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This is Part 3 of a three-part serialization. Read Part 1 and Part 2.
IV. MISERY
My men were dehydrated and hungry. I doubled their rations of the remaining flour, which led to more vomiting and dying. There was nothing that would please them.
Then I heard a voice crying out from the distance. “Good God, man, just dock your ship over here!” I licked my cracked, bloody lips and squinted across the water. Had I imagined it? “I have food and water,” the voice continued. “Lots of ham sandwiches. Just toss me a line.”
The surviving men gathered on deck and gazed at the ominous figure on the opposite bank from which we’d launched. We knew much less about the inhabitants of that neighborhood.
“Cannibal,” I muttered. “He’s a cannibal, and he’s tricking us.” Then, louder, “From whence comes the meat in said ham sandwiches? Answer that or you’ll see our stern!” My men cheered weakly.
“I have ham sandwiches,” the savage said more quietly, feigning confusion.
“McGann, set sail for Tahiti,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Aye, aye, sir,” McGann said, then died and, considering the greater good, lined it up so that his body flopped overboard and didn’t have to be wrapped in a flag, and prayed over and all that.
Moments later, Tover McCloon lacked the same civility and allowed his dead body to fall on deck. I commanded that we begin our usual little ceremony. But my crew didn’t budge. Their hunger and thirst were beginning to overwhelm their ability to execute mini-funerals. Ironically, as we inched away from the cannibal on the far shore, we found ourselves debating the pros and cons of eating McCloon. On the one hand, he’d been a loyal shipmate and friend. On the other, a little food in our bellies would surely bolster our energy levels.
“Please don’t do it!” called his widow from shore. We took this into account, but knew she was biased, having been married to him. I’m unproud to say we hesitantly passed forks and knives around and closed our eyes, and did that awful deed and got extremely full from it, and therefore napped, appropriately ashamed, but also very sleepy.
V. VICTORY
As I would write years later in my book, “How to Sail and Conquer,” having an entire crew and its captain nap at the same time is tempting fate. The Fortitude drifted too close to the cannibal shore and its hull was ripped open by a dock. I woke to find water gathering in the hull. I shook my napping crew, but they’d all died of scurvy and/or been bitten to death by rats, drowned, etc.
The Fortitude was lowering herself into the Thames a few feet per hour, and there was nothing I could do. The gods seemed hellbent on me never kissing a topless Tahitian. And, being realistic, I realized the gods would not even allow me to see the next sunset.
I’d never learned to swim and so, with a sheepish glance toward my father, I lay down to nap again, hoping I could be asleep when I drowned, if that was a thing.
I woke an hour later, feeling frustrated that I’d have to drown awake, but found that a bit of providence had finally shone upon me. The river’s level had lowered, and I could make out a sort of bridge to shore, composed of crewmembers’ bodies.
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