A Man of Honor

A Man of Honor

My earliest memories were of sitting on my father's lap, the embers of the fire casting pale shadows on the rough walls, and listening to stories of dragons and knights – tales of adventure and men of honor.

The last tendrils of mist were thinning as my father and I walked across the creaking planks of the dock in the pale shadowed morning.  I remember thinking that the gulls, which soared and greeted the rising light with their morning songs, must surely be chasing the grayness skyward.

As we approached the ship, I was amazed at the size of it and how much it looked like one of those mythical dragons I had imagined so many years before.  I found myself tracing the gray outlines that hovered in the growing brightness.  The tall masts, draped with canvas primly tied in neat gatherings, the seemingly endless length of her hull, and, suddenly, my eyes stopped.  Tall, in the prime of life, he stood gazing over the railing with eyes that saw all. Blue coated, brass buttoned, he seemed like God to my young eyes.

Such was my introduction to James G. Stark, Captain of His Majesty's Ship, The Gloriana. As I would learn, he was a man of determination and fair with his crew. As years passed, his reputation always followed with a fair wind. The one mystery that lingered, however, was that no one ever knew what the "G." stood for.  Below decks, he was the cause of much speculation but no one ever had the courage to ask.

Indentured at a young age, I began as his cabin boy.  "Billy," he would call and not once did I look askance. I would do whatever was demanded to the utmost of my ability... and I learned and grew.

As the years passed, I came to be called Bill and always I watched and learned. He always encouraged me, albeit seldom openly, as he oversaw my growth from his cabin boy to ordinary seaman to able bodied hand.  Often he would call me to stand with him at the helm and he would talk of the sea and the lady in his life... the Gloriana.

Occasionally, I found the courage to ask questions. Had he not been the Captain, perhaps we might have been friends. He oversaw my educaton, from swabbing a deck to checking directions using the stars. He sometimes shared adventures of his youth, but, when asked what had led him to a seafaring life, his answer always came back the same: "The answer's in the secret, boy... find the secret."

We lived the great adventures I had only imagined in my youth, seeing new lands, fighting against Neptune's fury as we battled storm tossed seas, and fighting of pirate renegades.  Always, I knew I could look toward the helm and the Captain would be standing there, strong as the mainmast, with a half smile on his lips and confidence would flood me.

I served with the Captain for 14 years, 7 months, 13 days... and a lifetime.

Rounding the Cape of Storms in late August, a storm came upon us suddenly, the kind that turns minutes to hours.  We ran before the storm but soon were engulfed in mountains of dark water that avalanched relentlessly.  A sharp crack filled the air and the mainsail, already tattered, came crashing down.

Foundering, the ocean showed no mercy and waves crashed over the bow gripping the Gloriana with watery hands, dragging at her weathered hull and refused to let her go.

"Land ho," came a cry and, faintly in the dying light, an island could be seen off the port bow... too little, too late.

"Bill!"  The Captain's voice cut though the storm from the helm and, without thinking, I found myself standing and looking into the implacable face of the Captain.  "Gather the crew and launch the long boats," he ordered.

I moved swiftly to carry out his command,  quickly organizing the crew, matching experience with strength, and soon had the boats lowered and away.

Finally, a single boat was left, swinging precariously over the water.  The ship was singing a dying song as water flooded her, forcing air up through the hatches.  The crack of splitting timbers told of her losing fight to stay afloat and there was little time left.

I rushed back to the Captain and told him we were ready but the look in his eyes told me I would be leaving alone. 

"Me and the lady have been through much over the years. I won't desert her in her final hour," he said with a finality in his voice that would book no argument.

Turning to look at me, his proud demeanor filling me with pride, he grasped my hand.  "The secret is to find your passion, William!  It will be your compass.  It will never guide you wrong."  Then, with a laugh he added, "I've heard the murmurs and whispers.  The "G." is for Gustavo.  My mother was Spanish!" 

With a final clasp, both of encouragement and good bye, he shoved me and I found myself scrambling over the listing deck and climbing aboard the last boat.  Deferentially, the crew moved allowing me to take the command position and, upon my nod, they cast away from the Gloriana for the last time.

As we headed toward the promised sanctuary, I looked back and Captain James Gustavo Stark saluted me and then disappeared from sight as waves propelled us forward.

Looking to the bow, I felt the sting of salt water burn my eyes, the tearing blurring my vision.  "Good bye Captain... good bye my lady," I muttered and suddenly, I found a half smile come upon my face.

"William" – he had called me William!  I felt my own life's compass come alive and with a sure hand, I steered toward the horizon and tomorrow.



Notes
Prompt: Image
Word Count: 978

Thank you for taking the time to read my words.  Please, take a few moments and leave a comment.  Criticism, praise , reactions... whatever crosses your mind is welcome.

Ken