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He stood tall and lean, a figure cloaked in mystery and power. His chest was broad, his arms sinewy, his nose hooked like a bird of prey, and his eyes, black as midnight, held a fierce intelligence. Though his hair was frosted with age, his vitality was unmistakable.
There was something about him, an unsettling aura that made one’s skin crawl. Yet, beneath that eerie presence, lurked a determination that commanded attention. Charles couldn’t help but be intrigued.
“Well,” Charles ventured after a moment of silence, “where did you come from, stranger?”
The man looked at him with a knowing glint in his eyes and gestured towards the sky, as if hinting at something beyond mortal understanding.
“That won’t do,” Charles persisted. “You didn’t fly here like Peter Wilkin. How did you get on board?”
The stranger winked in a way that sent shivers down Charles’s spine and made a subtle movement, as if to confirm he was sitting on the water-cask.
“I’ll inform the captain,” Charles declared, turning to leave the deck.
In the captain’s cabin, Charles recounted the strange encounter. The captain’s disbelief mirrored his own astonishment.
“A man we haven’t seen before on board?” the captain exclaimed. “I’ll see about this.”
Returning to the deck with the captain in tow, Charles found the stranger still lounging on the water-cask, seemingly unfazed by the commotion he had caused.
“Well, my good man,” the captain addressed him, “how did you come to be here?”
“I’m part of the cargo,” the stranger replied with a sly grin.
The captain’s patience wore thin. “Part of the cargo? Nonsense! You’re not in the bills of lading.”
“I’m contraband,” the stranger retorted casually, “and my uncle happens to be the great cham of Tartary.”
The captain’s astonishment was palpable. “You’re not part of any regular trade, that’s for sure.”
“And how did you come on board?” the captain pressed.
The stranger’s gaze shifted skyward again, holding it for an unnervingly long moment before meeting the captain’s eyes.
“No elaborate tales,” the captain warned. “How did you really come on board?”
“I walked on board,” the stranger stated simply, his tone daring anyone to challenge his cryptic response.
In a twisted dance of curiosity and unease, the captain probed further. “You walked on board; and where did you conceal yourself?”
“Below,” came the nonchalant reply.
“Why didn’t you stay there altogether?” The captain’s irritation simmered beneath his words.
“Fresh air,” the stranger stated with an air of fragility. “Delicate health, you know. Can’t stay confined too long.”
“Confound the binnacle!” the captain exclaimed, his frustration leaking through his usual oath. “You look delicate, alright. Wish you had stayed below; your delicacy would have spared us.”
The stranger’s calm assertion of his fragility bordered on absurdity, yet none dared to laugh in the tense atmosphere.
“How have you lived?” The captain’s curiosity battled with his annoyance.
“Poorly,” the stranger admitted. “Nothing to eat or drink. Just sucked my thumbs like a polar bear in winter.”
As if to prove his point, he thrust his unusually large thumbs into his mouth, a bizarre spectacle that left the crew unnerved.
“These were thumbs,” the stranger sighed, withdrawing them dramatically. “Nothing now.”
“Confound the binnacle!” the captain muttered, trying to make sense of it all. “Where are you going? Why board us?”
“Cheap cruise,” the stranger declared. “Same destination as you.”
“We’re not companions,” the captain replied firmly. “Can’t have contraband aboard. Fair trade only.”
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The stranger’s anger flashed briefly. “Can’t do it? What’s your game?”
The captain stood his ground. “I deal fair. No contraband here.”
The stranger made an indistinct sound, almost like a whistle, and exhaled a thick breath that hung in the air like smoke.
“Send me food and drink,” the stranger demanded, his tone daring the captain to refuse.
The captain, resigned to the situation, obliged. As the stranger enjoyed the meal, he remarked, “Your captain cooks well. Compliments to him.”
The unorthodox compliment left an awkward air, but no one dared confront the enigmatic stranger. His presence cast a shadow of mystery and power that even the captain chose not to challenge, leaving an unspoken understanding that this was no ordinary encounter.
In the haunting embrace of the night, conversation was sparse aboard the ship. The stranger, a figure of mystery and discomfort, chose the deck as his sole dwelling, avoiding the depths below. The night-watch dreaded his presence, especially in the lonely hours when the vast ocean surrounded them, miles away from any land.
In these moments of eerie silence, broken only by the wind’s whispers and the ship’s creaks, sailors’ minds wandered to distant homes and loved ones left behind. The stranger, perched on his favored water cask, would gaze at the sky and the ocean, occasionally whistling a haunting melody that sent shivers down the sailors’ spines. The wind, seemingly in tune with his tunes, added an ominous accompaniment, heightening the crew’s unease.
As if in defiance of nature itself, the wind grew stronger, propelling the ship with an unnatural force. Despite the escalating storm, the stranger remained unperturbed, continuing his eerie whistle. The sailors, bound to their posts to survive the tempest, couldn’t fathom his calm amidst chaos.
The storm raged, rain lashing the ship, lightning illuminating the darkness, and waves threatening to engulf them. Yet, the stranger remained unmoved, perched atop his water cask like a statue, his whistle cutting through the fury of the elements.
The crew, grappling with fear and suspicion, gathered around the captain, questioning the enigmatic presence onboard. “What do you make of this strange man?” they whispered.
“He’s beyond understanding,” the captain admitted. “Not one of us, yet defying the storm like no sailor could.”
“He’s unsettling,” the crew murmured, exchanging uncertain glances.
“He’s in nobody’s way,” the captain mused, though his words only deepened the crew’s confusion. The notion of anyone wanting the stranger’s place amidst the chaos was absurd, a dark joke in the midst of their turmoil.
In the heart of the storm, amidst whispers of fear and desperation, the crew gathered around the captain, their voices a mix of urgency and dread. “Captain,” one of them spoke up after a heavy pause, “we don’t begrudge him his spot, for none of us could endure it. Anyone else would have been swept overboard a thousand times by now.”
“Aye,” the captain acknowledged.
“But he’s more than us,” another continued, his tone fraught with concern.
“Likely so,” the captain conceded, “but what can I do about it?”
“We believe he’s the cause of this chaos in the heavens, this storm and hurricane. If he stays, we’ll all sink,” another crew member added grimly.
“I doubt it. If he had the power to stop it, he would, for his own sake,” the captain reasoned.
“But if he were thrown overboard, perhaps all would calm,” they pressed.
“Is that your wish, then?”
“We only seek to save ourselves,” they replied earnestly.
“I cannot allow such a thing. He’s not in our way,” the captain declared.
“He’s always whistling, especially now in this hurricane. It’s unbearable. What else can we do? He’s not human,” another crew member interjected.
At that moment, the stranger’s eerie tune cut through the storm, its otherworldly clarity sending shivers down their spines.
“He’s kicking the cask with his heels now,” someone observed.
“Confound it!” the captain cursed under his breath. “It’s like thunder. Go talk to him, lads.”
“And if that fails, may we—” they started to ask.
“Don’t ask. I doubt any force could move him,” the captain interrupted.
“But I’m willing to try,” one brave soul insisted.
The crew approached the stranger, who continued his haunting melody, seemingly oblivious to their presence. “Hey!” they called out, but he remained unfazed.
Undeterred, an Irishman reached out to grab him, perhaps to lift him or toss him overboard. Yet, the stranger’s grip was like iron, pinning the man against the cask.
“What do you want?” the stranger finally acknowledged, his voice sharp.
“My hand,” the man managed to say, showing the blood where the stranger had pinched him.
The stranger effortlessly lifted the man onto the cask beside him, a feat that left the crew dumbfounded. “What is it you want?” he demanded again.
“We want you to stop whistling,” one crew member spoke up, his voice trembling.
“Stop whistling? And why should I?” the stranger retorted, his tone laced with defiance. “Because it summons the wind.”
In a clash of wills and elements, the crew confronted the enigmatic stranger about his incessant whistling. “Why do you whistle so?” they demanded.
“Ha! ha! That’s precisely why I whistle — to summon the wind,” the stranger chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“But we don’t need such a strong wind,” they protested.
“Nonsense! You don’t know what’s best for you. This breeze is exquisite, not too harsh at all,” he dismissed their concerns.
“It’s a hurricane,” they insisted.
“You’ll see. Watch closely,” he challenged, removing his cap to reveal a mane of unruly grey hair. “See? Not even a whisper of wind to ruffle my hair. If it were as strong as you claim, it would move a single strand.”
The captain, exasperated, muttered, “He’s got us all fooled,” as he walked away.
“Are you convinced now?” the stranger taunted.
With no retort, the crew dispersed, resigned to the stranger’s whims.
As the days passed, the stranger’s antics continued unabated. He perched atop the water casks, releasing his captive with a flourish, then reclined leisurely, feet tapping out a rhythm as he whistled and sang with a voice that could chill the marrow.
For three weeks, he maintained this peculiar routine, fueled by his peculiar diet of coffee royal and provisions fit for a small army. Then, as suddenly as he arrived, he vanished. Despite a thorough search, he left no trace, leaving the crew to wonder at the strange cargo that brought them home swiftly and safely, albeit with more than a hint of mystery and caution from the captain.