The Adventures of Scallywag the Sea Dog, Part 1

Hello! My name is Scallywag, and I am a dog. You might ask what breed I am, but the best I can say is that I am a mutt born of a mutt born of a mutt, going back more generations than I can trace. But I can say I would not be welcome at any high-falootin’ dog show. And though I lack pedigree, I wouldn’t trade any of my wonderful life and great adventures to have been a pampered and preened poodle from Pembroke.

Though I am of no breed to speak of, that is not to say I am a run-of-the-mill mongrel. I am a Sea Dog. “What is a Sea Dog?” you might ask, and it is a fair question for a landlubber. A Sea Dog is a canine who has the great luck of spending her life upon the seas. How does a mutt become so blessed, and why? Because many sailors in these parts believe a dog onboard brings their vessel good fortune. I would be lying if I said I truly believed I ever brought a ship good fortune, but I can assure you, from my own eyes and ears, that a life upon the seas is a wondrous- although sometimes frightening- way to spend one’s time on this earth.

A life full of danger? Yes. Times of peril and fear? Yes. And times of beauty, peace, and total happiness? Most definitely yes.

I was born in the alley behind Gulldon’s Fish Market in Harbortown- or “Her-be-tin” as the locals pronounce it. The lower level of the stone building was where watermen and merchants exchanged fish, squid, and other bounty of the seas for gold, silver, and goods of all sorts. The upper level was a tavern, where sea-weary sailors stayed up too late, ate and drank too much, and made far too much noise into the wee hours of the morning.

Unlike many, I remember when I was born. A few details, at least. I remember the warm, loving touch of my mother. But I also remember that, as I drew my first breaths, my nose was filled with the sweet, briny aroma of the sea. I also remember my highly annoying brothers and sisters biting and scratching me, but I have forgiven them. My nose had me tracking a different trail.

I had breathed the sea deeply, and the sea was in my blood.

II

I was chasing laughing gulls along the Harbortown wharf when I was about four months old and having a merry time. I hadn’t caught one yet, but I was certain my time was to come. What exactly I would do with an angry seagull clenched in my maw I hadn’t a clue, but I trusted instinct to guide me should I actually ensnare one of those rats with wings.

The gulls had all flown off in a cackling cacophony when I saw a sleek two-masted sailing ship enter the mouth of Harbortown Roads.*

*A rope on a boat is a line. A line tied to an anchor is a road. The term “roads” in reference to a place is a maritime term that loosely means “a safe place to anchor.” One example is The Hampton Roads area of Virginia, which encompasses Hampton, Newport News, Virginia Beach, and Norfolk (pronounced “Naw-fik” by locals.) It was the site of the famous Battle of the Ironclads during The Civil War.

Incoming ships meant fresh eats, something my nipping and gnawing siblings failed to grasp, as they preferred to raid the trash heaps of the seaside city.

While fish scraps may sound disgusting to you peopleses, to an alley puppy with a growling tummy, they are divine. After the ship moored, the crew disembarked. There were six in all, and they were an odd group. But they did have two things in common- their eyes were to the ground, and they looked sad. They passed me after disembarking.

The first was an impossibly skinny, tall man with pale skin and frazzled hair, and his pants were way too short.

The second was a plump, short, brown-skinned woman in a crude but well-kept dress. Her dimples suggested she had a big smile on happier days.

Next came an older man with lightly browned skin, black hair sprinkled with gray, and deep-set brown eyes.

Following him was an old woman with long, show white hair in a ponytail, with a peg leg. I imagined for a moment that it was on one of their great adventures that a giant shark had chewed off her lower left leg. The wisdom and seriousness of her wrinkles suggested to me it might be true.

Next came a beautiful younger woman, maybe 30, with flaming orange hair and skin reddened by the sun. She wore a dress of unusually fine make for a sailor, but it was clear she wasn’t a passenger, but a part of the crew. There was a fire in her green eyes, and I sensed she wasn’t one to mess with.

The last was the captain. I knew this because he came last- a custom of the time. He had a straight posture, steady stride, and he was definitely in charge. His skin was nearly coal black, and his hair was long and in braids that hung just past his shoulders.

They marched right past me and climbed the stairs on the outside of Gulloon’s Fish Market and entered the tavern. Normally, I would have followed behind and listened for news of fishing, stories of storms, or tales of mermaids, but I stayed put. They were not talking and looked like they wanted to be left alone.

The next morning, I was awakened by the annoying cries of the laughing gulls. I stood up, stretched, yawned, and walked out from behind the three barrels of fish oil that had hidden me for the night. I saw Burt Gulloon walking down the alley and headed for the piers. I quickly followed behind because where the owner of the fish market and Tavern went, he was sure to meet up with sailors and exchange maritime gossip my eager ears soaked up like a sponge.

As I followed, the really tall and skinny sailor I had seen the day before came around the corner.

“Why the glum look, Stick?” Burt Galloon asked him.

Stick turned his head to the side and looked at the stack of crab traps.

“We lost our Sea Dog, Burt. We gave her to the sea two days ago.”

Burt Galloon’s eyebrows sagged, and he stepped forward, hugged the sailor, and gave him three pats on the back.

“I’m really sorry for your loss, Stick. I really am. Alby was a great Sea Dog.” [Alby was short for her full name, Albatross, which is a bird that spends almost its entire life out to sea.] “A legend of the seas, she was.”

Stick rubbed his left eye gently and sniffled.

“So, Burt, we’re in the market for a new Sea Dog,” Stick said.

My ears couldn’t deliver this news to my brain fast enough. I began to quiver. I began to quake. My head was nearly exploding with the thought of becoming a real Sea Dog. I meant no disrespect to the recently departed Alby, but these opportunities come rarely. I had to take it. But how? My mind raced and I couldn’t think clearly. “What to do? What to do?” I thought. Then instinct took over, and my body did what four-month-old puppies do best when it comes to peopleses.

I acted really cute.

I ran to stick with excited barks. I hopped on his legs and spun and twisted, all with my tongue hanging out and my tail wagging a hundred miles an hour.

“Whoa! Easy there, girl!” Stick said as a smile crept across his face.

Burt Galloon shook his head as I did figure-eights between Stick’s legs.

“This alley dog’s a lively one,” Burt said with a smile. “Spends most of her time by the water, chasing gulls and that sort of thing.”

“Really?” Stick replied.

The skinny sailor reached down and scooped me up with two hands and held me in front of his face. Nature got the best of me once again, and I slathered his face with as many licks as my puppy tongue could deliver.

Stick held me out from his body with a grin, although possibly as a defense against my salivary onslaught.

“Well, Burt, I think The Dolphin may have a new Sea Dog.”

“I can vouch that she’s been a good pup around here – not much trouble for one her age,” the merchant said.

Stick looked into my eyes and I returned the gaze, trying to look both loveable and seaworthy.

Stick turned his head to Burt. “I’ll take her,” he said. “What do I owe you?”

The owner of the market smiled and shook his head. “Nothin’. She ain’t mine. She’s an alley dog.”

Stick held me out again and looked me in the eyes once more. “You are a little scalawag, aren’t you, missy?” he said with a smile. “How would you like to be a Sea Dog?”

I wagged my tail so hard I nearly propelled myself out of his arms and took flight.

“Scallywag. That sounds like a good name for a Sea Dog,” Burt said.

“Aye, it does,” Stick agreed. “So, Scallywag, are you ready to go to the ship?”

I almost fainted with excitement. Stick tucked me under his right arm, turned, and began walking toward the piers in long, loping strides.

I had done it!

I was a Sea Dog!!

III

I was securely stowed under Stick’s right arm as he walked down the weathered and seagull-splattered wooden pier, headed toward The Dolphin. I could see the crew hard at work preparing the ship. They were coiling lines, loading supplies, and so forth.

Stick stepped onto the pine plank for boarding the ship and hopped onto the deck.

It was my first time on a real ship!

The plump woman I had seen the day earlier was closest, on her knees, scrubbing the deck.

“Beulah!” Stick said, “Take a look here.”

She stood up and scowled as her eyes examined me. My heart sank.

Was she going to tell Stick to take me back and get another dog? Was I going to set the record for the shortest time as a Sea Dog, at less than 3 ½ minutes?

Stick held me out, and she lifted my gums and checked my teeth, looked into my eyes and ears, and felt my ribs with her fingers. I was shaking with fear the whole time. I didn’t feel like a cute puppy. I felt like I was something awful, like a seagull, or worse, a cat.

But then something happened. Have you ever wanted to do something even though you knew you would regret it? That’s what I felt then. But I… just…couldn’t…resist…

Just as Beulah’s face was close to mine, I gave her a big, sloppy lick on the nose. She jumped back with a startled look on her face.

“Crudnuggets,” I thought. “I messed up big this time.”

But to my delight, her surprised expression turned to a smile; one as big and warming as the sun rising on the sea’s horizon.

Beulah scratched me behind the ears. “You done good, Stick. Name her yet?”

“Aye,” he said, and then paused. “Scallywag.”

“Scallywag?” she said with a whole-body laugh that made her jowls jiggle. “Figures a sea rat like you would think up a name like that.”

She grabbed my right paw and shook it up and down. “Welcome aboard, Scallywag.”

My fear of getting tossed off the ship began to fade away. Stick set me down on the deck of the ship, and for the first time in my young life, the pads of my paws felt the weathered wood of a real ship.

I followed Stick as he led me to meet the rest of the crew, who were all busy preparing to leave port. First, I met salty-haired Carlos, who was sharpening fishhooks bigger that my paws with a piece of stone. He eyed me carefully, and then gave Stick an approving nod without a word.

Next came Peg, (whose real name I later learned was Dorothy), who was rolling lines on the deck in neat coils. She also gave Stick an unsmiling but approving nod. I got the feeling that I was passing the test, but that replacing the departed Alby wouldn’t be an easy task.

After that, Stick led me aft (toward the back of the ship, for you landlubbers) to meet Annabelle. She had her back to us and was reviewing a stack of papers. I really wanted to make a good impression, because it was clear she was important.

“Miss Annabelle,” Stick said softly.

She twirled around quickly, and I couldn’t get out of the way in time. Annabelle tripped over me, hitting me in the ribs hard, and sending her sprawling to the deck with the important pieces of paper floating in the air.

“Why have you a-brought this mangy mutt aboard this ship?” she bellowed, in a way of speaking you peopleses call an “accent.”

Stick grabbed me off the deck and held me to his chest.

“This is Scallywag, our new Sea Dog,” he said. I could feel his heart pounding.

“Sea Dog?” she snapped with a scowl. “Alby she’s not, that much I can tell by a-lookin’ at her.”

“Please, Annabelle, give Scally a chance. She hasn’t been aboard 15 minutes,” Stick said.

“But plenty of time to already get into trouble,” Annabelle replied.

She stared at me, and her green eyes seemed like they turned fire red.

“Very well, Stick,” she humphed. “But let me a-tell you, mangy mutt, get under my feet again, and I will stomp on you. Do it once more, and I will have Carlos skewer you on one of his hooks and a-use you for bait. I am First Mate, and it is my job to make sure everyone does what they’re a-supposed to do, and that includes Sea Dogs.” She shoved a finger in my face, and my tail went between my legs. “So, the first a-thing you must a-learn, mutt, is STAY OUT OF MY WAY!”

In truth, the first thing I learned from Annabelle was that a pretty dress can only conceal a fiery beast for so long. Staying out of her way was technically the second.

“Now pick up my papers and get back to work,” Annabelle snapped at Stick.

Stick gathered up all the papers, handed them to the scowling first mate, and we scampered away.

“Don’t mind her temper, Scally, she’s a really good sort, and she’s an amazing sailor to boot. Soon enough, you’ll be thankful she’s one of us.”

The crew worked hard the rest of the day. Stick scrubbed the deck and railings, Beulah took crates of food down into the holds of the ship, Peg mended a torn sail, and Carlos prepared nets and other fishing gear.

The only interruption was when John, the harbormaster came down the pier as Stick was polishing a railing.

“So how long you going to be out to sea?” the harbormaster asked.

Stick smiled. “Same as always, John. As long as we can.”

John shook his head. “Don’t you ever miss life on land?”

“No, sir,” Stick answered. “Walking on the ground makes me feel landsick. I just don’t have the land legs I did as a kid.”

“You mariners amaze me,” John replied. “Livin’ your whole life out to sea just because you can. Ain’t natural. But safe travels, and hopefully I’ll see you again before you end up at the bottom of that big pond.”

Stick laughed. “Thanks for the well-wishes, but I think it’s living in a stinky seaside town that ain’t natural.

The harbormaster grinned. “Maybe so. But while you’re out there, Stick, see if you can get me one of those mermaids I’ve heard about. Bring me one of them, and I’ll get you enough supplies you’ll never have to set foot on land again.”

Stick scratched his head. “What you partial to, John?”

“Well, I’ll always had an eye for brunettes,” John replied.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stick said with a wink.

The harbormaster chuckled and continued his trip down the pier.

For the remainder of the day, I watched, listened, and stayed out of the way. But I found it curious that the captain had not boarded.

By nightfall, my puppy tummy was growling, and finally Beulah went below deck to the galley (the ship’s kitchen, for you landlubbers) and prepared dinner. A half hour later, she rang a bell with a ferocious, “Dong! Dong! Dong!” and the whole crew stopped their work.

Beulah appeared from below deck, amazingly carrying six wooden plates of food – one for every member of the crew onboard, which now included me.

The peopleses sat in a circle on the deck and chatted, while I devoured the best meal I ever had – rice, seaweed, and lobster cakes. The sun was setting as we wrapped up our meal, and the crew was done with its labors for the day. Beulah gathered up the dishes, and Stick rose and disappeared below deck.

He reappeared with a guitar in his hand as the last rays of day faded. He checked the tuning and began to strum in waltz time: Boom-dum-dum, Boom-dum-dum, Boom-dum-dum.

Beulah returned and began to sing with a voice that was sweet and gentle, yet strong and clear enough to carry down the pier and into the Gulloon’s Tavern.

Stick helped with some of the singing, although his voice was not nearly as lovely as Beulah’s. They sang songs about pirates, fear in the face of a terrible storm, days on beautiful white beaches, and the beauty of a sunset with no land in sight.

My puppy eyelids were getting heavy, and I curled up beside Stick. He slowed his strumming to a crawl, and Beulah sang:

The sea is like a river

That carries me away

Through the nighttime

And into the day

Out on the ocean

Is where I belong

And the wind in our sails

Is the breath in my song.

As Beulah’s voice faded, I slipped into slumber, and my head was filled with wonderous dreams of adventures upon the sea.

IV

I awoke the next morning with a yawn and a stretch on the deck of The Dolphin as the sun was beginning to cast its warming light over Harbortown. Although they seemed like shadows in the waning hour of night, I could see the crew already hard at work. I trotted to Stick while he was helping Peg prepare the sails to be raised. I dearly wished I could do something to help.

“Good morn’, sleepyhead!” Stick said with a grin, pausing from his work to pat my head. “Now how’s about you make yourself useful?” He pointed toward the bow of the ship, which is the front end for you land lubbers. “Chase off the gulls. I just cleaned those railings yesterday, and already they’re paintin’ ‘em white.”

I didn’t hesitate. I took off like a rocket toward the winged rats and barked with all my might, which admittedly wasn’t a terribly ferocious roar given that I was only four months old. But the gulls flew off, more annoyed than frightened. Their saucy attitude didn’t bother me. I had done my first job as a sea dog to help my crewmates, and I was hoping for many more to come.

The gulls weren’t the only winged menace to be dealt with, however, as pelicans were intent on stealing any bait fish that Carlos left unattended. The fisherman gave me an approving smile as they flew off, allowing him to focus on his tasks without worrying about thieving birds.

I was busy yipping at pelicans when Carlos suddenly popped to his feet. I clammed my yipper and surveyed the deck. All the crew, including Annabelle, were standing, and very still at that. My eyes darted around, and I quickly saw why – Captain Carver was walking up the pier with a pirate’s swagger.

Carver was young for a captain, in his mid-forties, and was lean but muscular. He walked up the boarding plan, and his long braids and shard-tooth necklace flipped up into the air as he sprung aboard The Dolphin with a hop and landed on the deck with a two-footed thud.

He crossed his arms and examined the ship from bow to stern. A small smile crept across his face.

“Not bad work for such a sorry bunch of mariners,” he said.

The crew laughed in relief, except for me, of course. I stood very still and tried to escape notice. The captain turned and headed aft toward First Mate Annabelle.

Then suddenly Carver stopped, turned his head, and stared right at me. I shuddered as the piercing glare of his dark brown eyes seemed to burn a hole through my coat. His black leather boots clumped heavily on the deck as he strode right toward me.

“Well, what have we here?” he asked.

He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and lifted me up.

“Is this our new Sea Dog, Stick?”

“Aye, Captain,” Stick answered, drumming his fingertips together. “A lively one, she is.”

“Her name?”

“Scallywag, Captain.”

“Clever name,” Carver said with a small smile. “Welcome aboard The Dolphin, Scallywag. We’ll find out soon enough if you’re made of Sea Dog stuff.”

He set me back on the deck and went to examine charts with the first mate.

About an hour later, the captain hollered: “Prepare to make way!”

Peg hollered: “Scallywag!”

I abandoned the pilfering pelicans and bolted in her direction. She and Stick were hoisting a sail, and with a nod, she ordered me to grab ahold of the line. I picked it up with my mouth and pulled with all my might. I doubted I was helping much, but it was my first day on the job, and I was already doing real ship work!

Carlos and Beulah threw off the mooring lines, and with a favorable wind, Captain Carver slowly maneuvered The Dolphin away from the pier. He was at the ship’s wheel, which sat atop the cabin at the aft of the ship. For landlubbers, the front three-quarters of The Dolphin was a flat deck, and the back quarter was like a one-story flat-roofed building that sat upon the deck.

I was still tugging with Peg and Stick when the captain whistled loudly, and then hollered: “Scallywag, come here!”

I was so scared, I almost piddled. Had I done something wrong already? I was certain I hadn’t because I had been doing everything I was asked to do, including staying clear of Annabelle’s feet.

“Go, Scally!” Peg ordered, “and quickly!”

So, I ran toward the cabin and up the steps to the bride for the first time. The bridge is the area where the captain pilots the ship, in this case, atop the cabin. Only the captain and first mate were allowed up there without permission.

When I got to the captain’s feet, I sat down politely, hoping the captain wouldn’t see me shaking.

No such luck.

“Relax, my little one,” he said with a slight hint of a smile. He kept ahold of the wheel with one hand, dropped to one knee, and rubbed me on the head.

“May you bring us good fortune, you Sea Dog.”

My heart soared!

He stood back up and returned his focus to leaving port.

“Now, off with you! Back to work!”

When I got back to Peg and Stick, they had finished raising the sails to where they needed to be to safely leave the harbor – not fully raised, but just enough for a slow departure. Peg shooshed me away.

“This is your first voyage, Scally,” she said with a wrinkled and weather-worn smile. “Get up to the bow and enjoy it.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice, and I ran to the front of the ship. I put my front two paws on the gunwale (“gunnel”) and looked through the gap below the railing. The sea breeze flipped my floppy ears like a pair of pennants, and I let my tongue hang out the side of my mouth.

Captain Carver executed a series of tacks as we headed for the narrow mouth of the harbor, which means we angled left for a little way, then to the right for a little, then back to the left, and so on.

Finally, we reached the mouth, with wave-splashed rocky points on either side. The Dolphin slid past the small lighthouses on the points, and the broad expanse of the blue sea lay before us.

“Full sail!” the captain ordered.

I was now officially, unmistakably, inarguably, and unequivocally a real Sea Dog. A rookie, to be sure, but a real Sea Dog.

Continuing chapters are written and forthcoming.

Scallywag was written for my son when he was young. I read it at bedtime, and he requested it repeatedly. I hope that he reads it to his children in the future.

Copyright 2019, Ted A. Lacksonen