The Captain Cook

         "You're... you're... um, you're..."

         "I'm what?" thundered Captain Fisher.

         The cook flinched, seeming to shrink into himself.

         "WHAT?" demanded the captain again, his voice just as booming as if he was still battling the sound of the wind and rain for his sailors' ears. Today though, he was crowding the ship's tiny, quiet little galley, and his loud voice was giving the cook a headache.

         "You're, um... you're burning the beans, Captain."

         "WHAT?" repeated the captain. He turned to look at the huge pot of brown beans sitting on the cook's stove. A suspicious amount of smoke and a funny smell was coming from it. The captain glared at the pot of beans, as if merely the power of his captainly stare would make it behave. In response, the pot bubbled and spat and some of the beans flew into the air and landed on the captain's face. "Ow! It burns, it burns!" yelped the captain, clawing at his face.

         The cook grabbed a rag and handed it to the captain. "Um, sir," the cook said, hesitantly, "I-"

         "Speak, stop your stuttering!" roared Captain Fisher.

         Before the cook could say anything, the pot of unidentifiable gray liquid, sitting beside the beans, began boiling. The cook moved to stir it, but the captain put a bulky hand on his shoulder.

         "Move aside, cook, Let me do this one." His voice was quieter now, down to only slightly deafening.

         The cook looked at the pot forlornly, the look of a man who sees a friend walk toward the hanging block. "Yes, captain, if you, if you just stir it, just so..." the cook reached out with a wooden spoon, but the captain snatched it out of his hand and vigorously stirred the pot of gray matter. The pot, already full to the brim, slooped and slopped around, huge drops of it flying about the galley. The cook ducked to avoid one flying globule from landing on his forehead.

         "It's not working!" yelled the captain, scowling at the pot. It was down to half full now, a swirling vortex of gray goop. "It's still bubbling like that."

         "It's... it's supposed to, um, it's..."

         "STOP YOUR STUTTERING!"

         "It's supposed to bubble!" shouted the cook, losing his temper and finding his backbone. "You're doing it wrong, Captain!"

         Captain Fisher, feared pirate captain of the seven seas, bloodthirsty tyrant of the ocean, bear of a man in form and temperament, rose to his full height above the slight cook. Fire and rage burned in the captain's eyes. The cook backed up to the wall, his anger dissolving into terror.

         "Sir, I, mean, Captain, I..." the cook tried to amend his words.

         "What. Did I say. ABOUT STUTTERING?"

         "That's the third one this month," muttered Johnny Patch, hanging from the lines. He was checking the sail for any tears when the plank was set out... again.

         Crazy Jack swung up beside Johnny, grinning and gibbering as always. "What'll we do, what'll we do, when he wants to learn our job?" he crowed, high-pitched and darkly cheerful.

         The captain's life-changes were always short-lived but painful for the crew. Last year, he wanted to learn how to load the cannons, and, after nearly blowing off the entire the port side of the ship, he made sixteen crewmen walk the plank.

         "I suppose," said Johnny, glowering at Crazy Jack, "we can only hope he doesn't."

         The cook, shaking and fearful, walked out on the plank over the roiling ocean. The captain held his sword to the cook's back. "That'll teach you," shouted the captain.

         "What'll we do, what'll we do?" cackled Crazy Jack, his voice loud enough to carry over the wind. "What'll we-"

         Johnny slapped a hand over Crazy Jack's mouth. "Don't give 'im any ideas!"