Captain Claus and the North Sea Raiders

“Cap’n! Cap’n!” called Bells, the Astronomer.

“By jingle, Bells! You made me loose count,” replied Captain Nicholas Claus.

“I’m so sorry, sir. You said, you wanted me to notify you if anything came up...”

Captain Claus raised his bushy white eyebrows, “And?”

“and… a huge blizzard just blew up from nowhere.”

Captain Claus stroked his long white and gray beard, “No doubt, Pierre is rejoicing.”

He thought a second longer then ordered,” Bring the sleigh about, Master Bells.”

As Bells turned and scurried out of the chamber, Claus read the gift list scrolls again, then placed them back in the cabinet. He passed through the halls with long strides, while stuffing his arms down the thick sleeves of his crimson pea coat. He burst through the oaken doors of his manor, and stepped heavily into the prepared sleigh. A crack of the reins, caused the six elk to break into a sprint.

The stars and crescent shone above, and the packed ice glistened below, but a snowy torrent bellowed on the horizon. The plains ended in a glacial cliff, and without a blink or a pause the sleigh skittered down the narrow cliff road.

To Captain Claus’ left was the sparkling ice, and to his right was a five-hundred foot drop that terminated into the port. He pulled a flintlock pistol from his belt, and fired it over the city. A red, fiery missile floated out across the town, and was answered by a clanging bell.

“Whoa, whoa.” He called to the elk, as he came to a stop at the docks.

A short and stout fellow came running from the nearest ship.

“I saw your flare and took the liberty of preparing the N.P.S. Rudolf.”

“Well done, Quartermaster! Are we ready to sail?”

Captain Claus stepped off of the sleigh, straightened his coat, and marched along side of the Quartermaster Hector Cocoa. Randomly, but thoroughly, all the crew saluted and greeted the two officers as they boarded the rose-stained ship.

“Everything is ready and rearing. Except...”

Captain Claus gave a knowing frown, “First mate Wassel is late again, eh?”

“Yes, sir. And I sent a present-monkey to fetch ‘em, but as you see neither are here!”

As the words were said, a great bellowing sounded on the deck. First mate Wassel stormed onto the deck and shouted orders, as if he had been present and in control of the situation.

“Master Wassel, did you fall asleep?” Joked Captain Nicholas,” Or did you travel from

your ancestral home in Prussia?”

The crew burst into laughter. A sailor had the gall to knuckle the first mate’s shaggy head.

Regardless of this set back, they unfurled the canvas to the wild wind. They sailed forth over the worsening waves, onward and southward. Captain Claus set his jaw and stared hard into the darkness ahead.

He turned asked, “Master Wassel, would you go forward and light the lantern?”

“Jahwool, mein kommendant!” He saluted sharply and strode toward the bow.

Climbing out on the bowsprit, he laid his torch to the massive lantern, and closed the rose-stained glass around it.

As the first mate ambled back to the Fo’c’sle, snow flakes began to whiten the deck. The N.P.S. Rudolf feared not any storm, and plunged deep into the blizzard, guided only by the bright red light on the bow. Quartermaster Cocoa kept an eye on the compass and the hour glass, as he muscled the ship’s wheel left and right.

At the end of the forth bell, he shouted “Svell Fjord, dead ahead!”

Captain Nicholas Claus looked out his cabin window to verify the claim. Then once he was satisfied, turned to the first mate.

“Perfect timing. Give the orders, will you, Master Wassel?”

Wassel gave a belch and placed his tankard of hot cider on the table then strolled onto the deck.

“Cocoa, Kommendant says ‘Gife zhe order!’”

He belched again and disappeared back into the cabin. Hector shouted to beat to quarters, and the crew exploded into frenzied work.

Everyone was in position; every cannon was loaded. The drumming stopped and the ship became as silent as the grave. Like the Flying Dutchman in the superstitions of old, the N.P.S. Rudolf slipped into the Svell Fjord Harbor. During the previous commotion a sailor had tossed a black cloth over the bowsprit lantern. All was dark and still, even the blizzard waned in strength.

Captain Claus stood in the front of his twenty-four hour glasses that were down in his cabin, and synchronized the sands in yet another hour glass. He carried it onto the poop deck and watched the last sands fall through.

“Fire on the last bell of Christmas Eve,” he whispered.

The order was conveyed through the crew, and all waited with anticipation. Once the last grain fell through the hour-glass, a sailor rang the bell. The bell’s resonance that filled the fjord, was cut off by cannon fire. Rapid blasts startled the town and echoed through the mountain range.

Down on the cannon deck, Mastergunner Mint (or Pepper Mint, as the crew nicknamed him after the way he peppered pirate ships) oversaw the barrage. All the gunners aimed and fired the cannons, others cleaned, packed, and loaded. And the present-monkeys were busy running down into the hold and retrieving the required gifts.

“Presents 21 through 30 to the left and 31 through 40 to the right!” Commanded Mint as

he read the list given him by the captain.

The present-monkeys dispersed the gifts to the prescribed sides, the cannon crews packed presents down the barrels, and the gunners fired them through windows and whatnot of the proper houses. The last gift to a house was always a parcel of money to repair the damages of flying presents. The night was filled with screams and cries… of joy and surprise.

Captain Claus grinned from ear to ear, and slapped Wassel on the back, who in turn slapped Quartermaster Cocoa’s back, who turned and punched first mate Wassel in the stomach. They all laughed and set sail for the next harbor.

“Remember that time,” asked Captain Claus, “when we tried to give glass gifts, and succeeded in blowing shards all over the country side?”

Wassel hiccuped and sauntered below deck.

Cocoa made a sour face at Wassel, then replied, “Aye! We had to make an impromptu day-after-Christmas delivery of run flat wagon wheels.”

The Captain became somber, “Have you seen Pierre?”

“In this blizzard? Nah, I can barely see our wake, much less that ghost ship.”

“Just so, we better keep our eyes peeled.”

Thirty minutes later, they came to a new town and went through the same routine. As they left the harbor, in the waning of the storm, a sailor saw it. A black ghost-ship skulking along in the swirling snow. With each stop in each new town the ship gained on them.

Over a period of three hours, they made eight deliveries. Every time it was the same: A red glow entered the fjord, cannon fire would erupt into the night, towns-people would rejoice and throw cookies back (all of which would fall into the water). On one occasion a sailor jumped into the water and retrieved a cookie, and promptly contracted hypothermia. The only thing that changed was the ship that followed them, gained with every delivery.

Three hours and eights stops later they closed in on their last delivery, a thriving port in Denmark. Captain Claus summoned first mate Wassel to him, as well as Maximillian Von Krugerschmidt, a present-monkey of eight years.

“Wassel, I am giving you a special assignment.”

The Captain pointed out the window, “A mile into those mountains is a family in dire need of supplies. If they don’t receive them, they may perish as the winter sets in.”

Wassel placed his tankard of hot cider down and with a serious gleam in his eye, said, “It vill be done!”

Maximillian rubbed his nose with the back of his soot-covered hand.

Wassel passed the boy and dashed onto the main deck. Single-handed, Wassel unlashed a dinghy, swung it overboard, and lowered it to the water. Maximillian appeared by the rail with a velvet sack full of supplies. Cannons thundered in the distance from the stalking ship.

“Captain La Scrinch!” Wassel said, as if it were an oath.

“Vas, Herr Vassel?” Asked the present-monkey.

“Right, zhis is your first trip.” Wassel threw the sack down into the dinghy.

“Efery year, Pierre La Scrinch, Captain of zhe December 25th comes breathin’ down our neck. We hafe got to make all our deliveries before he corners us in some fjord.”

First mate Wassel and Maximillian were now in the dinghy, rowing their way to shore. They could hear Captain Nicholas Claus shouting orders to his crew. Moments later, the N.P.S. Rudolf gave a broadside from both sides at once. Presents flew over the dinghy and peppered the city and cannon balls flew in the opposite direction toward the December 25th. A few barrages later, the first mate and present-monkey pulled the dinghy on shore and began their march in the mountains.

Back on the N.P.S. Rudolf, Captain Claus kept the ship on a tight zig-zag pattern.

The gun crews constantly switched from cannon-shot to presents then back again, as the ship was always turning back on its course. Captain Claus looked through his spy glass of the port side. As the ship pivoted on the churning sea, Claus rotated in perfect synchronization, keeping the December 25th in his sights.

The cannon smoke and sea spray cleared, and Captain La Scrinch could be seen perfectly on the poop deck. His black leather, wide-brimmed hat covered his bald head. And a van-dyke framed his, ever sneering, lips. He threw his cape off of one shoulder, as he thrust his hand toward the N.P.S. Rudolf and shouted orders.

“Not this year, you blundering gongfarmer!” shouted Captain Claus.

“Thee and thy crew will present gifts as ransom to the mighty Captain Beneath-the-Waves, to save thy souls from his locker.” Pierre’s throaty voice droned across the waves.

Captain Claus turned to Quartermaster Cocoa, and ordered, “Hard a-starboard, and give him a full broadside.

First mate Wassel and present-monkey Maximillian left the forested foothills and mounted the plateau. Maximillian rode on the sled and watched the supplies, while Wassel tugged the sled onward. Soon a light appeared in the distance, then a plume of smoke, finally a house.

“Zhey’re home!” First mate Wassel chuckled, slyly.

“Vas?” Maximillian looked confused.

“Vhen zhey’re home ve must be sneaky. Now, vatch zhis.”

The hulk of a man scrambled silently onto the roof then disappeared down the other side of the slope. A second later, a form came round the back of the house. Maximillian panicked and hid behind the sled.

“Don’t worry, it is me, Vassel. Zhey had a loose shingle, but I took care of zhat!” He said rubbing his backside.

Once again, he mounted the roof, this time he stopped by the chimney.

“Heafe up a package”

Maximillian dug around in the sled, retrieved a small wrapped up item, and threw it to Wassel. He snatched it out of the air, then shoved some snow from the edge of the chimney to put out the fire below. Then he dropped the package down which shattered on impact.

“Oops,” he thought, “I need a new strategy.”

Wassel jumped off of the roof, situated the gift-laden sled in front of the house, pounded furiously on their door, then fled, leaving deep tracks for Maximillian to follow in. Wassel ran a good distance then stopped to look back. Maximillian took long leaping steps to land in the first mate’s prints, but was still only a few yards from the house. First mate Wassel bolted back over, grabbed present-monkey Maximillian by his belt, and dashed away.

Captain Claus briefly turned his eyes from the December 25th to scour the seaside for the first mate and present-monkey.

Mastergunner Mint walked half-way up the stairs to the quarterdeck and shouted to the captain, “We can’t keep this up much longer! We’re runnin’ outta shot. And we blasted all the presents long ago.”

“Hold out just a little longer. Wassel will be here, I know it.” Captain Claus assured.

The December 25th out maneuvered the N.P.S. Rudolf and prepared to rake their stern, when a sailor shouted that a dinghy was coming their way.

Captain Claus grinned smugly, “Full sails! Again, we shall cheat this annual parasite.”

The N.P.S. Rudolf accelerated as the Arctic wind filled its canvases.

First mate Wassel stopped rowing and looked over his shoulders to get his bearing.

“STONE DAS CROWS!” He shouted, “Zheir sailing right for us.”

Present-monkey Maximillian wore a mask of utter betrayal, blinked three times for tears of devastation welled up in his eyes, then jumped over board.

Wassel was astounded. Hypothermia was certain, further more Wassel could not swim. But let it not be said that ol’ Wassel was afraid where a young present-monkey was not.

He muttered something about committing his body to the deep; to corruption and hypothermia, then he plunged in. He kicked and flapped to reach the surface.

He poked his head out of the water just in time to see the N.P.S. Rudolf crashed their dinghy, and two ropes being thrown to them. Captain Claus was there to help them scramble on board. Meanwhile the December 25th prepared one last broadside before the N.P.S. Rudolf could slip away.

Captain Claus sent first mate Wassel and present-monkey Maximillian Von Krugerschmidt below to warm up, then looked out to see what Captain La Scrinch was plotting. The December 25th was positioned between the fjord wall and the channel. The only way out was to sail right into their broadside.

“Master Cocoa, the measuring device, if you please.”

With determination, the Quartermaster placed it heavily in his hand. Within a few seconds he figured accurately that the December 25th was approximately two-hundred feet from the fjord wall. And the N.P.S. Rudolf was most assuredly going to thread that needle, if Captain Claus had any say in the matter. Naturally, he did; him being the captain in all that.

As they passed through the narrow gap, Mastergunner Mint, with the last of the cannon loads, shot out the main mast of the December 25th. Once again, they had out witted and out maneuvered the Martinique blood-hunter.

Captain Pierre La Scrinch scowled hideously at Captain Nicholas Claus as he sailed by, and cursed him, threatening to get him next year. Then one of Pierre’s sailors jumped over board for a cookie that was in the water.

“Pour a tankard of hot cocoa for Wassel,” suggested Captain Nicholas to the somewhat distant cook.

“What, sir?”

“He’s losing more of his hearing every delivery,” He muttered, “Cocoa for Wassel.”

“Aye, Cap’m!”

A moment later, first mate Wassel appeared from below deck.

“You called, Kommendant?” He asked, shivering.

“No, no. Just talking to the cook. Go back to the warmth of your cabin.”

The cook walked up from the galley holding a tray and hot wassail, and took it to Quartermaster Cocoa, who gladly accepted it.

Captain Claus took off his hat and threw it on the deck, exclaiming, “Not wassail for Cocoa. Cocoa for first mate Wassel!”

The problem did not untangle itself until they reached the port city that they set out from. You see, things can only run at one-hundred and ten percent efficiency for so long before it all goes on the fritz!

The End

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