Ho'okele

This might be an extended series. I want to write in something specific, but I need to lay some framework, I think. At any rate, the title and name of the ship means "Navigator."

They toiled against the ropes, lashing the sail and making fast for a quick run along the islands. Ho'okele, as the ship was called, could maneuver well enough to hold her own, had 12 cannons and a captain that took little from anyone, but demanded all his men had. He stood at the wheel of the ship, looking over his most prized possession -- and the substance of his dreams. Pipe in hand, he nodded to the wheelman and stepped onto the deck.

Captain Jay McTavish was not the ordinary seaman. He was squinty in one eye, this is true, but that is where the similarities between himself and the stereotypes ended. With hair in his face and pockmarked hands, he looked more the impoverished boy of old London than a sailor of fortune. The sun caught him in the face and he pulled his right forearm up as a shield, yelling out for more speed and less jabberjaw from his crew.

His first-mate, Kevin Flannery, was 20 years the captain's elder. He deferred with the knowledge that McTavish was a better captain, let alone a better man. With gray eyes and chin stubble, Flannery stood out among the young men he was mate over. He chewed heaps of tobacco and was prone to spitting over the side, causing streams of black to run along the outer hull of the ship -- eventually forcing crewmen to hang over the end suspended, old toothbrushes in hand to keep the old girl clean.

They moved along at a good clip, slicing through the water and heading West. Flannery had joked earlier that they would all fall off the edge of the map and into the Great Abyss. "As long as I go down at sea," McTavish replied, "I'd be happy indeed." But now, hours past the islands with no sign of slowing, Flannery began to question the realism of his jest. No one had been this far out -- and he didn't want to be the first one to make the trip.

"Captain," he said, standing at McTavish's side.

"Aye."

"Can I speak plainly, sir?"

"Sure. Speak your mind, Kevin. Speak your mind."

"Well sir. Here's the thing. No one's been out this far West before."

"And..."

Flannery looked down at this point, rubbing the stubble along his jawline. "And I don't know what's going to happen, Sir. I mean, where are we going?"

"No one knows what's going to happen, Kevin. And frankly, that's why we're going. We could go to Singapore, if you'd like, or Alaska, but where's the fun in that? We head West till we make land, or die trying."

"..."

"You're a might scared, aren't ya?"

"Aye, Captain. A might."

"Well, don't go telling the crew then. Don't want morale to drop because my first-mate got a case of the frights. You understand me?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n."

"Flannery?"

"Yes?"

"Think of the adventure." McTavish's eyes sparked with the light of youth, standing at the bow of the ship, ready for whatever the sea had to throw at him.

And then the weather changed.