The Legend of Captain
Dag
Chapter one
The Journey
The Journey
In between a row of houses sits a tiny old cottage. For
years it has existed, distinctive yet unnoticed, long before the others sprang
up squashing it between them. It's uneven walls hold a lifetime of furniture and
memories within. If it could talk it
would tell so many tales; some of sadness and many of joy. The lives of the
occupiers were depicted in the pictures covering the ancient wallpaper
throughout . In the corner of the front room sits a figure, resting in his
favourite chair. Behind his wispy white whiskers and pale grey hair his face was
a map of wrinkles which betrayed his age. As he leans forward the sun light
catches his fur making it glint with the fiery gold of his youth. His paws rest
upon the edge of an open trunk beside the granite fire place. The ancient trunk
was covered in carvings, depicting old sailing ships from all over the world.
Among them were a corvette, a galleon, a junk, a brig and a fluyt. If you were
to look closely at them you would see tiny perfectly spaced marks, making it
appear to be not just hand carved but as if it had been nibbled out by small
teeth. On the front of the trunk just
below the lock there was a brass name plate it read “Horatio T. Rat, Carpenter and
Surgeon”. Leaning in to the chest he shuffled around the mass of unusual
objects, there were papers, books, jars and boxes which seemed to go on forever.
The chest was crammed full with the chronicles of more than a single lifetime. Lifting
a heavy book he finds what he was seeking a crispy bundle of old papers and letters bound
with a once red silk ribbon. Leaving the lid open he sat back with the papers
and carefully untied the ribbon which held them together, revealing the neat
deliberate copperplate writing of his own hand. As he began to carefully check
through the pile a scrap of paper fell and fluttered to the ground. It was
darker than the others and time had eaten away at its edges, upon it‘s yellowed
surface the once black ink had faded to a pale brown. When looking closer you
could see that the paper was covered in old drawings and the kind of writing
you found on ancient sailing maps, it read:-
I've won in battles
bold
An' Sailed upon the
seven seas,
To obtain me treasure
an' gold.
For I am Captain Dag
Of the SS LibeRATion,
Feared Pi-Rat of
Cornwall.
It was a poem, or at
least the start of one. It was a poem that all Cornish rats are taught. A poem
about a famous rat, one who existed as legend and saviour. Underneath the verse
in older almost gothic script was scrawled a hurried footnote.
Never Forget
Horatio picked up the fallen scrap before carefully placing
it on top of the pile. He settled back in to his seat and lovingly turned the
scrap over revealing the rest of the poem,
I was born of vermin
and underfoot,
Of my masters,
freedom I took.
I swore an oath to
all rat kind,
To free us all from
life’s bind.
I will come in times
of strife,
And take you to a new
life.
And when your time is
done
I promise, for you I
will come.
For I am here to set
you free,
To thine own land
I’ll take thee.
He mouthed the words as if he were reciting a prayer. For a
moment he sat in reverend silence until the hall clock struck the hour shaking
him out of his contemplation. He pulled a face and harrumphed, annoyed at being
taken away from his memories. For just a moment he wished that he could hold
back the flow time for a bit longer.
'Come on Horatio fella
don't got much time, better get on wi' it. '
He said trying to spur himself on.
He deliberately continued checking through his papers before
placing them on the table by the window.
On the top he places an envelope addressed to a distant relative; his great
great great nephew four times removed; before returning to the trunk. From within between the jars and
strange boxes, he retrieves a small old compass and spy glass. Smiling he pats
the compass as he places it in his pocket and opens out the spy glass to look
through it. His smile widens as he folds
it away placing it on the table beside the papers. Next from under a pile of
leather bound note books he pulls out an ancient bag. The leather was cracked
and worn. The brass fastenings and handle were spotted and dull with age.
Shaking his head he tuts at its
condition before he carefully opens it. The bag is filled with an old medical
kit made up strange instruments, racks of small carefully labelled vials,
leather pouches, a mortar and pestle, and a folding scale. From a pocket within
he removed a leather pouch filled with strange golden coins and a silver hip
flask. He leaves the pouch on the table but hesitates when it came to the flask
he gives it a shake opens the top and sniffs.
'Aqua vitae top notch rum.'
He sniffs it again before taking a quick swig. Its sharp
fiery taste, a combination of being made
of 169 proof rum and bitter spices, make him pull a face until the sweet sugar
soothes the warmth. He struggled to speak his voice hoarse from the alcohol.
'S still good.....Never goes off that stuff....amazing....
Best be tak'n he wi'me wouldn' want you in the wrong paws.'
He slips the flask in to his jacket pocket patting it gently
as if to ask it not to wander too far or into another pocket or worse still in
to someone else's pocket. just like any sailor Horatio loved to know where his
rum is at all times. Turning back towards the trunk to resume his work he
starts to shake and cough. It was the cough of an old man, dry, hacking and
relentless it stopped him from continuing
his work. Wincing he lifts his paw to
his collar and loosens it, still short of breath he leans against the table.
Determinedly he takes his bag and hurriedly makes his way through the contents,
speaking to them in short broken pants as if the object he is seeking were
capable of answering.
'I.... knows..... you're..... in...... ere.'
Knocking over a rack of vials he has his eureka moment and
removes a small leather pouch. As his stiff old fingers worked at the knot he
uttered curses under his breath, for the few seconds it took seemed like
forever to him. From within he took a
small clear yellowy brown rock, a piece of amber. The surface of the amber is chipped and
scratched on all sides, you could see it was once much much bigger. Holding it between thumb and forefinger Horatio
places it in his mouth and bites down, breaking a piece off which he chews and swallows.
Breathing more steadily he sits back in to the chair closing his eyes. He
begins to twitch and grips the arm of the chair, something is happening. one
paw rushes to his stomach as he is taken by a spasm. Groaning he pulls himself up right and blinks to
adjust his eyes,
'Well that ain't
getin' no easier.'
As he gets up he seems to move more easily and as he places
the rock back in his bag the light from the window makes him appear younger as
if the colour has returned to his fur . Sniffing he continues working thought
he contents of the chest filled with the curiosities of his life's journeys. He
looks at an intricate old wooden spoon,
it was the one his father made
for his mother aboard the ship he was born on, as he like may rats was born at
sea.
From among the jars
he pulls out one it contains a
dull brown feather which as he examines it, just for a moment, it begins to shimmer and glow as if it were a
light. There is a brown paper label attached to the jar and it reads phoenix
feather.
'They'd never believe what I did when I were young'
Placing it back in to the chest he continues though its curiosities
remembering he checks his watch before closing the trunks lid. Locking it tight
He places the ornate key it the envelope addressed to his nephew and seals
before putting it in his pocket. Standing he looks around the room as if to make sure
all is in place before heading to the kitchen. On his return he's holding an
old shopping bag containing a thermos and sandwiches ready for his afternoons
walk.
Horatio walked from his house in Long Rock along the sea front
just as he did for lunch every day until he reached Penzance. He loved this
walk and place but it had changed many
times over the years. Once a long long time ago when he first made land here it
was fields, but over the years things changed. Now there are shops great big supermarkets, fast food
restaurants, more and more houses and roads. Sometimes he doesn't recognise the
place himself, this place, the place he chose as his home, it feels alien to
him. However on this walk he could take
in the never changing constants the view of St Michaels mount and of course the sea. he liked the sea to be
ever present, it was an old friend. The path he took followed the train tracks which had been there since
1852 well past the station car park and shops along the road past the dry docks
and down along the harbour wall close to the where the Scillonian
docks. There he made for his favourite
spot on the wall and sat where he could watch the boats pass in and out and eat
his lunch. Surrounded by the familiar sounds
of the sea and the constant rhythmic
clang of rigging he felt at peace and found himself reminiscing the adventures
of his youth. He always felt at home when he could hear those sounds feel the
salt in his whiskers and taste its tang in the air he began to drift off
carried into a gentle sleep. His eyes fluttered open and close as he watched
the horizon. Through heavy lids he thought he saw a tall ship heading to the
harbour before he dozed off.
The cool evening breeze stirred the air and something woke
Horatio woke with a start, he felt a warm paw resting on his shoulder. With His
eyes wide open he could see that the evening was drawing in he'd slept for a
long time. Without turning he asked,
'Is that you old friend?'
'Aye' came the reply from behind.
'You came for me?'
'As I promised to do for all.'
'It's time then.'
'Aye.'
'You'd better be taking me home.'
As Horatio stepped forward he looked down at himself to
find he was wearing his old sailing
coat, shirt and birches. In his belt sat his trusty old short dagger just as it
had in his youth. Everything was newer and somehow brighter than he remembered. Confused he looked at his paws they were no
longer stiff and bunched, his arms were now covered with ginger fur. His paws
rushed to feel his face to discover it was no longer a map of wrinkles. Before
he could ask how this could be the owner
of the paw on his shoulder stepped forward in to view. The ratty figure was
dressed in his full regalia, on his head sat a brown tri-corn hat with a flourish
of ostrich feathers denoting his position. A smile filled his soft brown face which
was framed by his pink ears, one of which had a notch taken out of it, as he
looked Horatio straight in the eye and said...
'Are you ready old friend?'
'Aye....' he replied in a voice filled with energy and
youth 'Aye Aye Captain!'
As he sets off for one final journey Horatio left his old self behind him its empty
form slumped where he'd sat.
This is brilliant!
ReplyDeleteThis is amazing. I want to hear the stories of the present and past. I was especially intrigued by the Phoenix feather.
ReplyDelete