The Sea Tales of Master Catrame - A Sea Dog - First Story of 13

 The Sea Tales of Master Catrame

A SEA DOG

MEMO

The following text may present outdated depictions that are in no way or form shared by the translator themself, and neither are they shared by the original author of these stories.

Please understand that these stories' depictions are a depiction of their time.

A good translator strives to transfer the originality, tone, and idea of a text from its language of birth to its guest language, all the while respecting the intent and style of the original author. 

These translated texts do not intend to bring offense, but just to share the adventures 

written by Captain Emilio Salgari. 

Adventures inspired by his love for traveling around the world, especially to far, foreign lands, his passion for ships and sailing in general, as well as his endless curiosity about other cultures and what's out there, beyond the horizon line.

VOCABULARY

pitching = to move so that the front of an aircraft or boat goes alternately up and down. (Source. 11.12.2025)

hawsehole = the hole through which a ship's anchor rope is passed. (Source. 11.12.2025)

capstan = a vertical cylindrical machine that revolves on a spindle, typically surmounted by a drumhead with sockets for levers for turning it; used to apply force to cables, ropes, etc. (Source. 11.12.2025)

mainmast = the tallest mast* of a sailing ship that has more than one mast. (Source. 30.10.2025).

Note: alternative spelling: main-mast. 

*mast = a tall, slim post or tower, usually tapering upward, used to support, for example, sails or observation platforms on a ship. (Source. 02.12.2025)

papa = pet name for one's grandfather (or grandfather figure, in this case). (Source. 11.12.2025)

deck = the floorlike covering of the horizontal sections, or compartments, of a ship or boat. Small vessels have only one deck; larger ships have two or three decks. (Source. 15.01.2026)

mooring line (alt. hawser) = a line or cable used to secure marine vessels to docks or buoys during the mooring* process. (Source. 13.12.2025)

mooring = the act of securing a vessel with a cable or anchor, etc., in a particular place. (Source. 13.12.2025)

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Have you never heard of Master Catrame? Never?...

Well, then,  allow me to tell you all I know about this old-fashioned sailor, that enjoyed quite the notoriety in our navy: but not too many things, seeing as, although I have seen him with my own two eyes, have sailed in his company and emptied together with him quite a bunch of those old and authentic bottles of Cipro* wine that he loved so, I have never been able to learn his real name, nor in which city or hamlet of our peninsula or islands was he born in.

He was, as I have already said, an old-fashioned sailor, worthy of being near those Norman sailors that roamed the Atlantic for so many years, hungry for thrills and storms, that kept pushing themselves from the freezing coasts of the north to those gentle ones of the  south, colonizing foggy Iceland, and conquering the far away Labrador**, four or five hundred years before our great Columbus took his first steps on the merry island of the Mexican Gulf.

How old was Master Catrame? Nobody knew, because everyone had only ever met him as an old man. But it was certain that many Thursdays must have weighed on his back, since his beard was white, his hair rare, his visage wrinkled, shrivelled up, baked by the sun again and again, by the sea air, and by the dried salt. But that ol' sea dog was in no way hunchbacked!

It was true, however, that he would move forward sideways, not unlike a crayfish, wobbling, even when the ship and the sea were perfectly still, as if he had a tarantula on him. That's how deep embedded in him were the rolling and the pitching; but his walk was upright and when he would pass by the captain or one of the officers he would raise his head like a youngster, as his small, iron grey eyes that seemed always close to almost closing forever, shot out a flare similar to a lightning bolt. But what a bear-like build did Master Catrame have! As rough as an iron glove, sometimes savage, although deep down he wasn't malicious; and as superstitious as all old sailors were, believing in ghost ships, mermaids, in sea spirits, in elves, and particularly stingy with words. It was as if he had a hard time hearing his own voice, almost always explaining himself via monosyllables and gestures, and for this reason he never liked staying together with the others, prefering to spend his time at the bottom of the gloomy cargo hold, which he would leave begrudgingly. It was almost as if the light of the sun was bad for him and that he couldn't live away from the piercing smell of tar***, and maybe it was for this reason that they had given him this nickname, that, with time, ended up becoming his real name.

Who had ever seen that man disembark at a port? No one, undoubtedly. His fear of land was instinctive and whenever he would see the ship approach a beach, one could see him with a furrowed brow, hear him grumbling, after which he'd disappear, holing himself up at the bottom of the ship. No one could drag him away from there; in fact, woe betide anyone that tried! Master Catrame would then turn into a ferocious beast, raising his arms and those big, calloused, tarred hands, as tough as iron and covered in knots, would swoop down with a dull cracking on the poor, unfortunate, imprudent soul, and boy, were the cabin boys familiar with the harshness of those blows!

For the entirety of the stay of the ship in the port, Master Catrame would not come up on deck. Crouching down at the bottom of the cargo hold, he would pass the time crumbling biscuits with his long, yellow teeth, as robust as those of a wild boar, gulping down a good number of bottles of the good ol' Cipro wine, whose neck he would shatter in order to save time, satisfaction clear on his face, and consuming endless packets of tobacco. 

But the moment he would hear the chains twist in the hawsehole and around the capstan, the flap of the sails, and the squeak of the current maneveurs, one could see his big head slowly emerge at the edge of the hatch, and once sure that the ship was about to return to the high seas, he'd return on deck in order to take over command for the maneuver.

In that moment, he seemed like a different man, almost as if he'd get older and older the closer he got to land, but became younger and younger the further away he was from it, as he returned to the high seas. Maybe it was for this reason that the younger sailors kept murmuring that he was a sea spirit, born from a Triton and a mermaid during a stormy night, since that weird old man seemed to enjoy himself during the raging hurricanes, showing off an increasingly mean happiness, which in turn would cause his crewmates to increasingly turn pale with horror.

What had caused Master Catrame's such deep hatred for land? Nobody knew, and I even less than them, even though I had repeatedly tried to question him about it. He was satisfied with staring right at me, his eyes fixed on me, then abruptly turn his back on me, after giving me the proper salute, since Master Catrame was as strict as they come about following shipboard protocol.

After all, everyone on board let him be, never interrogating him, since they feared him, experience having taught them that his hand was always ready to saddle someone with a sound slap, despite his old age, and sometimes he'd even make them experience the tip of his boot. Some of them respected him due to his old age, others, due to their fear of him.

Even the captain himself let him do as he pleased, knowing that as far as nautical knowledge was concerned, there was none that could hold a candle to him, knowing that he could count on Master Catrame as one would on an affectionate dog, albeit a snappish one, a dog that could keep in line the whole crew with just a glance, and that never skipped his duties.

One evening, however, as we were leaving the ports of the Red Sea and heading towards the seas of India, Master Catrame, unlike usually, committed an error that made a splash among all of us on board: he was found, of all things, crazy-drunk at the bottom of the cargo hold...! How come that bear of a man, that for so many years had bade farewell to those heavy liqueurs that are so loved by the sailors, and that was never seen wobbling due to excessive drinking, had gotten himself drunk?

Things were dire; there must've been a big reason, and our captain, that was set on getting to the bottom things, ordered for an investigation to be conducted, which is what is done more or less the same way by our own authorities when a big event occurs.

Our investigation reached a successful conclusion with great precision: turns out, Master Catrame had gotten himself drunk by mistake! Some prankster had added among the bottles of the Cipro wine a bottle of rhum, that was more or less authentic, and the old sea dog had gulped it down without even noticing the swap that had been done.

A Master that gets drunk during a voyage cannot be let off unpunished, Master Catrame even less so seeing as he was so strict about following shipboard protocol. Pardoning him would have set a precedent and a bad example!

The captain, in all seriousness, ordered for the guilty party to be brought on deck as soon as the inebration had worn off, warning the crew to prepare for a special council. After two hours, Master Catrame, still dazed from that abundant libation, that could have proven fatal to a less armoured stomach, surly came up on deck, with a furrowed brow, with his face hair as prickly as could be. His small eyes were jumping from one sailor to the other, as if intent on discovering the author of that little, terrible prank.

The captain, as soon as he saw him, made his way to him, roughly grabbed him by an arm and sat him down on a barrel that was seated at the bottom of the mainmast. With the wave of a hand, he gathered the whole crew around the guilty party, then, taking on a deep-seated anger that he wasn't actually feeling, his voice a serious tone in order to better reflect his authority, began:

"Papa Catrame" - this is how he called him - "are you aware that the shipboard protocol condemns the sailor that gets drunk while on duty?"

The old sea dog nodded, mumbling a "Proceed".

"Is this man guilty?", the captain asked, turning to face the crew, whom were sneering, already aware of how that performance was going to end.

"Yeah, yeah", all of them confirmed.

"Had you been younger, I would have locked you in a cabin, with chains around your ankles and wrists; but you are too old for that. So, I change the penalty to having to untie that tongue of yours, that is always silent, for twelve evenings."

"Come now, Papa Catrame, cut those mooring lines that keep it tied, light up your pipe and tell us twelve stories, the best that you know of - and you must know them, eh! - and you, cabin attendant, bring a bottle of the oldest bottle of Cipro wine that you can find in my cabin, so the tongue of this old bear doesn't dry. Understood?"

A round of applause welcomed the captain's words, echoed by Master Catrame's dull grumble, though it was unclear whether it was out of happiness for having escaped the chains or out of dissatisfaction for having to untie his tongue.

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Source of the tale. (02.12.2025)

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* Cipro is a type of sweet, red wine, that has a sweet-bitter taste accompanied by a scent of roses with nuances of apricots and violets. It is originally from the Slovenian Istria, but it's a variety of wine that has almost died out due to the incredibly demanding cultivation of grapes. It is one of the oldest wines in the world, dating back to 2000 years before Christ. It is also known under the name Muscat rose (Croatian Istria) or Moscato rosa (Trentino, Italy).

Source 1 (26.08.2025). Source 2 (26.08.2025).

** Labrador is Canadian region that is found in the province of Newfoundland and Labrador. It means "the big land" in Inuttitut (a dialect of Inuktitut), and is what gave the name to the dog breed Labrador. You can go here (10.12.2025) for more information about the dog breed. (Source. 10.12.2025)

*** Catrame is Italian for "tar". Master Catrame = Master Tar. (Source. 11.12.2025)

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Personal Notes:

It is said that the stories written by Emilio Salgari are stories he would hear from sailors, when he would go to visit the dock.

His best and most known work, "Sandokan, The Tiger of Malaysia" has been proven to bear resemblance to true historical facts, starting with the firstly-thought-of-as-fictional island, Mompracem (currently known as Kuraman Island), and with the strong impression that Sandokan is no other than a fictional representation of Syarif Osman, who ruled Marudu (north of Borneo) (I recommend you go here for more information about Sandokan or Syarif Osman. Miss Bianca has done a marvelous job in finding, gathering, and translating information about Salgari and his works, especially those concerning the character of Sandokan).

Going by this, I strongly suspect that all of Emilio Salgari's stories are based on true, historical happenings and people, the sands of time mercilessly erasing most of their traces.

Emilio Salgari's stories feature places from all around the world; many of them feature places as far as possible from Europe itself. It is not far fetched that a story from your own hometown might be present in one of his writings, regardless of how remote or unknown you might think it might be to others.

If you know how to find the original, historical, sources of any of the stories present on this blog or if you even recognize one of them here as a local, known story (or legend) to you, please feel free to contact me.

I would love to put both the story written by Salgari and the historical one side by side and not let these names become forgotten.

Thank you very much for your assistance.