A Lee Short and Loose Halyard

We were chasing the western sun through the cloudbanks, and the musty bottle of port with what rum was left. A golden skyline cresting into a haze on a landscape as verdant as uncut absinthe brushed the clouds into the mountains keeping pace just off the starboard bow. I guided her into the fairest wind a man could desire, one hand on the wheel and the other holding a tumbler Pepperidge the boatswain would refill periodically.
We had lost our bearings for a while the night before, running from a dense gale that sprang up suddenly from the mountaintop. Trying to gain altitude in hopes of slipping above only accomplished diverting what would later prove to be fifteen degrees to the northwest. By mid-morning we discovered the error and were back on course, and making good time. With God on our side, we still would have plenty of fuel by the time we made port.
Stores, however, were another issue. A nasty altercation with natives off the bank of the mountains had injured two of my crew, and lost us a noticable amount of our earlier plunder. I view it as consequences becoming sailors attempting drinking games with the locals, but malaise and unrest, I fear, had been breeding off poor met expectations. It didn't help that the natives firearms, however clumsy, had managed to puncture the hold, with two water casks and ruin a side of beef. Some of the men were grumbling about curses on unfortunate treasure seekers, and I confess Pepperidge's presence on the bridge was not solely for company. He had his service revolver loaded and tucked into the waistband of his trousers. I didn't hold with their peasant curses. I was prepared for that as well.
The sun flickered along the corner of my eyes as I held her steady, squinting even through my smoked glasses. The wine was deeply red, and tasted as if it had laid dormant for decades amid a shipwreck. Which, indeed it had. That was where we had discovered it. Pepperidge broke off consulting the chart to refill my glass. "Despite the delay I think we're ahead of schedual, sir," he posed.
"Comes from abandoning the Kunluns sooner than anticipated, Mr. Pepperidge. I would have been happier to have engaged in better trade before we pulled anchor."
"Still," said he, "our hold has more cargo than we paid for. I know people in San Fransisco who can fetch premium price for those wares."
"That is part of what concerns me. I would be surprised if there were a sailor on this ship without a working knowledge of at least Tiger Bay. We could fall to earth at this instant and someone make a profit." I drained my glass, wincing slightly as the fumes of alcohol crept up my nostrils. "No, Mr. Pepperidge, I shall be much happier when it is behind us."
"To the contrary, Captain." Pepperidge's voice was quiet and wary. "I think, at this moment, behind you may be the last place you want anything."
I didn't turn , but glanced at the compass mounted aside the helm. The needle still rocked gently toward the north, but the glass revealed just a flicker of movement by the stair. "Bastards," I muttered. "They could have at least waited till Kathmandu, were they smart."
Pepperidge chucked with a snap of irony. "Anyone smart likely wouldn't be on this voyage, captain," he said, appearing to inspect his rum glass.
"All the same, I would prefer to settle this without shooting anyone, Mr. Pepperidge. There's precious little we can afford putting a bullet in at this leg."
"As you say, sir."

The sun was flickering less and less, moving slowly beneath the angle of the horizon. It would be dark quickly, and I did credit the crew's intelligence for making their move now. The sun was still high enough to be in our eyes, but not yet into darkness.
A burst of ill-tempered wind suddenly shot out around the ridge of the mountain, like the great river of a chinese dragon, almost wrenching the wheel from my hands. It cut a howling berth through the valley, whipping the rigging, creaking the frame. The ship shuddered and tilted, Pepperidge dropping the bottle of port and flailing to steady himself as I fought back under control. The props and planking screamed with increased tension, the ship contorting for a second, and then almost instantly the wind was gone and I fought oversteer.
I had no time to reflect on the unnatural attack, because at that moment a sailor creeping up behind had presumably stumbled on the bottle Pepperidge had dropped, lost the thrust of his attack, and only managed to drive his knife into the boatswain's right shoulder instead of spine. Pepperidge fell over with a scream.
I instinctivly knew another man was behind me, and I swung back with the first weapon coming to my hand, a brass telescope. I connected into the mutineer's temple, knocking him off balance. I heard the glass crack with the second blow, with a distant pang of ill remorse, but proceeded to drive the end into the man's face until he fell to the deck with the spyglass.
The first mutineer had made it to his feet, pulling the blade from my boatswain's back. He moved toward me with the knife held loose and wicked. I had managed to get my razor from my pocket by this time, and as he lunged, I pulled the helm hard to port. He staggered a moment, long enough for my to reach for his lapel, pull him up short, and slash the razor across his throat.
I wish I could say I recall his name. Fincher, perhaps, or maybe Frederickson. He gurgled in horror, showering me with his life's blood, and collapsed to the deck clutching at himself.
The ship swung itself into the wind when I let go the wheel, lurching all aboard. It was time enough for me to pull Pepperidge's revolver from his trousers, pull the hammer and point it to the main deck as I grabbed the languid helm.

There were only a few men at the foot of the stair looking trouble. I was about to shout them to stand down when I realized the fear on their faces was not warrented by my pistol, but something beyond me. Pepperidge, bleeding profusely, had pulled himself up by the rail, and wrenched my attention by speaking my name. Warily, I turned.
We were closing fast, or perhaps it was blowing in to apprehend us, a thick, dark fog, lying in the valley like a preternatural wall. It filled the space from one mountain to the next, blocking what light was left. And by now we were too hemmed by the pass to change course. We would be sailing straight into it, whether we liked it or not.
My blood was still surging from the violence. "All hands to stations!" I bellowed. "Light the lamps, goddammit, or I'll shoot the last man idle! Mr. Pepperidge!" I reset the revolver's hammer, and stuck it into my own waistband. "See a medic before you bleed to death, man, and then get him up here to see after at least this one. We made need him afore long."