Hell Ship The Flying Dutchman by Ben Hammott

Author:Ben Hammott [Hammott, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ben Hammott
Published: 2019-03-30T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Slave Ship Hannibal

After he had traded a few small rubies for some cash-the greedy merchantman receiving the better end of the deal-Tom set off to find a tavern where he could get a meal. With his hunger and thirst sated, he brought some new clothes. Though keen to return to his home in England, Tom couldn’t yet face setting to sea again with the nightmarish events so fresh in his mind. He sought out lodgings and booked a room for the duration of his stay, however long that proved to be.

Over the coming weeks, visiting sailors told of a ghost ship sailing the seas around the African coast that was sometimes seen flying above the waves. Due to the recent disappearance of the Fortuyn, its Dutch captain and crew, the spectral ship soon became known as the Flying Dutchman.

When Tom decided he had spent long enough in Cape Town, he pushed aside his fears and visited the busy port. It was a further month before he was able to book passage aboard a suitable ship to convey him back to England. A Dutch-owned wooden-hulled 700-ton East Indiaman, the Eendracht, captained by Dirk Hartog. The Eendracht was on its way home to Holland from a scientific expedition to Australia and would set sail in three days after restocking provisions. Tom would then purchase passage on a ship from Holland back to England.

Glancing up from his meal at the tavern where he ate almost daily, Tom observed the man, a sailor by his garb, who entered and rushed to the bar.

“Rum!” the man demanded.

The barkeeper eyed the scruffy-clothed seaman. “Let’s see yer means to pay first.” He had been duped too many times to get caught out again.

The haggard sailor duly complied and dumped a handful of coins on the counter. “Leave the bottle.”

The barkeeper placed the rum bottle and a jug in front of the man and counted out the cost from the coins.

“Yer seems a little worse fer wear,” commented a man taking a seat beside the sailor and eyeing the rum bottle longingly.

The free drink he hoped for wasn’t forthcoming.

Noticing the man’s covetous gaze upon his bottle, the sailor pulled it nearer to him. “So would yer if yer’d seen what these eyes of mine have been forced ter bear witness to.”

Still hopeful of receiving a free tickle of rum, the man placed his empty tankard on the bar in plain view of his newfound companion. “And what was it yer witnessed that’s shaken yer so?”

The sailor stared at the man. “Sea monsters! Evil fiends from the deep that killed most of me fellow crewmen; that’s what.”

Tom’s ears pricked up at the mention of sea monsters.

“Sea monsters, was it?” commented the man in a disbelieving tone. Sailors were always talking about the weird sights they’d allegedly seen at sea. Rum visions, he called them.

“It was,” stated the sailor. “Devils from below Davy Jones would be afeared of.” He took another healthy swig of rum.

Realizing he wasn’t going to

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