The crew was celebrating. Connor looked on from the wheel, his head resting on his arms. Anchor had been dropped for the night, and the men had decided to bring out some of the ship’s spirits and drink. A few of them must have had something stronger hidden away in their bunks, because Connor knew that most of them had had only one or two mugs of grog.
Faulkner had begged off for a few hours to join the men; Connor had granted it, knowing that he would keep the men in line. It would not be the first time they had done this, but hopefully they would be able to take their stations in the morning without too much complaint. The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, and after two weeks at sail and a successful battle, they deserved a night of revelry.
“Do you not keep your crew in line?”
Connor turned to see his father coming out of the Captain’s cabin. He had given it to the older man to keep him separate from the crew, which had turned out to be a good idea. Haytham might consider himself to be rather knowledgeable about the high seas, but the comments he had made during their voyage had made the crew less than pleased. Connor shrugged in answer to his question, looking back to the celebration on the deck. Some of them had started to sing, their voices carrying in the windless night.
“I doubt we’ll be able to sail in the morning,” Haytham said, coming to stand next to him.
“They will be well,” Connor replied, quirking his lips as the song reached them.
“That deep in their cups? I highly doubt it,” Haytham said. “Even Hickey knew better than to sail with a hangover.”
“My men live on the sea,” Connor said, his eyes going over to his father. “Landlubbers do not hold their liquor as well as we do.”
“I have yet to see you drink anything of that sort.”
“I do not care for it,” Connor told him. Haytham rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “Occasionally I will join them, but I thought it a bad idea at this time.”
“Afraid I might do something?” Haytham asked, leaning on the rail.
“I do not trust you,” Connor reminded him.
“What must I do to prove that I mean you no harm while we work together?” he huffed. More men had joined into the chorus, revealing its nature. Haytham straightened, crossing his arms. “And these are the sort of men you would trust before me?”
Connor shrugged, mouthing the words to the song into his arms. Haytham exhaled deeply, his foot tapping on the deck.
“You do not have to listen,” Connor reminded him.
“I can hear it even in my current accommodations.”
Connor shrugged again, enjoying the look of annoyance that Haytham gave him at the motion. The song wound to a close, the men taking deep drinks.
“And I suppose you think this is appropriate for your men,” Haytham scoffed. “It’s a wonder you are able to even function in normal society.”
Connor rolled his eyes and stood. He looked Haytham in the eyes, seeing the older man’s wariness at his change in disposition. Before Haytham could say anything, he vaulted over the railing to the men and took a mug offered to him.
“Twas on the good ship Venus,” he began to sing, “By Christ you should have seen us,”
“The figurehead was a whore in bed,” Faulkner joined in. The crew began to join in, happy to see their captain joining them.
“And the mast a rampant penis,” Connor continued. He took a swig of grog, letting the men continue the song. He looked up to the wheel where his father still stood. Haytham shook his head and walked away. Connor smiled, and joined in the second verse.
Shanties
The crew was celebrating. Connor looked on from the wheel, his head resting on his arms. Anchor had been dropped for the night, and the men had decided to bring out some of the ship’s spirits and drink. A few of them must have had something stronger hidden away in their bunks, because Connor knew that most of them had had only one or two mugs of grog.
Faulkner had begged off for a few hours to join the men; Connor had granted it, knowing that he would keep the men in line. It would not be the first time they had done this, but hopefully they would be able to take their stations in the morning without too much complaint. The crew seemed to be enjoying themselves, and after two weeks at sail and a successful battle, they deserved a night of revelry.
“Do you not keep your crew in line?”
Connor turned to see his father coming out of the Captain’s cabin. He had given it to the older man to keep him separate from the crew, which had turned out to be a good idea. Haytham might consider himself to be rather knowledgeable about the high seas, but the comments he had made during their voyage had made the crew less than pleased. Connor shrugged in answer to his question, looking back to the celebration on the deck. Some of them had started to sing, their voices carrying in the windless night.
“I doubt we’ll be able to sail in the morning,” Haytham said, coming to stand next to him.
“They will be well,” Connor replied, quirking his lips as the song reached them.
“That deep in their cups? I highly doubt it,” Haytham said. “Even Hickey knew better than to sail with a hangover.”
“My men live on the sea,” Connor said, his eyes going over to his father. “Landlubbers do not hold their liquor as well as we do.”
“I have yet to see you drink anything of that sort.”
“I do not care for it,” Connor told him. Haytham rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. “Occasionally I will join them, but I thought it a bad idea at this time.”
“Afraid I might do something?” Haytham asked, leaning on the rail.
“I do not trust you,” Connor reminded him.
“What must I do to prove that I mean you no harm while we work together?” he huffed. More men had joined into the chorus, revealing its nature. Haytham straightened, crossing his arms. “And these are the sort of men you would trust before me?”
Connor shrugged, mouthing the words to the song into his arms. Haytham exhaled deeply, his foot tapping on the deck.
“You do not have to listen,” Connor reminded him.
“I can hear it even in my current accommodations.”
Connor shrugged again, enjoying the look of annoyance that Haytham gave him at the motion. The song wound to a close, the men taking deep drinks.
“And I suppose you think this is appropriate for your men,” Haytham scoffed. “It’s a wonder you are able to even function in normal society.”
Connor rolled his eyes and stood. He looked Haytham in the eyes, seeing the older man’s wariness at his change in disposition. Before Haytham could say anything, he vaulted over the railing to the men and took a mug offered to him.
“Twas on the good ship Venus,” he began to sing, “By Christ you should have seen us,”
“The figurehead was a whore in bed,” Faulkner joined in. The crew began to join in, happy to see their captain joining them.
“And the mast a rampant penis,” Connor continued. He took a swig of grog, letting the men continue the song. He looked up to the wheel where his father still stood. Haytham shook his head and walked away. Connor smiled, and joined in the second verse.