Bing Gananda 7

The sailors had cut a rough trail to the pool of water. They had filled their casks and were ferrying them back to the Mary Anne. Tindor and the Bos'n had remained on shore with some casks there hadn't been room for in the boat. Tindor was examining some of the plants at the edge of the jungle.
"Sam?" Jackson and Tindor had become friends on the voyage.
"What, Jack?"
"What do think that was, that thing back there?"
"You said it looked like a cat of some kind."
"Yes, but there was something strange about it. I hadn't seen it standing there, but suddenly it was staring at me. It was like it was looking right though me. I don't think it was a normal cat."
"How big was it?"
"That's part of it. I can't remember. I can't remember anything about it." He shuddered. "It gives me the creeps."
"It just startled you, Jack. Don't worry about it. It didn't attack us."
"Maybe so, but I'll be glad not to be spending the night in those woods."
Tindor just laughed.
"As much as you've seen in your life, and you're afraid of a kitty."

The boat had reached the Mary Anne by now. The sailors were hauling the water casks up over the side. The cook came on deck and tossed some scraps over the side. He was an old salt, scrawny, and grey headed, but a tough old bastard. He approached the captain.
"Sir?"
"What is it, Jones?"
"Any fresh fruit for the men?"
"Ask Jackson. Go in with the boat and see what you can find."
Jones hesitated a moment. He looked nervous.
"With all respect sir," he touched his cap, "I'd rather not. There's something wrong with this place."
The captain turned to Jones with interest.
"What do you mean, Jones?"
The cook grew uneasy. He was embarrassed and looked around lowering his voice.
"There's something in those trees cap'n. I know you can't see it, but I can feel it."
Pearce was not a superstitious man. But he had seen strange things. He was sure this old salt had seen even stranger ones. He was not in the habit of having his orders questioned. But he had the same misgivings.
"You can stay on board, I'll send someone else."

The mate approached. The cook went back to the galley, relieved.
"What is it Mr. Martin?"
"Some of the men would like to spend the night on the beach, sir."
He didn't like this place. But he had no good reason to refuse. He knew the men needed some time ashore. He reluctantly agreed.
"Leave enough men onboard to keep watch. You go with the others." Pearce knew Martin was wanting to get off the ship himself. It might even have been his idea.
"And Martin?"
"Sir?"
"Leave the rum onboard."


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