alternatehistory.com
Fowl Play
August 10, 1914. HMCS Rainbow, waters off the Farallon Islands.
Throughout the two days they had been at sea, the crew of Rainbow had become painstakingly familiar with one thing, fog. As they slowly made their way around the area surrounding the islands, visibility seemed to be changing with the flip of a coin. They would break out into the still blazing autumn sun and as quickly as they did, they'd be found rolling into yet another identical cloud of all-encompassing mist. The exhausted men had been at high alert for days, either for their store ship from Esquimalt or the supposed German cruiser making its way up the coast. Crew members gazed longingly into the muggy haze, blissfully unaware of the pair of young ratings briskly strolling along the superstructure behind them. George Blanchet had finally been released from the galley for a short period and was hoping to get some fresh air, only to be met by this dreary sight.
“What did ya want me for anyway Georgie me lad?”
George motioned for his companion to stop as they reached an open doorway into the superstructure. Able Seaman Murphy still stared inquisitively, his red hair peeking out from under his cap somewhat.
The older brother glanced around before he spoke, “You said you are tired of eating nothing but salt pork and bully beef right?” Murphy nodded quickly, “Good, then stay right here and make sure nobody comes into the storeroom.”
The conniving young Frenchman had been cooking up this scheme for the last few days and after finding a suitable friend like Murphy, he had a little Irishman to protect his flank. On one of his many trips between the storeroom and the galley, he had noticed there was a chicken coop neatly tucked away in behind the crates of hardtack. Word around the ship was the officers purchased and kept them aboard to supplement their own food stocks. He had previously brainstormed the idea of lowering a fish hook down through the galley skylight and swiping a prepared chicken right off the stove, that idea was quickly discarded as not the best plan. With the few spare moments of his time, George had found out when the Junior Steward's Assistant arrived to feed the birds and the fact that any dead birds would be taken to the rail and ejected over the side. With these things in mind, George had been feeding one of the plump white hen’s bacon rinds from his hand for the past 2 days, to the point where she would come running to the side of the cage whenever he was spotted. Propping open the top of the coop as he had done many a time before, the hen came clucking his way. There was no scraps this time as the boy quickly wrapped one hand around the beak of fowl, muffling the clucking as he produced a wine bottle cork from his pocket. Plunging downwards into the brain of the bird with his free hand, it’s cries soon stopped. The sewing needle he had previously set deep into the cork had work marvelously. With the dastardly deed done, George slinked back to his waiting companion on deck.
“Nobody has been paying me any attention, seems they are too busy on lookout duties.” Murphy said, nervously rubbing his hands together. “What were you doing in there?”
“You’ll see in a few minutes.”
Just on schedule, the assistant must have arrived for feeding time judging from the squawking emanating from the bulkhead. One of the men he had talked to previously was completely correct, the stewards never ate the birds they tossed overboard as they were not subjected to the food of the enlisted men, they ate with the officers. With dead bird in hand and a look of contempt on his face, the man stepped out onto the deck. Before he could finish his beeline for the side of the ship and send the recently deceased chicken to a watery grave, George quickly stepped up alongside him.
“What happened to that bird sir?”
He stopped mid stride and cocked his head, “You mean this thing? Some of the fowl don’t take too kindly to these close confinements, they come down with disease from time to time or simply exhaust themselves to the point of dying. Can’t have the officers eating tainted bird, the fish will be well fed though.”
“Me and the mates could use something besides salt pork.” George said as he purposefully dropped his gaze to the deck, “A bit of fowl would do some good I think.”
The steward shot a look of half confusion, half disgust at the lowly Seamen before shrugging his shoulders and handing over the bird. “Well if you want to risk eating diseased poultry, take it.”
Once the officer was out of earshot, the Frenchman turned to his speechless contemporary and let out a beaming smile. “Look’s like I got us and the boys some lunch!”
Authors Note: Hello everybody, this will be the last chapter before the point of deviation which should be posted on Monday. Thanks for sticking with me up until this point and hopefully into the future alongside my timeline as well!
Throughout the two days they had been at sea, the crew of Rainbow had become painstakingly familiar with one thing, fog. As they slowly made their way around the area surrounding the islands, visibility seemed to be changing with the flip of a coin. They would break out into the still blazing autumn sun and as quickly as they did, they'd be found rolling into yet another identical cloud of all-encompassing mist. The exhausted men had been at high alert for days, either for their store ship from Esquimalt or the supposed German cruiser making its way up the coast. Crew members gazed longingly into the muggy haze, blissfully unaware of the pair of young ratings briskly strolling along the superstructure behind them. George Blanchet had finally been released from the galley for a short period and was hoping to get some fresh air, only to be met by this dreary sight.
“What did ya want me for anyway Georgie me lad?”
George motioned for his companion to stop as they reached an open doorway into the superstructure. Able Seaman Murphy still stared inquisitively, his red hair peeking out from under his cap somewhat.
The older brother glanced around before he spoke, “You said you are tired of eating nothing but salt pork and bully beef right?” Murphy nodded quickly, “Good, then stay right here and make sure nobody comes into the storeroom.”
The conniving young Frenchman had been cooking up this scheme for the last few days and after finding a suitable friend like Murphy, he had a little Irishman to protect his flank. On one of his many trips between the storeroom and the galley, he had noticed there was a chicken coop neatly tucked away in behind the crates of hardtack. Word around the ship was the officers purchased and kept them aboard to supplement their own food stocks. He had previously brainstormed the idea of lowering a fish hook down through the galley skylight and swiping a prepared chicken right off the stove, that idea was quickly discarded as not the best plan. With the few spare moments of his time, George had found out when the Junior Steward's Assistant arrived to feed the birds and the fact that any dead birds would be taken to the rail and ejected over the side. With these things in mind, George had been feeding one of the plump white hen’s bacon rinds from his hand for the past 2 days, to the point where she would come running to the side of the cage whenever he was spotted. Propping open the top of the coop as he had done many a time before, the hen came clucking his way. There was no scraps this time as the boy quickly wrapped one hand around the beak of fowl, muffling the clucking as he produced a wine bottle cork from his pocket. Plunging downwards into the brain of the bird with his free hand, it’s cries soon stopped. The sewing needle he had previously set deep into the cork had work marvelously. With the dastardly deed done, George slinked back to his waiting companion on deck.
“Nobody has been paying me any attention, seems they are too busy on lookout duties.” Murphy said, nervously rubbing his hands together. “What were you doing in there?”
“You’ll see in a few minutes.”
Just on schedule, the assistant must have arrived for feeding time judging from the squawking emanating from the bulkhead. One of the men he had talked to previously was completely correct, the stewards never ate the birds they tossed overboard as they were not subjected to the food of the enlisted men, they ate with the officers. With dead bird in hand and a look of contempt on his face, the man stepped out onto the deck. Before he could finish his beeline for the side of the ship and send the recently deceased chicken to a watery grave, George quickly stepped up alongside him.
“What happened to that bird sir?”
He stopped mid stride and cocked his head, “You mean this thing? Some of the fowl don’t take too kindly to these close confinements, they come down with disease from time to time or simply exhaust themselves to the point of dying. Can’t have the officers eating tainted bird, the fish will be well fed though.”
“Me and the mates could use something besides salt pork.” George said as he purposefully dropped his gaze to the deck, “A bit of fowl would do some good I think.”
The steward shot a look of half confusion, half disgust at the lowly Seamen before shrugging his shoulders and handing over the bird. “Well if you want to risk eating diseased poultry, take it.”
Once the officer was out of earshot, the Frenchman turned to his speechless contemporary and let out a beaming smile. “Look’s like I got us and the boys some lunch!”
Authors Note: Hello everybody, this will be the last chapter before the point of deviation which should be posted on Monday. Thanks for sticking with me up until this point and hopefully into the future alongside my timeline as well!
- RelativeGalaxy7
- Word Count: 880