The name's Harry Larkington, former able-bodied seaman, HMS Panther. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm sailin' in the waters of the south Atlantic on my yacht Valerie. Sun's almost down, and I'm ready for a nip of rum and some grub.
The world of the 22nd century has been tough to get used to, though it ain't my fault I'm stuck here. Strange how you leave a place you know, time passes and when you return, it's like the world you left never existed.
And look what we came back to: A London that was all silvery and shiny, though Buckingham Palace ain't changed much, 'cept for that glass tower to a Queen Lizzy Two, and there's this monument to Nelson. I think they call it Trafalgar Square. I mean, he was good 'n all, and we all loved the bugger, but a whole bloody square?" Don't make sense to me.
Worse, you leave with one king in charge and you return to find a new queen's in charge and you've never heard of her. "Queen Sara? Who's she?" Oh, and Her Majesty flies around in this strange contraption. Seems horses and carriages ain't good enough anymore.
But you know, without Captain John Morrow I don't know if we'd ever made it back to see all this glass and steel. I'd follow the captain to hell and back. I guess I did, when you come to think of it.
Well, despite the changes, you can still get a nice cup o' tea and, if you look hard enough, a bite of kidney pie and a pint. And thanks to me you don't have to be in the Royal Navy to get figgy-dowdy! It wasn't like I invented it, but I gave it to the common man--and made a bloody fortune doin' it.
Can't stand the taste of the stuff any more, but when I think about it, it was the figgy-dowdy that got us into trouble and it was the figgy-dowdy that saved us.
So how did a topman like myself end up rich and happy, livin' on his own yacht? Well, I'll tell you, but first let me pour some of this good Jamaican rum.
It began in the autumn of 1807. We were returnin' from a refit to our squadron in the Indian Ocean. We'd just rounded the Cape (took a nasty beatin' in a storm, we did) and we were racin' along under a press of canvas, when a lookout yells, "On deck there. Flashes two points on the larboard bow!"
I was workin' off the fore topgallant yard when I heard the cry and looked. Flashes they were. Hard to say what it was: lightnin', cannon flashes or what.
The captain and first lieutenant had their glasses trained in that direction. Then the flashes stopped. There was no sign of a sail, so we continued on our way.
An hour or so later, after bein' piped to deck for the evenin' meal, the flashes were seen again, but this time they were much brighter, and they seemed to hang in a cluster just above the surface of the water. Worse yet, the flashes were movin' in our direction, and not a sail nor a pennant to be seen.
From the quarterdeck the captain ordered us to clear for action. Captain's a fine sight. Tall bugger but thin as a jib. He's a fightin' captain; in the thick of it at Aboukir. The man's scarred all over, includin' one nasty burn mark on his neck.
Whatever was out there was approachin' fast. The cannon were run out and smoke from the matches in the tubs wafted across the deck.
"Mr. Egan, if she doesn't show her colors, prepare to fire a broadside as she comes into range," the captain ordered.
"Aye aye, sir."
That's Lieutenant Egan, fresh faced bloke and earnest in his doin's.
Onward it came, rushin' at us like a devil. There were more flashes from the thing, and when she was in range the captain gave orders to fire. Flames burst from the 9-pounders, and the hot metal went hurlin' across the open water.
When the guns went off, we gave a great shout, thinkin' we'd blown the bugger out of the water. But by God the shots passed right through 'er. We watched as the balls skipped across the sea and disappeared. Probably did no more damage than to knock a sea turtle on the noggin.
A cable's length away, the flashin' thing stopped. We smelled somethin' odd comin' from it, like burnt eggs. Nasty bloody smell; and then, the strangest thing happened. The wind, which'd been blowin' nicely and fillin' our courses and topsails, died as dead as a doornail. It was like a hand had grabbed us. We lay there like a lump on the bleedin' sea.
Captain ordered more firing, but it wasn't doin' no good. You can imagine all the smoke from firin' the guns, and that thing was still there.
Someone yelled, "That Boney's up to something." And we had to agree. You might not like that short little Corsican, but you have to admire the bloke. Napoleon's ate up most o' the Continent and now he wanted us.
We thought she was a ship shrouded in her own smoke, but it wasn't that. There was no ship. You know, during a storm, when the sun'll peek through the dark clouds and lightnin' will flash? Well, that's what we were lookin' at.
It was like this pint-sized storm had dropped from the sky and lay off our larboard beam. And there was a large oval hole where the light flashed through. Looked like a fish's mouth to me. Eerie sight, I can tell you that. But it didn't rumble like thunder; it made a kind of cracklin' sound, like when a fire really gets goin'.
The storm, if that be what it was, moved slowly towards us. Captain ordered another broadside, but we might as well been shootin' at seaspray: it didn't do nothin'. On it came. The bosons' were beratin' the gun crews, the powder monkeys were deliverin' more cartridges and the guns were bein' run out, but what would another broadside do?
Cutlasses and boarding axes were broken out, and we waited for the comin' assault. Marines were firin' from the quarterdeck and forecastle, and the captain had his cutlass in hand. We were all excited about a fight, but I can also say I was a little nervous cause I'd never fought a storm before.
The enemy closed the gap. Me'n me mate Jackson had been watchin' 'im comin'. Jackson was a bit younger than me, with a head of bushy brown hair and a flattened nose from a fight, but he was as good a topman as any I'd worked with. He'd fought under Old Jervie at the Battle of Cape St. Vincent.
"Looks like we're in for a little fight," Jackson said.
"Yeah, but who we fightin'? I can't see no one."
"First parly voo, I hear, I'm gonna sink me hatchet in his skull!"
Down the ratlines we came, with our hatchets in our belts. And we could move fast up and down the ratlines--barefooted and nimble we were.
"Don't see anyone, sir," cried one nervous midshipman.
"Take that man's name," captain ordered. Some of the younger midshipmen could be nervous nellies when it came to a fight.
In the next instant there was a flash of bright light, and you could really smell the burnt eggs now. God, it was a rotten smell.
We had our weapons ready, but there was no one to fight, until we saw four blokes dressed in gray suddenly appear on the quarterdeck.
Now you'd think there'd be hell to pay for some enemy landin' on our very own quarterdeck. Such an enemy would not only face the captain and his officers, but he'd face the marines and every other man on the Panther, but no one moved.
That's when we knew we were in trouble. I think every one of us felt it. It was like this. You're thinkin', "I'm goin' to slice them bastards from top to bottom." You can't wait to get at 'em, but your feet don't move and your arms don't move. Your mind is sayin', "Fight! Cut 'im!" but your body has another idea, which is, 'I ain't movin'."
Now if it had just been me not attackin', I would have expected to be hung, 'cause they'll hang you for cowardice in His Majesty's Navy. But not a man moved, not even the good captain, and he was within range to take a man's head off. By God we did a lot of screamin' and cursin', but we didn't lift a finger against those four. Believe you me I was there on the deck. I bloody well know!
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