The Curious Affair of Scuppers Bilgewater and the Lesser Speckled Dunk Island Scrub Hen, Page 3

matter again on departing Dunk. I also find myself wondering about the fifty thousand he owes me, too - though, actually, it's mostly about the fifty thou'. Anyhow, on a whim I one day, I went on the Web to look up the Lesser Speckled Dunk Island Scrub Hen on Wikipedia.

  Turns out the buggers must be pretty rare. I mean, try as I might, I couldn't find any mention of them. Probably old Scup was too embarrassed to bring up the subject again because he'd never actually got to see one.

  I have to confess, though, that the sea is still in my blood. And I do often wonder from time to time how the scurvy bloody bilge rat might be faring. I mean he was a likeable sort of rogue ? on a good day that is, when it was broad daylight and you could see what the bugger was up to.

  There was this motto-thing he used to shout into the wind every hour or so for some reason, like to no one in particular. It could occur at any moment, too, and without warning - in the middle of a conversation or a drinking session, sitting on the ship's head or even when he was alone on deck somewhere just scratching his arse.

  "Port is a red wine that's best left alone!" he'd yell.

  I've no idea what it meant. One thing was certain, though; it wasn't self admonition. Heaven knows, he could consume litres of the stuff.

  But they're waiting for me to saddle up and head back out to the mustering camp, so I have to finish this now. We're starting the big cattle drive in the morning, so in the meantime mind how you go old mate.

  Cheers for now

  Saltbush Sam.

  (That's what they call me now, see, out around the ridges. And who is one to dispute popular sentiment?)

  ? L A Johannsen 2014