July 12th, 1896
Now, we pass almost nothing. There is little but dark water and the false stars. There was a curious thing I noted about the uniforms. I saw the name on the Indecorous Deckhand’s uniform was that of a Charles, but she was most assuredly a woman. I began to notice other irregularities. Some zailor’s uniforms were missing buttons, others had been darned and stitched. I asked the Indecorous Deckhand about her lapel. She whispered to meet her in the stockroom at 10:00 (pm, or what passed for it).
Later, I asked the Captain when he joined us at dinner where he outfitted his crew, explaining the slight deficiencies. He smiled, both embarrassed and impressed. “You have a sharp eye.”
“The chandlery business, I suppose. One has to be aware of the flaws of candles.”
“Well, I buy deficient uniforms from the Admiralty. It’s cheap, but they’re still of fine quality. Good enough for the Zee, at least.”
At 9:55, I skunk away from the deck, and to the port side lavatory. Then, as carefully as I could at my age, I tiptoed quietly into the storeroom. I must admit, I would make quite a fine thief. But my self congratulations was cut short when I turned on the lights and looked about the room. There were the normal things aboard a ship, but I noted a pile in the back.
It was made out of fine clothes, jewelry, shoes, purses and wallets with Echoes. And on top, a violin and other small treasures. I felt cold, colder than the air of the Zee. For I realized this pile was bigger than that of the crew. No crew would leave their things so disorganized in here. This was the things of the passengers. My eyes drifted to the top of the pile. The Captain mentioned a violinist that had came on board. And there, near the top, were the clothes with which I had entrusted the Captain with to launder, confirming my fears. I moved to the back of the room, and I was further horrified. Behind crates that had blocked my view there was another pile. Bloodied white uniforms. Admiralty uniforms, stained brownish red with dried blood, some almost slashed to ribbons.
I stood there for God knows how long, when I heard footsteps down the gangplank near the entrance. I looked around, and with some regret, hid in the pile of bloody uniforms. I am certain I will never forget the smell of death enveloping me and the feeling of my heart pounding in fear.
The Captain’s voice came from outside the door. “Why are you coming here?” I was uncertain if he was talking to me, but then I heard the Indecorous Deckhand speak. “Captain, please. Can-can we hold a funeral for the violinist?”
“He endangered us. Unwilling or not, you follow the captain’s decisions.” A knife was pulled from its sheath. “Am I clear?” The Deckhand quietly said yes. “What would you even need from here?”
“His violin. I know you had to throw him overboard, but he deserved a song with his own violin at least. It’ll help morale.” The Captain grunted. “Well, get it then. But who’s going to play it now?”
“We can find someone.”
She moved, climbing to the top of the pile.
“Wait. Is someone else in here?”
I held my breath. I could see the Deckhand move into view. She saw me, and with her back to the Captain, carefully put a finger to her lips. Then she stalked to the crates. “I don’t see anyone. But…” She thrust open the crates. “No, there’s no one.” She moved to the door, and shut it behind her.
I waited for a while, before I burst from the pile, and returned to the deck.
The Captain tapped his glass. “My passengers, my crew. A few days ago we lost a fine man and a fine violinist. But he would not want to be remembered with sadness, but with wine and song!” He raised his glass, as did the rest of us. He then asked for violin players. I appeared to be the only one, and so I volunteered. I barely could handle walking to the Captain and taking the violin.
I asked for a crew member to sing, and I whispered to him. We broke out into a rendition of ‘The Man O’ War’- where the singer is pressed into service. I searched the crowd, and I met the eyes of the Indecorous Deckhand, who slightly nodded to me.
I almost faltered, but certain the Captain was watching, I continued on. As I finished, I looked over the crowd, unaware of the danger of the man who had promised them a tour of the Zee.
I then sang of Fiddler’s Green, the zailor’s paradise. Two funerals already. But I was determined to remember the violinist, and in a small way, spite the Captain.