Please do not republish. Published 4/16/22. Based on Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Contains stylized "mistakes" to mimic the writing from the turn of the century. Run on sentences, longer paragraphs, breaks using "-", misuse of semi colons etc. There is also switching between first and third persons, as well as from past to present tense. Please consider re-blogging and voting for this Chapter.

Captain Ishmael's Sea Monster Extinction Service

Chapter 2

The Plunger Filter, or as it was called later in my life the "French Press"; was invented in March of 1852. In those days, before I captained my first vessel, I would simply grind a handful of poorly roasted beans into a vat of boiled water and drink the mud-like coffee out of an unmarked clay cup with no handle. I would then use a clay bowl to eat a few servings of plain oatmeal - A working man of my plainness avoided extravagances such as milk, butter or salt. My spoon was made of cast iron.

I wanted to get a business man's start on the impossible task of assembling a crew to track down and execute; what I still considered could possibly be mythical and magical creatures that literally didn't exist, that were reeking havoc on British Military ships. The individuals would have to be a bit eccentric in the mind to believe the story at all; combing with the fact they also need to have considerable skills in the nautical arts. I could think of few such men; you would be shocked to hear how many people on an island city cannot even swim around the beachside.

The most mentally unhinged friend of mine seemed like the best option to begin with; a member of the Dead Rabbits gang called Crazy Conner who once told me in a drunken stupor that he believed in the existence of strange phenomenon and magick. I found myself on a Monday morning walking down the dangerous ghetto of Five Points in Lower Manhattan - A neighborhood in constant turmoil; It was a majority of a mixture of very poor Irish families and recently freed black Americans; there wasn't a moment of peace - weekly murders, drug shipments, police constables who broke the law, children running around with black eyes and arm bruises, men fist fighting each other over boredom. There were political slogans scribbled on the walls in Gaelic.

Inside the house of Crazy Conner: It resembled the Menagerie at Central Park. I assure you that I have never viewed an Irishman as an animal; but there is no other way to describe the inside of this man's abode. This house, if you could call such a small building a house, was so full of individuals that some people were, quite literally, sitting in giant sheets that were tied up into the air by pieces of metal that were driven into the side of the wall. Like the hammock of an island native.

After some convincing, Crazy Conner left his dangerous and dirty ghetto and walked through what I still insisted on calling "The City of Manhattos". Of course, this island was no longer a Dutch Territory, the cobblestone roads and rows of tall buildings told a new kind of story than a simple territory island used for resources for a far away Motherland. I assured Mr. Conner that my place of employment was neither anti-Irish, anti-immigrant or anti-Catholic and despite being in a nice neighborhood, was located directly on the water and hired immigrants and were known by some to be fully anti-nativists. Crazy Conner was rumored to be on a Bowery Boys hitlist; he couldn't be caught even in the wrong side of town or my hopes of recruitment were over. A team member dying before the boat left the shore was considered by most sailors to be extremely bad luck.

"This one is off the books, my old friend." I unfolded a copy of the document that I had written out from memory; with the addition of a summary of my conversation with "C". At the bottom, I added a line and the instructions for Mr. Conner to sign his legally given name; which he signed without thinking twice, before he even took a sip of beer. He seemed in very high sprits to learn the discovery that ancient dinosaur-like beasts roams the modern seas. Crazy Conner, of course, was a man of the ocean. He was a working hand like I was, on a different vessel - we met because one lonely night I could not sleep; I would often risk my life walking around the island as it was once safe to do. Conner asked for my identification as I walked by his house; believing me at first to be a Bowery Boy.

Now I was wearing a captains hat and a fancy Pea coat some rich sailor had left behind at the bar. I could no longer be mistaken for a lowly street gang member. I told Conner he had to stay at my apartment, keep to himself and shave his beard off; which he was extremely unhappy about, but agreed to reluctantly. I wrote a fake name down on a piece of paper for him and wrapped my pea coat around his shoulders after slipping a diamond into the pocket. "Merry Christmas Conner, welcome aboard ... as my crew member. You were right about all that fairytale talk after all! - We can live somewhere nice my boy! No more Manhattos, no more Bowry Boys, no more Hell-cat Maggie." I whispered under my breath with a slurred voice. Crazy Conner was just staring intently at a drawing of a Sea Monster I had drawn under the copy of the legal document. His finger traced over the drawing, no doubt his mind trying to comprehend such a creature, swimming in some distant ocean somewhere.