USEFUL ENGLISH PHRASES FOR VISITORS FROM FOREIGN LANDS.

No. 1.—At the Entropist’s Shop.

[In honor of the second anniversary of his Celebrated Magazine on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting a number of his own favorite articles from the past two years.]

Good morning.
Good afternoon.
Good evening.

May I help you?

I should like to see your entropy.

Is your entropy fresh today?

Yes, our entropy is always fresh.
We have only frozen entropy today.
We are out of fresh entropy, but we have some in cans.
Our entropy has all fallen apart.

May I smell your entropy?

This entropy smells good.
This entropy smells stale.
My nose is clogged, and I cannot smell a thing.

What varieties of entropy have you?

We have good Dutch entropy,
entropy of Assam,
entropy of Provence,
and entropy of Anhui.
We have only one variety of entropy, because we do not like entropy very much.

In what quantities and at what prices do you sell your entropy?

We sell our entropy by the pound,
by the ounce,
by the kilogram.

Our prices are posted on the sign over the counter.
Our prices are marked on the bins.
Our prices are classified.
Our prices are negotiable.
We give away our entropy for free, because our business is falling apart.

I should like to purchase half a pound of entropy of Assam.

I shall need to see your identification.
I shall need to run a criminal background check.

Do you accept credit cards?
Do you accept gold ingots?

We accept all common forms of payment.
We can accept payment only in beaver pelts.

Would you like a bag for your entropy?

I would if it can be properly sealed.

Will the entropy leak and damage my automobile?

It will not leak, as this bag is properly sealed.
It probably will leak.
We are not responsible for entropic damage to automobiles.

Thank you for your prompt and courteous service.

Thank you, and please come again.
Thank you, and please do not return.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

[In honor of the second anniversary of his Celebrated Magazine on the World-Wide Web, Dr. Boli is reprinting a number of his own favorite articles from the past two years.]

No. 2.—Onward to the Pole.

IT SEEMS AS if it were but yesterday (though in fact it was last Thursday) that I returned from my successful expedition to the Pole and faced those sincere expressions of admiration, which, heartfelt though they were, caused me no little discomfort, my native modesty being of such a quality that even faint praise is a considerable embarrassment to me. Nevertheless, my innate candor and my strict regard for the truth, no matter how inconvenient it may be to myself, compel me to confess that the praises heaped upon me were not entirely undeserved.

For the purpose of our expedition, we had been assigned the Margaret Cavendish, a small but adequate surveying ship. She had begun life as a brigantine in the Royal Navy under the name Prosperity; later she was re-rigged as a brig and rechristened the Elephant Shrew; and then, after considerable refurbishment, she reappeared as a barque under the name Abstraction. Some years later, owing to a clerical error, she was re-rigged as an omnibus and rechristened the 53H Homestead-Duquesne Via Homeville. Eventually she was rebuilt as a frigate and assigned to our expedition.

The Margaret Cavendish was, as I have indicated before, rather small for a frigate, and the space for our equipment and supplies was limited. Under the circumstances, some of my junior officers objected when I insisted on including a company of caterers, with all the tools of their profession; but I assured them that, in the bleak and icy wastelands of the north, we should all be much cheered by a well-catered meal now and then.

We set northward in late June, and for the occasion of our departure our caterers had made up a memorable feast, at the center of which they placed a decorative ice sculpture of the Margaret Cavendish herself. In order to prepare us for our northward voyage, the food was made entirely of blubber of the various sorts we might be expected to encounter.

The first few weeks of the voyage were uneventful, other than my having to quell a slight mutiny when the crew discovered that our caterers had brought nothing but blubber for the entire voyage. Eventually, however, we reached the frozen limit of liquid sea. We were forced to leave the Margaret Cavendish behind with a skeleton crew of caterers and cover the remainder of the distance by dogsled. Since we had brought no dogs, I dressed four ensigns in shaggy raccoon coats and hitched them to the sled that carried our supplies; the rest of the crew and I followed on foot.

I shall not weary you with the details of our long trek to the Pole. Suffice it to say that, when we finally reached it, we were somewhat dismayed to find a small band of Esquimaux already using it to string up their laundry. However, we were able to bribe them with a few trinkets, and they allowed us to place His Majesty’s flag at the top, above three pairs of knickers and a small tablecloth.

We went back by the same route; but you may imagine our dismay when we returned to discover that the Margaret Cavendish was no more! Caught between the edge of the ice pack and a floating iceberg, she had been crushed to splinters. The few men we had left behind had only just managed to salvage their kitchen equipment, which they had employed in fabricating a large tent from the sails, and furnishing it with folding chairs and a banquet table made from the splintered wood of the ship.

At this point my crew were of the opinion that all was lost, and we should doubtless perish in this frozen wasteland. I, however, retained my customary optimism; and to it I added a quality which I have sometimes been flattered to hear called good sense. Looking out to sea, I spied another iceberg, and it put me in mind of the feast we had enjoyed on our first night out of port. Turning to the caterers, I explained my idea, and they set to work at once.

It took a good two days of concerted effort, but the skills of the caterers were up to the task; for after all it was, but for the scale, no different from what I had already seen them accomplish. At the end of that time, they had carved an exact replica of the Margaret Cavendish from the ice all around us. We loaded our equipment on the new ship and set sail once again. I need not tell you, what everyone already knows; viz., that our sturdy ice-frigate made it as far as the extreme northern coasts of our own country, and that from there we were swiftly conveyed to face popular acclaim in the capital.

From this voyage I learned an important lesson, which is that, no matter how long the journey or how inhospitable the country, one should never deny oneself the comforts of home. I shall be certain to insist on a company of caterers in all my future voyages.

USEFUL ENGLISH PHRASES FOR VISITORS FROM FOREIGN LANDS.

No. 2.—At the Home for the Incurably Insane.

-

Good morning.
Good afternoon.
Good evening.

It is a fine day today.

It is indeed a fine day, and I shall send a telegram to that effect to the Washington Post.
It is indeed a fine day, which is all the worse for you, my fair maiden.
It is not a fine day, and stating that it is will be considered an act of war against the Kingdom of Bavaria.

What would you like to do today?
Would you like to participate in some of the organized activities?
Would you like to gather weasels by the flowing stream?
Would you like to compose a roundelay with me?

The King of Bavaria presents his compliments, and inquires whether you would like to dance the Lindy Hop with him.

I would be delighted to dance the Lindy Hop with you, because I am in fact Charles Lindbergh.
It is not my custom to dance the Lindy Hop in months with no R.
I would dance the Lindy Hop with you, but sadly I have no umbrella.

My room is a very poor vintage, and I should like a better one.
My room is entirely adequate, and I despise adequacy.
My room is in Luxembourg; could you please retrieve it?
My room is not visible to the naked eye.

Is it Tuesday today?
Will it be Tuesday tomorrow as well?

It is Tuesday today, and it will be Tuesday tomorrow as well.
It is Tuesday today, but I am sorry to inform you that it will never be Tuesday again.
It has always been Tuesday.

Would you care to sup with me?
Would you care to dine on moonbeams and breakfast on emeralds?

The food here is appallingly Latvian.
The food here is edible, and so are the curtains.
I have not eaten food since the Ultramontanes came to power.

Do you speak English?

I do not speak English, and neither do you.
I would speak English if I were properly rewarded.
I am not satisfied with English, and have therefore invented my own language. Lunmer wandel plebrus kwokum sfat.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 11.—Admiral Hornswoggle in the Old West, part 2.

(Continued from part 1.)

AS THE SUNSET approached, my resolve did not waver, although many among both my crew and the townspeople tried to dissuade me from keeping my appointment with Iago the Kid. Higgs, my boatswain, quite literally fell on his knees before me and begged me to reconsider. I might have done so had it been a matter of my own pride. But the Queen’s honor was at stake, and my duty was to uphold it.

The townspeople were more practical in their attempts at dissuading me. A certain Mr. Obadiah Plant, the town mortician and by far the wealthiest man in Bad Pun, made even my most mundane tasks a bit difficult by following me everywhere with a tape measure. A number of other townspeople entered into lively negotiations for my possessions, which they did not hesitate to catalogue while they remained on my person, on the assumption that the various items they coveted would soon become available. Nevertheless, in spite of these distractions, I was able to make my few preparations, and promptly at sunset I appeared at the appointed location.

Osbert Kline’s corral was a ramshackle establishment, emblazoned with Mr. Kline’s initials in large letters over the gate. The horses had all been withdrawn in honor of our meeting, a horse perforated with gunshot being considerably less valuable on the open market; but they had left abundant evidence of their recent presence all over the ground within the enclosure. Iago the Kid was waiting for me by the gate.

“There you are, you whoreson clap-eared maypole,” my opponent greeted me. “Have you said your prayers, you cream-faced porridge?”

“It would be only fair to warn you, Mr. Kid,” I told him, “that by drawing your weapon against me, you may subject yourself to needless embarrassment. I shall not take it amiss if you decide to call off this engagement; on the contrary, I should be delighted if we could part on good terms, with no ill will on either side.”

“Oh, you would, would you? Yeah, I reckon you’d like it just fine if I backed down. Well, it ain’t gonna happen, you fawnin’ spaniel. I’m gonna give you ten seconds to get to the other side of the corral yonder, and when I say ‘draw,’ you’d better be quick as a greased enchilada, savvy?”

Having failed in my last attempt to bring about a reasonable reconciliation, I had no choice but to follow his instructions. Carefully threading my way across the corral, Iago the Kid counting in a slow and deliberate way all the while, I took up a position in front of the opposite fence and turned to face my opponent.

“All right, then, you lickspittle caterpillar. Draw!”

I stood my ground and did not move. Iago the Kid, on the other hand, was moving in a very undignified manner, as he struggled and pulled at his gun, grunting and panting; yet it refused to dislodge itself from its holster, defying its owner’s most concentrated efforts. At last, the man’s shabby leather belt snapped apart, and his trousers fell to his ankles, revealing a pair of brightly colored silk drawers with an especially lively floral pattern. We could hear the riotous laughter of the distant spectators, and Iago the Kid was much displeased, giving vent to his frustration in exceedingly colorful frontier language.

“I did give you fair warning,” I reminded him. “And it was you, after all, who invited me to choose my own gun. I believe I made a practical and effective choice.”

“What in blazes did you do to me, you muddy-mettled pestilence?”

“I chose a caulking gun,” I explained, “of the sort that every sea captain keeps strapped to his belt to take care of such small leaks as may from time to time appear even in the best-constructed vessels; nor did I fail to make use of it during our brief conference by the gate. The marine caulking commonly in use in our navy sets quickly and forms an impermeable seal, which suited it to my purpose admirably. And now, if I may take my leave, I have a ship to launch.”

I shall not weary you with his frustrated expostulations. I am, however, delighted to be able to record that the shame and embarrassment of that meeting made a reformed character out of Iago the Kid. It seems that his aggression had been a mere compensation, as Proverbs 6:35 would call it, for the frustration he felt in being unable to express his lifelong love of frilly silk and lace. His taste having been exposed in public, he found the courage to pursue his true vocation; and, having founded the Iago Lace Doily and Antimacassar Corporation of Bad Pun, grew wealthy and respectable, and is now a pillar of the Methodist Church.

It is always gratifying to do good in the world; but as much as it gives me pleasure to recall my own adventures, I narrate these events more from a sense of duty, in the hope that the youth of our present day may be inspired by these examples toward even greater accomplishments; and that young men with dreams may find the courage to pursue them, instead of growing into sociopathic criminals.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 10.—Admiral Hornswoggle in the Old West, part 1.

THROUGH A SERIES of unusual circumstances too tedious to narrate here, our frigate had been stranded several hundred miles inland just outside the village of Bad Pun, Montana, a lawless town of the Western frontier.

No town ever more deserved the epithet “lawless.” Only the day before we arrived, a man had shot his own brother merely for taking the wrong side in a discussion of Kant’s transcendental unity of apperception. Yet not only did the shooter remain at large, but indeed he shot several more people at his brother’s funeral, on the grounds that, as he put it, he liked to keep in practice.

It happened that one of the victims of his rampage was the sheriff of the village, the forty-eighth man to hold that position since the beginning of the month. I understand that the Sheriffs’ Cemetery outside Bad Pun is, to this day, the largest cemetery in North America devoted exclusively to lawmen, though the town itself has become somewhat more civilized since, some years ago, it became a leading center of the lace antimacassar industry.

It was the custom of the town residents to gather in the Woodrot Saloon on such occasions to choose a new sheriff, and it was just my ill fortune that led me, at that moment, to enter that very establishment in search of a crowbar, a few hundred thousand wood rollers, and a bottle of inexpensive champagne, with which to attempt the relaunching of my ship into the Pacific.

“Be thar any lily-livered jackanapes what dares to put on this badge?” one fellow was demanding as I walked in.

“How ’bout him?” a young lass of seventeen summers and about fifty very hard winters suggested, pointing straight toward me. “He looks lily-livered enough.”

“Our new sheriff!” someone else cried; and before I knew it, I had a five-pointed star pinned to my chest, and I was riding on the shoulders of a boisterous crowd, amidst such whooping and shouting as I had never heard in my life.

The celebrations, however, ended abruptly, and a profound silence fell with astonishing rapidity. I was unceremoniously dropped to the floor, and all eyes turned toward the entrance to the saloon.

“It’s Iago the Kid!” a hoarse whisper to my right informed me.

In the doorway stood a tall, gaunt figure dressed all in black. He stared at me as I stood and dusted myself off; then, while the crowd parted and left a broad space between us, he approached me, his spurs jingling with every step.

“New sheriff?” he inquired, although it appeared to be more of a rhetorical question. “Well, I eat mewling coxcombs like you for breakfast, sheriff. For lunch, too, sometimes, if’n I gets hungry.”

“May I inquire the purpose of your visit, sir?” I asked, hoping to keep a civil tone in the coversation.

“I came to have a few drinks and kill a few mammering dog-hearted sheriffs, that’s the purpose of my visit.” He continued to approach me.

“I would advise you not to attempt it,” I replied calmly.

“Oh you would advise me, you would, you froward flax-wench? That’s a laugh.” He paused. “You people are supposed to be laughing,” he explained to the crowd at large, and the crowd instantly began laughing in a mechanical way.

“That’s enough!” he declared, and the crowd was immediately silent.

By this time, Iago the Kid was right in front of me, “Now, I ain’t partial to addle-pated fustilarians like you,” he drawled, his breath stinking of cheap Gewurztraminer, “but I’m in a generous mood today on account of I just shot my sister Maggie, which improves my life considerable. So I’m givin’ you till sundown. If’n you ain’t out of Bad Pun by then, you better be ready to meet me at Osbert Kline’s corral o’er yonder with yer guns a-blazin’.”

“My dear sir,” I replied, “a captain of the Queen’s Navy is not easily tossed aside like an old disposable contact lens. More than my own honor is at stake. I shall meet you at precisely sunset, and we shall settle our differences. May I inquire as to what weapons you prefer?”

He laughed a mirthless and sinister laugh. “A milk-livered applejohn like you? You can choose your own gun. Whatever you like. I’m bringin’ my trusty six-shooter, and I reckon I’ll still have five shots left when I’m done with you.”

With that he turned his back to me and walked out.

-

To be continued.

IF YOU GO.

TRAVEL TO THE Tsogivari Republic is generally safe and without incident. As always, however, common-sense precautions should be taken, and travelers should be aware of their surroundings.

In general, the Tsogivari are a friendly people, but it is still inadvisable to discuss dumplings with new acquaintances. The Dumpling Wars of the 1990s are still fresh in many memories, and you may unintentionally reopen old wounds.

The ordinary traveler is not generally advised to attempt learning the Tsogivari language. Even learning the words for simple objects can be problematic. There are twenty-three cases of nouns in Tsogivari (more on Sundays and holidays), and, of the six hundred thousand nouns in the Tsogivari language, only thirty-two belong to one of the thirteen regular declensions. The others are all irregular and must be learned by heart if serious embarrassment is to be avoided. Most Tsogivari have given up trying to learn their own language and communicate by pointing at things.

The Tsogivari have a deep-seated fear of monorails, and any references to such a mode of transportation should be made only in veiled euphemisms.

An ongoing insurgency by Unitarian fundamentalists has made travel inadvisable in the southwestern province of Lower Tschrkonia. If you must travel in that region, wear natural fibers in order to avoid offending local sensibilities.

Ennui, depression, melancholia, and similar diseases are endemic throughout the Tsogivari Republic. Travelers have the right to free medical care under the Tsogivari national health system, but may be asked to contribute a small sum to help defray the cost of leeches.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 9.—The Monster Galleon, concluded.

(Continued from Part 1.)

I WAS ASSIGNED a fleet of eight frigates and one brigantine (for luck), and after a scant week’s preparations we set sail for the green waters of the North Atlantic. All I took with me personally was my uniform, my logbook and pens, and the shepherd’s pie I had received from the Minister, which tradition dictated I should keep next to my heart until my safe return.

On my own flagship, the Mercurial, I had just about the finest crew with whom it has ever been my privilege to sail. Brave to a man, they were so completely committed to the cause of freeing the Greenland traffic from the unknown supernatural menace that, once we were rolling among the billows in the open sea, many of them turned green themselves in sympathy. The other ships in the fleet were similarly manned; and it is a tribute to their hardy crews that, in spite of the imminent danger, there was not a single full-scale mutiny in the fleet. It may also have been of some assistance that, with the exception of the captains and the navigators, the sailors were under the impression that we were headed for a three weeks’ holiday in the still-vex’d Bermoothes:—a small deception which I believe was amply justified by the hearty good spirits of the crews.

By the time the first icebergs began to appear, however, it was obvious to the crews that we had made something of a deviation from our planned course. There was a great deal of nervous mumbling among the crew of the Mercurial, and looking toward Captain Blanderson’s ship, the Fractious Nellie, I saw a number of lifeboats receding toward the horizon, which suggested that discipline had been somewhat eroded among his crew.

I was about to turn and address my crew, knowing the value of an inspiring oration in restoring a proper sense of proportion, but at that very moment there was a mighty splash, and in the middle distance arose the most appalling apparition.

From the front it appeared to be, but for its monstrous size, something like the Viking ships of yore, with a dragon figurehead whose gaping jaws seemed ready to swallow us all. I turned to order my crew to battle stations; but I might as well have been speaking to a sculpture gallery, for they were all petrified with fear and rooted to the deck.

But then the horrible monstrosity turned aside to pursue the Dieffenbachia, Captain Rumbaker’s ship, and I nearly burst out laughing. It was not a “monster galleon” at all. In fact, it was not even a ship. It was nothing but an ordinary sea monster of the serpentine variety. At once the mystery was explained, and the apparently supernatural manifestation reduced to the most prosaic of marine phenomena.

Sea serpents of the North Atlantic have a voracious appetite for frigates, so I thought it best not to dally too long in those seas. Thinking quickly, I removed the shepherd’s pie the Minister had given me from the coat pocket in which I had been storing it. By means of the extraordinarily loud two-fingered whistle I had been taught by a native of the Canary Islands, I attracted the beast’s attention; then, summoning all my force, I hurled the shepherd’s pie as far away from our fleet as I could manage. With a mighty splash, the monster turned and pursued the flying pie until it hit the water and sank, the undulating serpent diving in after it.

In the mean time, I had ordered the fleet to come about, and we sailed off as fast as the wind would carry us. Turning northward, we put in at Godthaab, and the men enjoyed a rollicking good time at the Royal Greenlandic Opera hissing the villain in Goetterdaemmerung.

Since that time, our fleets have been careful to supply themselves with large quantities of shepherd’s pies; and I understand that the creature has become quite tame, performing some rudimentary but amusing tricks for its treat, much to the delight of the simple sailors who ply those waters. It seldom eats frigates these days, and when it does the sailors severely admonish it, whereupon it displays all the symptoms of a guilty conscience, and sinks back under the water with its head held low.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 8.—The Monster Galleon, Part 1.

MANY YEARS HAD passed since my last encounter with the supernatural, a time I had spent fruitfully advancing the interests of my country. For my humble service my country had rewarded me with the rank of Admiral, and although I still managed to get out to sea occasionally, in times of peace most of my work demanded a ready hand at the pen rather than a steady hand at the tiller.

My reputation for expertise in unusual nautical affairs, however, had been kept alive in certain of the corridors of power; I believe in the corridors on the ground floor in the eastern part of the building, although I am not entirely sure of that, basing my speculations mostly on a floor plan and a number of rumors. So it was that, just a few years ago last August, I was called into the office of the Minister himself.

“Your reputation precedes you, Admiral,” the Minister declared after we had exchanged the customary shepherd’s pies (an immemorial tradition in the Ministry). “To be specific, it precedes you by about fifteen minutes. Young Captain Blanderson was just in here telling me how much his father thought of you. Since, with the daily urgencies of running the Ministry of War pressing on me from all sides, I seldom have the chance to inquire into the state of our military, I was glad to accept his advice that you were the man for the job.”

I thanked the Minister for his confidence in me, and assured him that I should always do my best to justify it.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “Now, the thing is, we have a rather unusual situation here, and it calls for a certain amount of discretion. We have been losing ships right and left up here south of Greenland in the North Atlantic”—he pointed to a map on the wall behind him—”and certain sailors who made their way back have been spreading the most astonishing tales. I would not have taken them seriously myself, but for the fact that we have lost an unaccountably large number of ships in the same area, and that the rumors have been spreading throughout Her Majesty’s fleet, rendering even the most experienced captains unwilling to sail in the waters off Greenland.”

That was indeed a difficult situation. Our relations with Greenland have always been cordial, and moreover the alliance is vital to our economic interests. Without unrestricted access to the green beans, green cheese, green salads, green peppers, green tea, green curry, green peas, green apples, green mole, green onions, and other greens commonly obtained from Greenland, our greengrocers would find themselves in a sorry state indeed.

I asked the Minister what tales were being spread through the fleet—for you must know that, at my desk job, I was shamefully isolated from the more active parts of our Navy, and the common sailors’ gossip no longer passed to me.

“It is a tale too strange, too uncanny to credit,” the Minister replied, “had not the cold statistics of our losses forced me to conclude that something more than natural must be at work, some sinister demonic force not unlike that which the sailors have described. In short, they tell a tale of a gigantic ship, which they have aptly named the Monster Galleon, three times the size of our largest man-o’-war, and animated by some demonic spirit, so that the thing actually appears to live by consuming other ships. Now, I trust, you can understand the horror with which even the boldest of our captains regard the waters in the vicinity of Greenland.”

I could indeed understand it, as I said to the Minister, though of course monstrous supernatural manifestations no longer held any terror for me after the first two or three I had faced.

“And that,” said the Minister, “is precisely why I have asked you here. Captain Blanderson informs me that a few of the other captains of the fleet have consented to sail into those waters and, if it be possible, defeat the dreadful apparition; but they will do so only under the condition that you command the fleet personally. I cannot find it in myself to order so distinguished an officer into such dreadful peril; I can only ask. Will you do it, Admiral?”

Of course I need not tell you my response.

-

To be continued.

DR. BOLI’S ENCYCLOPEDIA OF MISINFORMATION.

States and Territories Supplement.

Alaska. The entire state of Alaska contains only one equestrian statue.

District of Columbia. Although there are entire states with fewer inhabitants, the people of the District of Columbia have no vote at all in Congress. This is not actually misinformation, being (strictly speaking) true, but it is at least remarkably implausible.

Florida. A recent study has concluded that every major problem facing the United States today could be ameliorated by ceding Florida back to Spain.

North Dakota, South Dakota. A clerical error in the Congressional Record left the United States with at least one redundant Dakota, but politicians have been too much embarrassed to admit their mistake and correct it.

States and Commonwealths. Although most of the divisions of the United States are officially called “states,” four states (Virginia, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky) and Puerto Rico are officially named “Commonwealths.” Rhode Island, the smallest state, is still styled “Empire of Rhode Island and Providence Plantation” in official documents.

Virginia. The Commonwealth of Virginia has never officially renounced its claim to the territories currently occupied by Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia, Ohio, western Pennsylvania, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Canada. Although no attempt has been made to enforce the claims since the early 1800s, long-time Virginia-watchers believe that Richmond is simply biding its time.

Wyoming. Since 1994, by an act of the state legislature, Wyoming license plates have been manufactured in the shape of the state of Wyoming; but so far no one has noticed.

ADMIRAL HORNSWOGGLE’S NAUTICAL ADVENTURES.

No. 7.–The Death Ship, concluded.

(Continued from Part 1.)

The Indifferent set sail two days later. I had questioned in my mind whether I ought to reveal the exact nature of our mission to the crew beforehand, but when we began filling the hold with nutcrackers, my crew, as clever a lot of jolly seamen as ever sailed, drew their own conclusions. It is much to their credit that, even after my men knew we were headed for the Macadamia Coast with the express purpose of seeking out and confronting the death ship, we had only fourteen desertions and two confirmed suicides, with five missing and presumed resigned. The remaining dozen or so were bold enough to set out with me, though I did from time to time observe them clutching their horseshoes, rabbit’s feet, egg-beaters, and other superstitious totems to which sailors are much attached.

A favoring breeze brought us quickly to the equatorial regions, and as we approached the Macadamia Coast we had nothing but the mildest weather. On a certain night, however, we had approached within a few leagues of the coast when a foul storm arose from the northwest.

My men had heard the story of the death ship through sailors’ gossip, though by the time it reached them it had been embellished with details involving the Statue of Liberty and a gigantic percolator that must have made it even more terrifying to their untutored minds. They immediately recollected that the encounter with the unearthly vessel had happened on just such a night as this, during just such a storm, and at about this location. Most of them were paralyzed with fear, cowering below decks muttering to themselves and spinning their egg-beaters in a distracted manner. I therefore had to man the wheel myself, while simultaneously seeing to the rigging, which I could accomplish only by improvising a system of ropes and pulleys controlled from the helmsman’s post. This was, I believe, the first time in the history of our navy that a frigate of this size had been controlled entirely by a single man, and in a howling gale at that; but I had no time to congratulate myself on my accomplishment, as the glowing outline of the death ship suddenly appeared not more than fifteen fathoms off our bow.

It was just as the scruffy but honest sailor had described it in Admiral Blanderson’s chambers. The decks–for it seemed to have multiple levels–glowed brightly with a brilliant illumination, and I could see the same sepulchral figures the scruffy but honest sailor had described, wandering here and there on the deck with no apparent aim or purpose.

Tossed by the storm, I lost sight of the apparition again as the mists and cloud closed around it. When next I saw it, the ghastly specter was astern and farther off; we must have passed in the storm without realizing it. Frantically spinning the wheel and yanking my pulleys this way and that, I managed to bring us about and set off in pursuit of the death ship, at least as well as I could in the crashing waves. The Indifferent was a brave ship, and responded as well as she could in the gale; and though the storm occasionally hid the specter from view, I did not lose it, but kept up my pursuit until the storm abated.

Now it was clear sailing, and I rapidly erased the distance between the death ship and the Indifferent. After lashing my men to their bunks to prevent them from leaping to their deaths in the shark-infested waters, I brought the Indifferent within range of our grappling-hooks and prepared to board the enormous glowing apparition.

I had not been aboard the ship more than half a minute when one of its skeletal crew surprised me by approaching me from behind.

“Ghastly storm tonight, wasn’t it?” said a voice like cold death.

I whipped around, and I am certain that, if I could have seen my own complexion, it would have been as white as a sail. I did, however, find the courage to respond as though I had my wits about me.

“Quite,” I replied.

Now, however, I noticed an extraordinary thing. In the brilliant light, I saw that the skeleton was indeed covered with flesh, and presented some evidence of being a living human. It is true that the man was extraordinarily emaciated, so that every one of his bones was easily visible, and from a distance he did present the aspect of an animated skeleton. It was only from nearby that one could discern the thin layer of flesh that covered his bones. Nevertheless, the flesh was there, and the man did seem to be living and breathing.

“Mind you,” he continued, “I imagine it was worse for you in your little boat. Got a bit wet, did you? I say, would you care for a midnight snack? The Nature Bar is open for sprouts and smoothies.”

Still not sure of myself, I simply nodded and followed him into what appeared to be a kind of salon or tavern on board the ship, where a number of similarly emaciated men and women were seated at tables grazing at what appeared to be plates piled high with gorse. We sat at an empty table, and immediately a uniformed waiter, just as skeletal as the rest of the inhabitants of this strange ship, brought us each a plate of gorse and a glass of sea-foam, or something similarly greenish.

“If it’s not impolite,” I began, “may I ask what ship this is, and who its passengers are?”

“Not at all impolite, sir,” the skeleton man replied as he began stuffing the greenery into his mouth. “This is the Jolly Marrow, a cruise ship patronized by ardent devotees of vegetarian health foods. Once a month, it makes a cruise to the Macadamia Coast, where the famous local bazaars are filled with the sprouts and soy products we crave.”

In an instant the mystery was unraveled. The brilliant illumination, the skeletal appearance of the passengers, the immense size of the ship–everything was explained in one sentence. I am still a believer in the supernatural, but this was entirely a natural affair, if “natural” is the word that springs to mind to describe human beings grazing like cattle.

We had a cheery conversation that lasted until the rosy fingers of dawn lit up the eastern sky. It was only then that I remembered my crew, still tied to their bunks on board the Indifferent. I bid my new acquaintance a hasty adieu, and as the sun rose in the east we were already sailing back homeward, my crew much relieved at my discoveries on board the Jolly Marrow. Along the way we ran across the Flying Dutchman, a rather more famous supernatural manifestation; but by that time my crew, bless them, had thoroughly rejected superstition, and were steadfast in their belief that we were seeing merely another vegetarian cruise liner: a comfortable delusion in which I was content to leave them, seeing no reason to disturb their complacency with pedantic details that they could very well live without.