The first chapter of The Great Voyage, The Perfect Storm, author unknown.

Author unknown.
Word count: 3876.

Chapter 1: The Perfect Storm.

I was sailing on the vast Atlantic Ocean with 20 sailors in my own sailing ship. We had just left Africa and were heading towards our homeland, Spain.

The hold was full of our cargo and a full 100 enslaved Africans. The sailors were busy raising and lowering the sails, searching for the slightest breeze. Before nightfall, I watched with some worry as the fiery sun sank below the horizon, and the stars gradually appeared in the sky. The first mate instructed the boatswain to organize the preparation of dinner. Seeing me standing by the ship looking at the hazy moon, he said worriedly, "It seems we are about to face a major storm."

I nodded and said, "That's true. We're heading towards the storm. I estimate we'll encounter it tomorrow afternoon!"

The first mate said, "After dinner, get some rest. Tomorrow will be a fierce battle!"

I nodded silently. The boatswain called everyone to the aft deck for dinner.

I caught a whiff of the aroma and walked over. On the long table were several large pieces of grilled tuna, a large bowl of boiled beans, and more than ten bottles of uncorked rum gleaming amber in the torchlight.
After devouring a large piece of grilled fish, the sailors began to eat and drink voraciously. The burly men, who hadn't eaten for twelve hours, were already ravenously hungry. Soon the fish was gone, and sizzling, oily fish belly was brought out from the shelf.

I quickly finished eating, had the first mate arrange the night shift, and then I went to my cabin. By the light of the candle, I looked at the nautical chart. There were no islands nearby that could offer us shelter; we had no choice but to face the storm head-on.

The black smoke rising from the candles told me it was the calm before the storm; the low pressure was already there, and worry kept me awake.

I lay in bed for a while, seemingly dozing, and then I felt the ship rocking. I could hear a slight whistling sound from the porthole; the wind was coming.

The first mate's shouts drifted over, and just hearing his voice brought me a sense of comfort. This burly man, who had spent 20 years at sea, seemed to know more about the ocean and ships than he knew about his own body.
The first mate's figure flickered at my window. I opened the door and let him in. He asked me, "If we raise the sails, we might be able to escape the storm, but our return journey might take about ten more days."

I shook my head. "We don't have enough fresh water or food! We can't let the cargo starve or die of thirst!"

The first mate looked at me, nodded, and turned to leave.

I called him back. He turned back to me, and I said, "Charge through! Then we'll all celebrate for three days!"

A smile spread across the first mate's face. He understood what I meant. He strode onto the deck and loudly relayed my order, eliciting cheers from the sailors.

I didn't see the sunrise the next day. Gale-force winds whipped up huge waves, ravaging our ship in torrential rain. The first mate hadn't slept a wink all night, struggling to find a way out amidst the crests and troughs of the waves.

The sailors were all at their oars, listening to the second mate's commands and cooperating with the first mate to adjust the ship's direction. I peeked through the porthole and went to the wheelhouse. The first mate grinned at me, his eyes fixed on the giant waves outside the window. I staggered closer to him and shouted hoarsely, asking if he wanted to rest!

The first mate grinned, shook his head, and turned to yell at me. I vaguely understood what he meant. I peeked through the porthole to the aft deck, lifted the hatch, and a strong, acrid stench hit me. It seemed like even a hurricane couldn't dispel the smell. I covered my nose and went down to the deck. Behind the huge cabin, a large group of male slaves with their hands bound were squatting or kneeling, all limp as mud. The cabin was covered with the vomit of these slaves. They had never been on a ship before, let alone experienced the kind of wind and waves that even we could hardly withstand.

I drew my sword and beckoned to a nearby black slave. He stared at me with terrified eyes. I brandished the sword, and he trembled as he moved closer. I grabbed his hand and cut the ropes binding it. The slave, bewildered, held his hand in front of him, fidgeting with his arm. I handed him the sword, pointing to the slaves behind me, signaling them to cut all the others' ropes.

The limp slaves gave me grateful smiles. I turned and went to another cabin. The stench here was equally unbearable, but with an added stench of vomit. I peeked inside and saw dozens of half-naked female slaves struggling in their own vomit. I scanned the area; all the slaves were still alive. I nodded in satisfaction.

I returned to the wheelhouse. The first mate looked at me. I nodded. The first mate grinned. The waves seemed to be rising higher, and the first mate's expression was grave. I knew the power of this storm had even shocked this old sailor.
Huge waves relentlessly swept across the fore and aft decks. Some loosely secured items broke free, spun around on the deck, and then vanished without a trace.

Water had entered the fore and aft cabins, but not too severely enough to affect the ship's buoyancy. The second mate's voice was hoarse as he waved his hands, directing the sailors to row. These sailors had been working together for a long time and understood each other without uttering a sound.

I returned to the bridge to be with the first mate, watching him repeatedly adjust the ship's hull, keeping the bow always facing the oncoming waves. I knew in my heart that if any wave struck our ship from the side, we would be swallowed by the sea.

The first mate's eyes were red as he stared at the waves. I saw an overturned bottle of rum on the side of the cabin. I went over, grabbed the bottle, and brought it to his lips. He bit off the cork, and I held the bottle up. He opened his mouth wide, and half a bottle of liquor instantly disappeared.

The first mate caught his breath, glanced at me, and I raised the bottle again. He burped, and half the bottle was gone.

He yelled a few words at me, reeking of alcohol. I nodded, found a few bottles in the cabin, and carried them into the oarsroom. The sailors cheered as they rowed, and I fed them drinks one by one. They shouted hoarse slogans, their thick arms relentlessly paddling the long wooden oars.

Without sunlight, darkness fell quickly. The first mate and the sailors were exhausted. The waves seemed to have subsided, the rain had lessened considerably, and our flag at the bow was slightly wrinkled. Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
By midnight, the wind seemed to have lost its power. The waves were still rising and falling, but they no longer posed a fatal threat. The first mate handed me the helm and plopped down in a chair. The second mate was also limp, and the sailors couldn't even stand up. They seemed to have no strength left to hold onto the oars.

After a long while, everyone helped each other out of the oarsroom, found a slightly drier spot, and fell asleep immediately.

I, with two sailors, sailed until late into the night before the first mate got up to relieve me.

"Fish on!!!!

Bluefin tuna!!!"

The sailors' shouts woke me. I got up, straightened my clothes, and went out of the cabin. Four burly sailors were dragging a huge tuna, longer than a person, onto the ship's side. The first mate was directing, laughing and waving an empty liquor bottle.

The fish was so beautiful, it looked delicious. After it was hauled up, one sailor used a large knife to chop at the fish's head. The fish thrashed its tail violently, blood spurting out. Another sailor kept washing the deck with a bucket.
After many cuts, the fish's head was finally severed and thrown back into the sea.

The fish's belly was cut open, its internal organs removed, leaving only the whole fish body. Large chunks of fish meat were placed on the grill.

In both the fore and aft cabins, sailors with guns or knives directed the enslaved men to clean the ship's hold. Large buckets of seawater were poured in, and the enslaved men recovered, and the sour, foul smell disappeared.

Three sailors in charge of food cooked beans and brought them into the cabin. The enslaved men greedily surrounded the barrels, grabbing beans and stuffing them into their mouths.

The aroma of roasted fish wafted out. A sailor brought over a chair, I sat down, opened a bottle of rum, took a swig, and shouted: "The party begins!"

The sailors cheered, and several muskets clanged and banged. The enslaved men huddled together in fear.

The sailors locked the male enslaved men's cabin doors, and the female enslaved men were led onto the deck one by one. They were greeted with barrels of seawater. The seawater-washed women walked in a line past the sailors, their completely naked bodies causing the sailors to lose control. Each woman's loose trousers formed tents. After a selection process, the three most attractive young women were chosen.

The others were herded back into the cabin. The first mate brought out a table, yelling, and propped his arms up on it—a contest of who would take the lead! The sailors' game was simple and straightforward: arm wrestling!

The first mate, nearing 50, quickly gave up, chuckling as he stepped aside. Challengers kept coming, and after a round, the strongest sailor emerged victorious, grinning wildly. He grabbed a small, dark-skinned woman and shoved her into his arms. The burly man lifted her up and, with a scream, slammed her heavily onto the deck. He unbuckled his belt, revealing a massive penis, as thick as the woman's arm. The woman screamed again, and the man was already on top of her. The shouts of the crowd drowned out her desperate screams. The man's buttocks moved wildly and rapidly, until soon the shouts and his movements became synchronized. He continued his frantic thrusting, the rhythm too fast for the others to keep up with. Finally, after a few more violent thrusts, he stiffened and ejaculated inside the woman.

He straightened up, his penis a mixture of white and red, and the woman could only exhale, no longer inhale.
Two sailors poured cool seawater over the little black woman. She struggled a few times, clutching her lower body tightly with her hands, curled up on the deck.

Then another sailor grabbed her calves, spread them apart, and climbed on top of her. She struggled a few more times, and the sailor began to thrust his pimple-covered buttocks.

The fish was served, and the rum was opened. The sailors drank, waiting for their turn. I waved to the first mate, who stroked his beard and smiled, then pressed down on the other little black woman, also satisfying himself amidst the shouts of the crowd.

Aside from eating and drinking, the sailors formed two circles around the two little black women. Occasionally, the little black women's screams could be heard, but gradually only the sailors' shouts remained.

Everyone had taken their turn once or twice, satisfied, holding their bottles of rum, eating fish and beans. The people around the little black woman dispersed, the sailors all content.

Four sailors lifted the little black woman and brought her to me. I saw that both women were unrecognizable. One had her left nipple bitten off and was hanging from her breast, her body covered in pinch marks, and her genitals swollen like a loaf of bread. The other was in a similar state. Both were breathing faintly, not yet dead.

I waved my hand, and the first mate threw a short knife over. A sailor tied one of the women's wrists with rope, slashed her thighs several times with the knife, and then threw her into the sea. The other was done the same to her, thrown into the water on the other side.

Everyone gathered around the ship's railing watching. Soon, howls erupted as several blue sharks chased and tore at the little black woman's body. Everyone drank and watched the gruesome scene below. A moment later, the rope was pulled up, revealing only a severed arm and mangled hands. Everyone cheered, and the rope was cut and thrown back into the sea.

Everyone continued eating and drinking. The remaining little black woman was so frightened that she was limp as a board, but no one touched her. Everyone knew that she was reserved for me, the captain.

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The first chapter of The Great Voyage, The Perfect Storm, author unknown.

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