Chris Hervey was still buttoning his uniform shirt as he rushed up the stairs to the wheelhouse. A first trip cadet aboard the bulk carrier 'Tower Bridge', he was still finding watch keeping a shock to the system, especially getting up for 4 in the morning to understudy the Chief Mate.
"What sort of time do you call this?" asked the Mate.
Chris looked at his watch, "Five to four, Chief."
"No it isn't. We put the clocks forward last night, remember? It's five to five."
Chris stood in the dim light from the chart room table, lost for words. How could he have missed the clock change?
"This means," the Mate continued, "That I will have to find a singularly unpleasant task for you today. I think that chipping paint in the crows nest on the foremast will do it."
Chris' heart sank, as he envisioned 4 hours in the stifling hot steel box on the foremast. Designed as an iceberg lookout post, it had plenty of heaters, suitable for arctic latitudes, but no air-conditioning for the ship's present latitude, just north of the equator. He became aware of the presence of the Second Mate, Nick, who, if it were indeed nearly 5, should have been off the bridge an hour ago.
"Check the log book, Chris." grinned Nick. Glancing at the new page, with the 4 o'clock readings and Nick's formulaic, "Cloudy, fine and clear." Chris couldn't see anything out of ordinary until he checked the date – April 1st. With a laugh at his expense, Nick got on with handing over the watch to the Mate, John. This didn't take long, as there was no other ship traffic around and as Nick departed to the bunk that he had vacated at midnight, John told Chris to get ready for the morning star sights. As he worked away at the star tables, Chris got thinking ahead to the ship's destination. He had flown from England with a few relief crew members to join 'Tower Bridge' in Norfolk, Virginia where a cargo of 45,000 of coal had nearly finished loading when they arrived. The destination was the port of Vitoria, in Brazil, and the ship would then load iron ore at the nearby port of Tubarão to head back up the States. 'Tower Bridge' and her sister ship, 'Harbour Bridge' had been engaged on this trade for nearly a year now.
Chris's reverie was interrupted by the Mate, who came behind the chart table to inspect his work. On checking which stars were anticipated where, he corrected a bit of working before gruffly acknowledging that his work was, "Not bad." As nautical twilight approached, both John and Chris went out onto the bridge wings with sextants and stop watches, and began 'shooting the stars' for the morning sight. These were before the days when GPS systems were on ships, and the only times of day that the ship's position could be established, when out of sight of land, were by means of the morning and evening star sights, and a sun sight running fix to establish the noon position. Both John and Chris worked out their calculations, and Chris was quietly pleased that his position was within 10 miles of John's. Needless to say, it was John's position that went on the chart and in the logbook, and using the dividers, John checked the latitude. "Well, it looks as though we should cross the equator at about 1 o'clock this afternoon. Is this your first time south of the line?"
"Yes, Chief. In fact, it's my first time south of the Isle of Wight."
As their watch ended, and the Third Mate, Roger, took over the watch John and Chris went down to the Officers' Dining Saloon for breakfast. After a quick meal, they both changed into boiler suits and went out on deck. Chris's main task was to 'watch and learn' from the mate, although he had of course been subject to the usual tricks. He had spent a good half hour looking for red and green lamp oil for the side lights, and he still remembered his chagrin when he had spent three quarters of an hour in the hottest part of the engine room, being told to, "just bide here a while." upon telling the Second Engineer that he had been sent down by the Mate to ask for, 'a long weight'. That day, the tropical heat was oppressive, but luckily, as the ship was in the doldrums, the breeze of her passing flowed over the decks, providing a spot of relief for the crew members who were chipping rust and painting. Chris was dispatched to scrub, and then fill with salt water, the small swimming pool that was situated just abaft the funnel, which job took him up until lunchtime, after which he retired to his cabin for a nap before going back on watch at 4 in the afternoon.
He was lying on his bunk in his underwear, when the door to his cabin burst open, and three people he recognized as members of the crew came in, strangely dressed in painted canvas masks and 'grass' skirts made from black bin liners torn to look like seaweed. "What's going on?" he asked as he struggled to try to prevent himself being carried out of his cabin. "You're summoned to the Court of King Neptune." was the reply, as he was carried to the swimming pool. Once there, he found himself alongside the others on their first trip to sea, a Junior Engineer and a Steward, both of whom looked as flustered as he did. Looking round, he saw that most of the crew was there, several of them dressed like his assailants and that the Boatswain seemed to be dressed in a similar 'seaweed' skirt, but with matching cloak and a gold painted cardboard crown. A trident was in his right hand, as he sat on a 'throne', and next to him was the Boatswain's Mate, a large bearded man, rigged out with his legs in a mermaid's tail and sporting a grotesque blonde wig made from oakum.
The Boatswain spoke, "Who is the Master of this ship that dares to enter my domain?"
Chris was astonished to the Captain approach, salute, and say, "My Lord King Neptune and my Gracious Queen Amphitrite. I am the master of this vessel, and I seek leave to sail peacefully upon the waters of your great Southern Ocean." 'Neptune' acknowledged this with a nod of his head. "Are there any amongst you have not passed into the Southern Oceans before?" The Captain indicated Chris and his fellows, and Neptune glared at them. "Well? Who are you that seek to be admitted to the Brotherhood of the Seas?" Nervously, Chris gave has name, as did the others.
Neptune hummed and hawed, and glanced a large piece of paper. "It says here that you all need to be shaved, washed and purged, before I should admit you. Barbers! Do your duty!" Chris felt himself seized once again, and found his face being smothered in a foul frothy mixture, the smell of which he recognized as being made from the ox blood foam compound used for fire fighting. Thinking discretion to be the better part of valour, he concentrated on keeping his mouth, nose and eyes shut and waited until most of the stuff had been scraped away by a "barber" with a huge razor made from balsa wood. A half pint mug was placed in his hand, and he was told to, "Down it in one." This proved a struggle, as the mixture seemed to comprise mostly dark rum, but with overtones of other flavours. As he put down the nearly empty mug, he once again felt himself lifted up and was dumped into the swimming pool. He swam to the ladder, and struggled out with one hand trying to hold his sopping wet underpants from falling. The crew slapped him on the back, and congratulated him on being a good sport, as they pressed more rum onto him. He tried to refuse it, as he had to go on watch later, and noted an approving look from the Captain who said, "That's OK for now, young man. You're excused this evening's dog watch." The party continued until 4, when every one went to change for the evening meal and Chris staggered to his bunk. He struggled to wake up the following morning, but with the resilience of youth felt little in the way of ill effects after the first cup of coffee.
As 'Tower Bridge' slowed down to pick up the pilot, Chris looked out at his first view of South America. Not very prepossessing, really, with the massive clouds of reddish dust hanging over the iron ore terminal as the ship slid past to the coal berth at Vitoria. Like most of the crew, and on the advice of the other officers, he had opted to draw his 'sub' – or advance of pay – in US Dollars before the ship arrived and the Captain's safe was sealed. They would all have to draw a smallish sum in Cruzeros to satisfy the customs officials, who nonetheless wanted their 'gifts' in dollars!
Once the formalities had been completed, and the Captain had seen a valid Bill of Lading, the hatches were opened and discharge of the cargo began. Huge grabs on mobile cranes plunged into the holds, and pulled the coal out, dropping it onto a conveyor belt before the grab swung back again. The cargo was to be discharged 24 hours a day, and it was expected that less than 3 days would be required. The Mate called Chris to his office, and told him that he would be, as usual, shadow him for the discharge. The 2nd and 3rd mates would work alternate 6 hour watches, as the mate (and, therefore, Chris) would be available round the clock to supervise the cargo and ballasting. However, Chris would be given the second night alongside off, in order to have some time ashore.
On eagerly asking what there was to do in Vitoria, he was disappointed to learn that the nearest town was at least an hour away, and that the best that could be offered was a bar that could be seen not far from the jetty, nestled against the cliffs. "You'll be fine, there." he was assured, and so it was that at 9 pm on his evening off, neatly attired in grey cotton slacks and an Hawaiian shirt, Chris made his way gingerly across the docks to the blue painted wooden building. As he entered the bar, he was struck first by the heat, secondly by the smoke, thirdly by the acidic stench from the toilets not far from the door and lastly by the number of astonishingly attractive women. Some of these were chatting to his shipmates, the others were gathered at the far end of the bar. As he approached the bar and ordered a Brahma Chop, the local beer, he heard the girls giggling as one approached him, and asked.
"Hi, sailor boy. Do you like to buy me drink?"
Chris looked at her, and saw a beautiful girl of about his age, with an olive complexion and shoulder length black hair through which she smiled an amazingly white toothed smile.
"Um, sure." he replied, and the girl spoke quickly in Portuguese to the woman behind the bar. A strange coloured cocktail in a martini glass was placed in front of the girl. She removed the toothpick, nibbled at the cherry on it, and raised her glass. "Cheers" she said, and Chris raised his glass. He sensed the girl looking him up and down, and surreptitiously did the same, taking in the tight pink tee shirt holding small breasts, and a skinny body over a pair of jeans.
"You buy me another drink? You like sucky sucky or fucky fucky?"
Chris was surprised to hear this from such a beautiful young girl and was momentarily lost for words. The 4th Engineer, looking away briefly from the girl to whom he was talking, said to Chris, "It's the way it works in here. You have to buy her six drinks, and then when she can turn in the six cocktail sticks you can leave with her. Then, you negotiate a price with her for either a quickie, or an all nighter. That one with you, I would say you should get all night for $50, but pay for the drinks in Cruzeros, which will work out at another ten bucks. Good luck!" So saying, he slapped a hundred Cruzero note on the bar, waved at the barkeep, and steered his companion towards the door.
