100 Theme Challenge #99

99. Ocean

His men were sick. Some even died already. They first claimed they were tired all the time, even if they'd sleep all day, and then they began to bleed from their nose and mouth, with dark spots appearing on their body. Some would lose their teeth, others would simply fall and never get up. It was frightening for the captain who didn't know what to do or how to cure the disease. Even the doctor on the ship had gotten infected. He at first thought this might be because they hadn't been on Earth for so long that the ocean had caused them or made them ill, but then he remembered some pirate's journeys were longer than that, so it couldn't be. Was all of his crew doomed to Death's claws? He thought it could be the food as well, but everybody was eating the same thing, and yet only some was infected.

He couldn't endure that, the penicillin they had left did nothing, and to do a bloodletting was useless because they were all bleeding on their own. He set the ship on the nearest port's direction, but it'd take at least a week to get there, and he wasn't sure his crew would last until then. He kept drinking to dampen his worries and to stay focused on not getting the same disease. He made sure to keep his mouth hidden with a scarf when he was pushing the corpses off the bridge and tending to his amorphous men. What would happen if the captain was to die, he'd rather not dwell on that thought.

One day his Quartermaster didn't show up to help him, and he rushed to his room.

"Why ye not up, pirate?"

"I be not feelin' very well, cap'n," a tired voice came from the bed in the dark room. The captain approached, leaned towards his mate. He had than same wax-like complexion than the rest of them, with feverish eyes.

"Ye scurvy dog," he cursed under his breath. He hurried outside and came back quickly with a bottle in hand, uncorking it with his teeth. "Drink me spiced grog, that gunna help ye devil's henchman." He helped his quartermaster to take a few sips. "It'll wake ye up, matey."

Once the sick man took his fill, coughing only a bit, the captain tucked him back under his covers. He pushed aside the hair from his face, watching him fall back into an uneasy sleep.

"I won't let th' devil take ye away from me," he muttered under his breath before he took off to his other duties.

"Avast ye bulge rats! Set up th' sails and someone climb the crow's nest, we need a new lookout after th' last one went in Davy Jones' Locker!"

The day went on, but even the captain had to help cleaning. The infection was killing the sailors in quite a bloody way, and wood soaked up any liquid where the varnish had been scratched away, so it had to be cleaned fast. He was moving things around in the cargo when he found a sack of potatoes lost through the other boxes. They hadn't eaten any potatoes for a while, now that he thought of it. Luckily the cook wasn't dead. He took the sack and transported it to the kitchen. He noticed his quartermaster already there, eating some stew (which was more like a broth with meat and no vegetables)

"Ye're awake, Jacob. How ye're feelin'?"

"Better, cap'n. What was th' grog ye gave me?"

The captain produced the bottle from his many pockets and sat with his quartermaster.

"I got robbed once. I was supposed to get some spiced rum, but instead it was only tis' odd-colored 'n tastin' piss. I be drinkin' it because I drank all 'o th' rum," he explained. He offered it to him. "Want another taste?"

"Aye. It sure woke me up, cap'n, whatever 'tis is." He slowly drank some before taking another mouthful of stew, and the captain was glad to see some colors back on his cheeks.

"Yo ho ho, Cook, put some potatoes in the stew, I brought ye some," he yelled at the cook once he came back from wherever he had been. He was starving and seeing Jacob up and about only awoke his hunger, now that he wasn't worried for him anymore. The old man grumbled under his breath, but set himself to work. He knew better than to search for the captain's wrath.

"So how many jacks did we lose so far, cap'n?"

"A pair 'tis mornin'. We cleaned up the ship, made her all shiny 'n pretty again, so it keeps th' crew occupied."

"Aye. I thought I was in fer Davy Jones' treasure chest, but I be predictin' spiced grog be better fer ye health than I first thought."

The captain clapped him on the shoulder in a brotherly way, grinning.

"'Tis piss tastes so bad than even th' disease didn't want any 'n ran out 'o ye body. Anyway we be headin' to New Providence 'n be thar in a few days. Wit' a wee bit 'o faith, a doctor gunna be knowin' what 'tis disease be 'bout."

Jacob nodded and kept eating. He seemed famished, and the captain let him eat. After a short while, the cook grunted that the stew was ready, and they both took a bowl of it. The potatoes weren't completely cooked, but nobody complained and munched and drank while the other sailors were working outside.

"Cap'n, what do ye think caused 'tis?" Jacob asked after a while. The captain tightened his lips in a line.

"I fear it be th' lack 'o fresh fruits, we prob'ly need them to live or somethin'."

Jacob shrugged. "I never thought not eatin' somethin' could murder ye. Blast them green vegetables." The captain laughed and offered him another sip of his bottle, without telling him he never usually shared his grog.

(What is 100TC?)

Arrr, matey! 99th story and I just did a pirate story, I feel accomplished. I used a pirate translator, and I have absolutely no shame in it. 'Tis was full 'o awe. The captain's alcohol is actually potato wine, which I'm not sure how it could have landed in his hands, but whatever. That's what helped him not to get scurvy and what refrained Jacob from having further symptoms.