Authors: K Martin Gardner
The Captain was confident in his preparation for the long arc.
A fortnight out from Rio, and he still hadn't given the order for battening down the newly loaded supplies.
He seemed unconcerned, and moreover, unusually happy following his brief carousing in port.
As the ship began to turn into the setting sun, he flitted about the deck cheerfully, even stopping to make idle conversation with random members of the working crew.
Arthur arrived topside fresh from supper in the galley where he had first met the Mate, ready to assume his evening watch.
The Captain approached him in the twilight, and smiled.
He said, "My good man Arthur, I have a new friend whom I would like you to meet."
Arthur was curious.
He asked, "And whom is that Captain?"
The Captain said, "You'll see.
Now, if you would kindly go to my cabin and open my wardrobe cabinet, you will see the newest addition to our crew.
Bring her to me, please."
Arthur obediently walked away quickly, and disappeared down a ladder hatch.
He searched his mind as he climbed down, trying to figure out whom the Captain could be referring to.
Arthur had been on the ship the whole time in port, so there was only one person he could imagine. He began to cringe.
He reached the Captain's dressing closet. He took a deep breath and hesitated.
It can’t be her
, he thought. He put aside his dread and flung open the doors.
There, hanging from the crossbar, was a large brass cage.
Inside, calm and regal, perched a large, green bird.
Arthur scratched his head.
Was I so busy during stores loading that I missed the bird?
He wondered.
Arthur lugged the heavy cage back to the Captain.
The Captain thanked him handsomely, and asked, "Have you ever seen a parrot before, Arthur?"
"No, Sah."
"I didn't think so.
It is a beautiful creature, don't you agree?"
“Yes, Sah,” he said, breathless partly from exertion, but more so from relief that he did not find the Captain’s wife.
"The parrot is traditionally a sailor's best friend.
Unlike the seagull which can be seen at sea sometimes far from land, the parrot will appear only when land is nearby.
Furthermore, once a parrot is onboard and out of sight of land, it will remain around the ship, come hellfire or hurricane.
Also, the parrot is quite affectionate, and it can be taught to speak.
Did you know that, Arthur?"
"No Sah."
"Well then, let this be a pleasant lesson for you.
This parrot is going to be my companion for the second leg of the trip.
The man I bought it from said that she is already domesticated, but she doesn't know any words yet.
I want you to help me take good care of our friend here, Arthur; but remember, I want to be the
only one
who teaches her to speak.
Is that clear?"
"Yes Sah."
The Captain said, "Very well, then."
He proceeded to open the cage.
He carefully placed a finger up to the bird's perch. It cautiously clasped onto his cuff.
He brought the bird out slowly, murmuring and cooing softly, and coaxed it onto his left shoulder.
He craned his neck, looking at the bird for a time. Confident that it would remain there, he turned to Arthur with a beaming smile.
The Captain said, "You see, Arthur, a soul mate in the making."
Arthur said, "Yes, Sah."
The Captain said, "That is all.
Carry on.
I will give you feeding instructions in the morning after we have cleared the Horn."
Arthur said, "Yes, Sir." He turned to walk away.
As he was approaching his post, he heard a strange, high voice from behind. “Please Mister Arthur!”
He turned on his heels in time to see the Captain, parrot on his shoulder, frozen in mid step down the ladder.
Arthur said, "I beg your pardon, Sir?"
The Captain said, "I did not say a word."
The parrot squawked, "Please Mister Arthur!”
The Captain hesitated. Suddenly, he flew into a rage, wildly waving his arms and circling the deck. The parrot began imitating his agitation, launching into a volley of loud, vulgar phrases, one right after the other, while clinging to the Captain’s shoulder.
The pair created a comical spectacle that sent the topside crew into hysteria.
The Captain, seeing his command deteriorating, lashed out with a final act of anger and flung the poor bird from his shoulder.
Dazed and confused, the parrot took flight into the early darkness of the approaching evening.
VI
Countless threats of flogging Arthur were thwarted by returned promises of mutiny; and the Captain and crew settled into an uneasy standoff in preparation for the coming test. The Captain knew he needed full cooperation from his crew at this crucial part of the journey, so he backed down, still knowing that Arthur was behind his new pet’s precociousness somehow.
The ship's entire operating system was overhauled:
Sails and masts were inspected; rigging was secured; hatches were battened; and portholes were bolted.
Heavy-weather clothing was issued and lashed to the deck at each watch station.
Stores and hardware were tied down.
Dishes were racked and strapped.
Leash lines were placed at the helm and bow.
Netting was fitted on the crow's nest.
Flags and pennants were hauled in.
Loose gear was stowed.
Hull fittings were sealed.
The bilge was pumped.
The deck was tarred.
The Captain's small windows were stopped with soft gum and boarded.
The rum and java were passed out among the crew just as the sun gave its final flash; and the Captain, putting on his lucky red hat, pointed out many playful penguins flanking the stripped and streamlined ship.
"We are close to making the turn." Broadcast the Captain, as he browsed and chatted with several of the men who stood ready on the lines.
The Captain then gave the order that the nets be run along the sides of the ship.
These formed a web, which being tightly integrated with the periphery of the ship, served as a platform of stop gates to save any person who did not succeed in competing with the stifling ocean and its crashing waves.
Arthur was sent up to the crow's nest to monitor the horizon.
He bolted himself within the cage securely.
Then came the task of counting down to the turn.
In the twilight, he was provided with the visual clues of both day and night.
In the darkening sky, he could see a bright, familiar northern star; and low where the rim of the setting sun glowed golden, he was able to make out a speck of land.
"Bearing ought-three-ought."
Arthur bellowed down to the Helmsman.
The Captain, standing next to the man at the wheel, gave him instructions to continue, “Steady as she goes.”
The evening was peaceful; and as the crystal clear sky turned indigo, Arthur mentally marked where the island had last appeared directly beneath the bright star.
"Bearing ought-four-ought."
Arthur yelled after a half hour of silence.
The Captain ordered steady course again. He knew that prevailing currents around The Horn would sweep the ship in an arc, helping him steer the true, desired course.
A bearing of forty degrees meant that the island around which he wanted to turn was out to the right at a modest angle.
When the call came that the horn was directly off the ship's starboard, then he would take the helm himself and turn the ship hard to the right, north.
"Eight O'clock and all is well!" came the cry from the roving watch on the forecastle.
Another half hour passed before Arthur exclaimed, "Bearing ought-five-ought!"
He thought he saw land approaching on the dark horizon, but he knew that the plan was to turn when the ship had sailed far south of the mark.
He yelled out in a concerned voice, "Captain, the Horn is getting closer!"
The Captain looked up, and then exchanged a confused glance with the Helmsman.
They both smiled and shrugged, as if to discount the opinion of their junior seaman.
The Captain chuckled and mumbled something about seeing flashes of white in the sky whenever Arthur spoke.
At roughly nine o’clock, Arthur called out, "Bearing ought-seven-ought!"
Having been ignored earlier, he remained silent about the immense dark mass looming dead ahead in the distance.
He heard the Captain and Helmsman laughing below, making small talk.
He heard the low voices of the relaxed crew.
He heard the gentle wind rustling in sails.
He heard the bow slicing through the calm water.
And as he ever so gently began to doze off in the darkness of the warm, night breeze, he heard the firing of a distant cannon. He awoke with a start. Something struck his face.
It was a single drop of rain.
Ten o’clock arrived, and Arthur shouted, "Bearing ought-eight-ought!"
He saw the Helmsman preparing to step aside as the Captain put on his rawhide gloves.
The two shrugged again, this time looking around the sky.
The rain began as a sprinkle.
A few sailors kicked at their weather gear, like children poking peas on a plate.
Instead they focused on readying the sails for the turn.
The Captain cried out across the deck to the First Mate, "Prepare to mark the turn!"
The First Mate yelled back, "Prepare to mark the turn, aye."
Jubilantly, Arthur exclaimed, "Bearing ought-nine-ought!"
The boat was now near the bottom of the Earth, at a ninety-degree angle to the tip of The Horn. A fitting place it was for the hellish events about to unfold.
The Captain stepped in to take the helm.
He cried out, "Mark!"
The First Mate yelled out, "Mark!"
The starboard crew laid hard into the lines and the sails roared in protest as the masts groaned.
The Captain arrested the wheel and wrestled it to leeward.
He leaned into the helm, calves straining, as the ship lurched and crackled loudly.
The ropes sang and the hull hummed, while the keel drummed on the choppy swells.
The rain joined the wind as they played the sails and pummeled the deck.
Suddenly, the wind shifted violently.
It seemed to blow straight down out of the sky, cascading heavily like a waterfall; and along with it came a torrent of water. The term
rain
would not apply, as there was an absence of any space between the droplets.
What fell that night onto the deck of The Elizabeth could only be described as solid streams, like gutter spill, of cold stinging water.
Before the sailors could set the lines, the weather followed its dramatic entrance onto the stage by performing a devastating duet with the wind that had suddenly decided to dance sideways to the frantic concerto.
The ropes were ripped from the raw hands of the riggers, the sail sheets were rented, and the boom slammed into the stay. The shudder of the impact threw the Captain from his precarious stance.
The wheel spun from his hands, causing the ship to pitch and tilt over in the opposite direction, all in one heaving sway.
Many of the crew were thrown to the deck, and the rest were blown and scattered about.
The sails flailed and flapped untied, tearing to tatters, as the lines whipped about in the wicked wind.