The stars hung in the black sky like fireflies and the sea was glowing white. The crew of the Wild Goose crowded the rail, staring at a sea as flat and pale as a vast sheet of ice.
‘Battersea’ Bill Dawes shouldered his way between the sailors. “What is it?”
“Singleton, he says he knows what it is,” said Tom Fry. “But you know how it is with him. There’s been too much saltwater in his grog these many years.”
Singleton leaned over the rail, his long beard wagging at its reflection in the white sea. “Joe,” said Bill. “What is it?”
“A milk sea,” whispered Singleton. “Bill, it’s — they call it a milk sea. Back in the earlies, when I was a boy, they used to say when a ship sailed through a milk sea, it had left the world of men.” Singleton pointed at the phosphorescent water. “Tonight’s the twenty-third — there’s a full moon tonight. But where is it? It’s under there now. We’re on the other side of the looking-glass.”
“This entire latitude is bewitched it seems.” Bill handed Singleton a chart and pointed at the island breaching the horizon off their port side. “Joe, that island is not supposed to be there.”
Singleton glanced at the chart. He looked at the island. “It’s not supposed to be there either.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It’s coming straight towards us. That island is moving, like a ship riding before the wind.” Singleton’s face was white. “Bill! You don’t think it’s…”
“Joe, look!” Bill pointed at the island. A man stood on the beach, waving his hat over his head.
The keening of a fiddle drifted in on the breeze. The sounds of men’s voices and women’s laughter echoed across the water. Bill smelled wood smoke and roasting meat.
Tom Fry laughed and waved his hat at the man on the beach.
“It’s Fiddler’s Green,” said Singleton.
“No, that’s just a myth,” said Bill, “an old song…”
Tom Fry cried out, “We’ve sailed to Paradise, boys, or Paradise has found us!” The men raised a cheer, “Fiddler’s Green, huzzah!” and tossed up their hats.
“Fiddler’s Green is the place where sailors go when they die,” said Singleton.
The current swirled, slapping white foam against the ship.
Bill tossed his cigar in the sea. “Joe, we can expect a land breeze as that island approaches — we’ll need men in the top yards ready to trim the sheets if the winds change.
“Joe,” said Bill. “Your watch is on duty. Order your men aloft.”
The wind shifted. “Singleton!” said Bill. The sails cracked and the ship’s nose turned three points to the east. The island scudded by their port side.
Tom Fry unlatched the nearest boat and swung her out to launch. “C’mon boys! Our work here is done. We’re going to Paradise!”
Singleton grabbed Tom’s arm. “Look!”
The man on the island ran across the beach and dove into the surf.
“If I were in paradise,” said Singleton, “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to leave.”
The sea in the island’s wake had become violent. Bill wrestled with the wheel, turning the ship’s nose into the wind.
Tom Fry twisted from Singleton’s grasp and dove into the sea. His body clove a black divot in the water, splattering black dots on the glowing waves.
“Tom! Singleton, do something!”
Singleton shook his head. “No, Bill. Let him go.”
The man from the island was now just a pair of arms and a hat floating between the waves. Tom Fry swam toward the drowning man, a black wake splitting the milk sea behind him.
“He’s gone, Bill,” said Singleton, “and if we’re lucky, he’ll be the only one.”
The drowning man and his hat disappeared. Tom Fry dove into the front edge of a white wave and he too vanished.
Only one man came up.
The swimmer treaded water for a moment, as if getting his bearings. He turned towards the island and began a strong breaststroke in that direction. The black wake followed him, an inverted black V tearing a jagged rent in the glowing sea.
The milk sea shimmered and broke. A thousand white flames edged a thousand black waves, and then the sea was dark.
The swimmer made the beach, staggering through the surf. He turned and waved his hat at the Wild Goose.
“Tom!” cried Bill. “We’ll send a boat. We’ll come for you!”
The man on the beach returned his hat to his head and walked off under the trees. Bill heard a cheer, as if a body of men were welcoming a long-lost friend. The unearthly fiddle began playing again, this time the bawdy song, ‘The Keyhole in the Door.’ No one aboard the Wild Goose could deny that it was Tom Fry’s voice singing the lyrics.
“Tom!”
“Bill, Tom’s dead,” said Singleton. “We’re still alive.”
The island drifted to the south, disappearing into the night. The whine of the fiddle faded. The Wild Goose bobbed in an empty, black sea.
Nick Logan lives and works in Woodstock, Illinois.
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21 Responses to “FIDDLER’S GREEN • by Nick Logan”
Comments
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June 30th, 2009 at 12:14 am
“treaded”?
June 30th, 2009 at 4:59 am
Hmmm. Too many names, too many guys. Bill, Joe, Tom, Singleton, Dawes, Fry – I count at least 6. Best to keep the cast of characters short and memorable in a short piece like this.
June 30th, 2009 at 5:48 am
A promising start and the voices were good, though there wasn’t enough differences/unique character attributes to distinguish them. Since there were so many, as Bob pointed out, this became a problem.
The ending was a bit ambiguious for my taste. Did Tom make it? Did the swimmer from the island trade places with him somehow? There was a fiendish aspect to the island, but as a reader I wanted more.
Overall, perhaps an overly ambitious story to try to tell in a flash.
–John
June 30th, 2009 at 5:56 am
Interesting, but left too many loose ends. Why did the man from the island try to swim to the ship?
Built on an old legend, a folk-story, this doesn’t really explain what’s happening. A flash story doesn’t have room to handle this properly, it needs to be a longer piece in order to do its job. Nice try, but rewrite it at 3000-4000 words and send it to a market that handles longer work.
June 30th, 2009 at 6:23 am
I found this story engrossing and well written despite all the unanswered questions. I think this might be because when one finds oneself at an edge of an other-worldly mysteriousness one doesn’t expect questions to be answered in the usual manner. I come away from the story with a feeling of having wonderingly approached something real, but not grasped.
June 30th, 2009 at 6:43 am
Heck! There’s a Fiddler’s Green pub I go to. Might give it a miss in future.
Great story.
A couple of points, though. As noted, ‘treaded?’
Also, the sentence, ‘”Fiddler’s Green is the place where sailors go when they die,” said Singleton.’ seems to be the author lazily explaining to his audience rather than Singleton talking to his men.
I mean, the crew should already know what Fiddler’s Green is – unless they were Shanghaied!
Otherwise, a goosebumpy story to be sure.
June 30th, 2009 at 7:05 am
“Yep,” they would say, “when I die, I’m not going to stop at Heaven. I’m going fifteen miles beyond, to Fiddler’s Green. We’ll never be dry there, and there’ll be fun on Saturday nights.”
Harold W. Thompson, “Body, Boots & Britches,” 1939
June 30th, 2009 at 7:06 am
For more Battersea Bill anecdotes right here at Every Day Fiction, please type in my name, Nick Logan, into the Search box at the right side of your screen. Read and enjoy,
“Desert Island Solitaire”
“The Next Move”
“Odd Pork”
and “Bad Blood”
Thanks.
Nick Logan
June 30th, 2009 at 7:39 am
I loved it.
Mystery not solved and all.
Loved the milk sea.
Will be thinking about this piece all day.
Makes me think of Kafka.
June 30th, 2009 at 7:58 am
Good story, but I got lose in all of the ship’s member, could use less people, would make a great book or even a movie. thanks
June 30th, 2009 at 8:46 am
I loved it too. It kept me on the edge of my seat wondering what was going to happen.
June 30th, 2009 at 10:19 am
Great story! Very haunting. I found that if you read it again, then you realize that there really are not too many characters and you see that everyone has their place in this story.
June 30th, 2009 at 10:26 am
Another gem. Left me wanting more!
June 30th, 2009 at 10:40 am
I had a hard time understanding this. It’s confusing and I don’t really get how it ended. About halfway through, it lost me and when a story does that, I get discouraged and lose interest in the rest of it.
June 30th, 2009 at 11:32 am
Good story. Left me wanting more.
June 30th, 2009 at 2:07 pm
The only thing that bothered me was Singleton’s explanation of Fiddler’s Green–it sounded so forced that it took me out of the story. Otherwise, a pretty good yarn.
June 30th, 2009 at 3:05 pm
Surprisingly good (I tend to prefer the wackier stories, but still liked this one).
Well written. You’ve got real talent here!
July 1st, 2009 at 2:12 am
I liked it, but I would have much preferred it if I’d known what was going on. The phosphorescent sea is a rational explanation, but the moving island doesn’t have one; so is this reality seen through the eyes of an ignorant and superstitious sailor (in which case the word ‘phosphorescent’ is out of place)? Or is this an alternative reality in which Fiddler’s Green really exists (if so, why explain the milky sea?)?
Who was on the island? Why was it moving? How come there’s more of a breeze closer to the land (land acts as a shelter. The wind dies by the shore)? But even so, Why did they turn INTO the wind when they wanted to escape? Why the did the man swimming out to them suddenly stop swimming and drown? Why would anyone put saltwater in grog? What’s the exortation “Singleton DO something!” about… are they married?
July 2nd, 2009 at 7:47 am
A nice world and myth you’ve created.
July 3rd, 2009 at 11:56 pm
A good salty tale.
July 8th, 2009 at 9:06 am
I like it. A little talky for me, a few too many people I’m expected to know too quick, but I like it.