# Christmas at St. Barts.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

Debut was anchored again in the outer anchorage of St. Bathelemy, off the small French town of Port-de-Gustavia. We had just returned after steaming north-west to Spanish Town Marina, in Virgin Gorda, to collect the drugs mothership, Sunlight, for the Syndication... a large drug-running organization based in St. Bathelemy. They smuggled a hundred tons of marijuana from Colombia to Florida every four months or so.
The cargo was loaded onto the motherships alongside the quay using cranes and dockers, as if it was just another general cargo. The motherships steamed to Dominica and lay under the lee of this high volcanic island some twenty miles to the west to await collection by a fleet of Columbian 50 sailing yachts, who delivered their two tons of cargo to fast centre-consul sports-fishermen open boats off the Florida coast, then zipped into the shelter of the Everglades to unload their ill-gotten gains. 
Sunlight had been arrested, having arrived at the port without the correct paperwork, and was being given to the U.S. Coastguard Station at St. John's Harbour, in the American Virgin Islands, to use as target practice if she wasn't collected within two weeks, with all her mooring charges paid in full.
For several months now... since my girlfriend, Jacky, had left Debut in Antigua and had decided to remain on the Yens Yule, a trading, sailing cargo topsail ketch working in the islands of the Windward and Leeward Islands of the Caribbean... there had only been myself, Peggy and Andy on board the ship. It was while I was in the La Select Bar that I met a large crowd of young people, who'd flown to the West Indies on Caribbean Airways and were travelling around the world on a gap-year, or taking a year off from a good job before settling down to the three M's... marriage, mortgagee and maternity.
They asked me if they could join Debut as crew and work their passage on board. As they were prepared to supply their own provisions during their stay on board my ship, I willingly agreed, and our numbers were swollen to twenty six overnight. And one of them was a young Swede called Thomas, who'd just finished his training as a chef in French cuisine in Paris, at the Sorbonne University. As long as the crew kept the galley spotlessly clean, he was prepared to produce meals of a far superior standard that we were used to receiving.
The next day, I went ashore and met a young West Indian boy from Grenada. He'd been working as a cook for an old Swedish man on his motor yacht, but had been treated like a galley slave. Siggy had argued with him about this and had been put ashore with only the clothes on his back. He asked me if he could work his passage back home to St. George's on board Debut, as he'd been living rough on-the-beach without any money. I didn't know when I'd call there again, but let him join the crew as a helper in the galley, anyway.
I now had the makings of a good crew, and to celebrate, there was one fine party that night, with everyone taking part. The mess-room table was put to good use by all the new young girls in the crew, who were more than willing to get to know everyone on board intimately. With a large quantity of French wine and cases of hard liquor on board that I'd removed from the fleet of Columbia 50 sailing yachts in preparation for them to commence carrying their illicit cargo, there was continuous revelry on board for several days.
But it all had to come to an end during Christmas week, when I received further instructions from the Syndication to get underway for St. Martin. The Dutch south-east side of the island was only six miles from St. Bathelemy, so I took the opportunity to start training my new crew in running a large salvage ship. Andy had chosen the Swede, Leif, as his second engineer from the new arrivals, and Hans, a young German lad, as his third. He was getting his new crew settled at their duties in the engine-room.
The telegraph flanged to Stand By. I rang my handle of the telegraph in acknowledgement and wound my hand round for Helga to pull up the anchor. She instructed Ingrid, and the foredeck bell rang continuously, and I rang the telegraph to Slow Aster. The shaft tachometer came round to 50 RPMs in the red sector, and I gave Debut full port rudder. I blew three short blasts on the ship's horn... to signify that my engine was going astern... and allowed the ship to swing round on her axis. I rang the telegraph to Stop and watched the bows swing to starboard. Once the shaft tachometer was on zero, I gave full starboard helm with the small tiller of the auto-pilot and rang down for Slow Ahead. The repeater clanked on the telegraph, and the shaft tachometer swung round to 50 RPMs in the black sector. I walked out onto the starboard bridge-wing and watched the water boil under her stern. Debut swung around on her own axis to point out to sea, and I headed her for the hilly outline of St. Martin.
I entered in my logbook : '1140 hours, anchored in Simpson Bay in eighteen feet, with one shackle of chain', and slotted the pen back into its holder. I walked from the radio room into the wheelhouse, and out onto the port bridge-wing to look at the calm, tranquil water of the Blue Lagoon behind its breakwater. All the best, and have a great Christmas, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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