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An adventure tale pitting man against nature. The Vengeferth pirates meet a great white shark, then they're capsized by a rogue wave. Seven crewmen escape the overturned ship to spend months a’ sea in a smallboat. During that time they share stories from their lives. They encounter the Crazy Cousin, a foundering ship with a broken pump and a belly full of water. And she has more problems.
This book is suitable for a mature ten year old, or an older reader of any age. It’s historically quite accurate to the time, and a vocabulary builder. Amid his half page introduction, Wil DeVoe, the narrator and first mate, explains why he’ll leave out the hardest language: Aye, ‘twas there, salty sprinkled through, as wherever seafaring men are found. But I swear the tale can be well told without it. (‘Tis humor, swearing not ta use the swearing words.) I must leave out the hardest language, or apologize ta the ladies an’ youngsters on its account.
The author’s poetry background is evident in passages like the moment the rogue wave, (a wall), is seen: Wallllll!!! A second’s prayer in my head begged I’d misheard ‘im shrilling squall. But all the raw fear’d ripped through his voice. Hair on necks prickled, as eightysome eyes flew ta the horizon. “Port bow” was gasped, an’ heads swiveled. This bleary gaze saw a silver sword blade stretched across the distance, sparkling with the sun. My white knuckles clasped the rail as my knees tried ta buckle.
“Four ta the oars!” Captain barked. “The rest below! Tighten ship, douse candles, an’ hug a bed leg! Batten down all but aft hatch! Doc, raise the weather flag ‘fore ya go down!” His words rang, sharp, quick, an’ clear, like sword clangs in a hot fray.
The reader now learns what a wall is: There’s a thousand ways the sea can reach out an’ tear the life from your gut. Great whites, straight up from the bowels hell, might enjoy ya as tasty snack. Squids, snakes, eels, gators, an’ such rarely take a liking ta ya--only once, given a chance. Some beasts roam such depths they go unnamed, but for swearword names on final breaths. Huge Ice chunks can sidle up an’ rend your hull, bow ta stern, appearing sparkly white an’ innocent. Spritely water spouts dance a’ times on waves, as coy as comely lasses, yet if one goes full grown, she’ll twirl ya on a short path up ta heaven, or screw ya down ta hades if ‘tis where you’re expected. Chances a surviving such scourges are precious slim, yet they exist.
Then there’s a wall, the ocean’s most seldom, yet certain, grim reaper. Sailors whisper ‘tis the hand a God sweeping all crumbs from the table ta the floor.
Tis a mammoth wall a water, wide an’ tall, charging madly ‘cross the sea like a raging bull. An’ I do mean wide an’ tall. Span may be vast beyond imagination. Height might go two ships. Measurements are guesswork, fathomed from results. A wall rushes fearsome fast at brains too far befuddled ta consider measure. Small time facing a wall’s meant for making peace with God, not finding measure sticks. Yet if a soul found time an’ means ta measure, who’d hear?
Crumbs on the ocean floor don’t talk.
This is an enjoyable tale for adventure lovers of any age.