and it wasn’t good news.

“If there was any doubt before, there’s not now. The weed is slowing us down, but what’s more of a concern, is that it has fouled the rudder,” said Hans. “If the storm carries us towards the Cape and the rocks, we might not be able to turn away.

*****

Stepping into the brunt of the storm, Fokke heaved the door shut. With windborne spray and rain pricking his face, he gripped one of the safety lines to keep his balance and searched for his first mate. He spied him at the port rail with the boatswain. Fighting the roll of the ship, he crossed to them.

“How bad is it?”

Drasbart turned to see the captain beside him, peering over the rail at the kelp highlighted in the boatswain’s lantern light. “Stretches from midship to stern and seems to be creeping toward the bow, sir.”

“We’ll have to cut it free?” stated the captain.

“Will be difficult in this weather,” replied Drasbart.

“Nevertheless,” said Fokke. “See that’s it done.”

The first mate nodded. “Aye, sir.” And watched the captain head for the quarterdeck.

“We might be able to free it with the boathooks,” suggested Hans.

Drasbart nodded. “Do it. Get as many as we’ve got and share them amongst the men. Divide them into pairs so one holds the man with the boathook to stop him falling overboard.”

Hans moved off to his task while the first mate returned to the quarter deck and explained the pan to the captain.

“All being well that will see the end to the problem and we can start making some headway against the storm.”

“Hopefully that’ll be the case, sir,” said Drasbart. “It does explain our inability to keep up with the Maira.”

“We’ll still beat her back home to Amsterdam,” stated Fokke confidently.

Next Chapter: Chapter 3