[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman

“I am Vanderdecken, master of the Flying Dutchman! I take orders from neither God nor man! Nothing can stop me, nothing in this world or the heavens above. Cower in your cabins or throw yourselves into the waters, what need have I of worthless wharf dregs who call themselves sailors. Sailors. I will show you a sailor, a captain! As soon as I have this ship rigged and ready, I set course again for Tierra del Fuego! I will take my vessel ’round the Horn single-handed. Do you hear, single-handed. Stand in my path and I will slay you all!”

7

NOT ONE SOUL ABOARD THOUGHT that he could ready the ship for sail alone. But Vanderdecken did it. All night and half a day he could be heard, banging, clattering, scaling the masts, dragging sailcloth from lockers, reeving lines, and lashing yards. His final mad act was to slash the sheet anchors free, fore and aft, then he dashed to the steering wheel and bound himself to it. The Flying Dutchman took the swell of the gale as it struck her stern. Off into the seas the battered craft sped, like a fleeing stag pursued by the hounds of hell into the midwinter wastes of the ocean, headed again for Cape Horn and destiny.

One week later the food and water ran out. Without the captain’s protection now, Neb was left to fend for himself. The boy had never been so frightened before. Now, bolting the galley door, he fortified it by jamming the table and empty barrels against it. Whenever a crewman hauled himself across the swaying, rolling decks to bang upon the galley door, Denmark’s hackles rose and he barked and snarled like a wild beast until the crewman went away.

Each time the ship lost way and was driven back in the pounding melee of blue-green waves, Vanderdecken screeched and raved, his sanity completely gone, tearing at his hair and shaking a bloodless fist at the seas and sky, sometimes laughing, other times weeping openly in his delirium.

On the first day following that dreadful week, the Flying Dutchman was driven backward for the third time by a howling hurricane of wind, snow, and rain. But straight to the east the vessel careered this time, sails torn, masts cracked, shipping water that sloshed about in empty holds from which the last scraps of cargo had been jettisoned to save the ship.

Then by some perverse freak of nature the weather suddenly becalmed itself! An olive-hued stillness hung upon the Atlantic; rain, snow, and wind ceased. Startled by the sudden change, Neb and his dog came out on deck. The crew deserted their accommodation, creeping out furtively into the dull afternoon. It was as if heaven and all the elements were conspiring to play some pitiless joke on the Flying Dutchman.

“Eeeeaaaarrrggghhh!” All hands turned to watch Vanderdecken, for it was he who had roared like a condemned man being dragged to execution. With his sword he was feverishly hacking at the ropes that bound him to the ship’s wheel. Tearing himself loose, oblivious to the onlookers, he jabbed the blade skyward and began hurling abuse, at the weather, at the failure. . . . At the Lord!

Even though the crew were men hardened to the vilest of oaths, they were riveted speechless by their captain’s blasphemy. Neb fell on his knees and hugged the dog that stood guarding him. Across on the eastern horizon, bruised dull skies gave way to immense banks of jet-black thunderclouds, building up out of nowhere. With fearsome speed they boiled and rumbled until they darkened the daylight overhead.

Simultaneously, a bang of thunder shook the very ocean and a colossal chain of crackling lightning ripped the clouds apart. Men covered their eyes at the unearthly scene. The green lights of Saint Elmo’s fire caught every spar, mast, and timber of the vessel, illuminating the Flying Dutchman in an eerie green glow. Vanderdecken fell back against the wheel, eyes staring, mouth gaping as the green-flamed swordblade fell from his nerveless grasp. Neb had buried his face in the dog’s coat, but as Denmark crouched flat, he unwittingly allowed his master this view.

A being, not of this earth, was hovering just above the deck. It was neither man nor woman, tall and shining white, bearing a great sword. It turned and pointed the sword at Vanderdecken. Its voice, when it spoke, was like a thousand harps strummed by winds, ranging out over the sea, beautiful yet terrifying. “Mortal man, you are but a grain of sand in the mighty ocean. Your greed and your cruelty and your arrogance turned your tongue against your Maker. Henceforth, and for all the days of time, this ship, with you and all upon it, are lost to the sight of heaven. You will sail the waters of the world for eternity!”