During that voyage, the ship was pretty battered. The hurricane overtook her halfway out at sea, and during a few days it had bitterly exhausted the whole crew. At times the ship was either almost laying on board, piercing the foamy rolling waves with the flag-pole peak, or was suddenly ascending to the very crest of a giant wave, like Antaeus, torn off by Hercules from the power of the earth that fed him. The shipboards with their holes had been leaking, and the pumps had hardly been pumping out salty water from the hold. Actually, it was just right time to get ready for death putting on clean white shirts, when the hurricane suddenly and absolutely inexplicably had lost interest in them and left somewhere to the East, towards the ocean, twisting its funnels. Instantly, the sea calmed down, the sky cleared of clouds, the sun shone, and after an hour it would hardly be possible to find at least one person out of the whole crew who wanted to receive absolution before his meeting with the God. Until the next storm, everyone again had turned into ardent atheists and blasphemers.

When the lookout man on the foremast saw the land, he announced it with a loud cry, such a cry, which any muezzin calling the faithful Muslims to prayer would envy. So, the sailors had finally lost their faith in providence and once again were imbued with unshakable faith in their captain.

— Long live Captain Platov! — they shouted loudly in unison, throwing up their nor' westers. — Glory to our Captain Luck!

The ship had a proud name "Luck". The man, who for many years had been standing on her command bridge, was called "Captain Luck". But it was not just a word-play, which the sailors were really fond of. In fact, Anton Platov justified this nickname with honor. He invariably came out a winner fighting with the most severe storms, while the other ships that had not taken shelter in the port on time, were helplessly asking for help, having lost control, or were just sinking to the bottom. Some people explained this quality by his rare instinct and unique ability to foresee, others — by mere luck, superstitious people explained it by his collaboration with the sea evil spirits. However, everyone agreed that going out to sea with Captain Luck was as safe as walking along a city boulevard on a clear day. Therefore, his ship never lacked crew members. Being recruited in the ship "Luck" crew was considered among the sailors on the whole coast to be more profitable than buying a lucky lottery ticket.

Meanwhile the sailors were rejoicing, the captain Anton Platov, as usual, remained indifferent to common joy and delight. Tall, thin, in his smart marine uniform, fastened with all buttons, being a living embodiment of order and discipline, he was carefully examining the shore through a telescope. He could see some port buildings, piers and ships, on decks of which the sailors were sunbathing, bashfully exposing their pale winter bodies. But, apparently, the captain could not find what he was looking for, and therefore he frowned.

— What are you sad about, captain? — asked the chief mate approaching him. Artem Sinitsyn was older than his captain, he was a heavy steady man in his fifties. However, now the chief mate was smiling broadly like a boy, sharing common joy of the crew.

The captain shrugged — he did not want to talk to anyone. Neither he wanted to offend the chief mate with his silence, which he could take as a reproach, so he briefly dropped, changing the topic:

— It’s a nice city, isn’t it?

— And what taverns are here! — the boatswine standing nearby expecting some possible captain’s command, noted cheerfully.

Being a broad-chested and short man with his slightly flabby cheeks, he looked very much like a French bulldog. Everyone called him just Misha, sometimes, Dragon depending on his mood — nice and kind or strict and picky. Now, like all the crew members who had just escaped from inevitable death, he was a little crazy with joy and therefore was very talkative.

— I swear that the best port taverns in the world are right here in this city! What Madeira they serve! I bet any lubber will have his mouth water after a sip of local Madeira.

— Misha, you'd better tell us about local girls, — asked one of the sailors who gathered around the galley in the vain hope to elicit from the ship’s cook what dessert he would serve for lunch to celebrate the successful completion of the voyage. — What are the girls like here?

Everyone smiled, because they knew that the boatswain would willingly tell in earnest on that topic. Everyone knew that women along with Madeira, were his inevitable temptation, but, perhaps, just talking about them, considering the amount of Madeira consumed. An inexperienced and gullible listener might think that Misha was familiar with all women without exception from sixteen to fifty years old, living in all the ports of the world.

— Girls! — Misha exclaimed, smiling dreamily and repeated, as if tasting the word: — Girls!

Suddenly, he got furious and growled angrily, as if justifying his dragon nature:

"No, I won’t tell you any word about the girls here! Otherwise, you, shallow-water mollusks, will choke with your saliva, but I am not your enemy. No, you can be sure that boatswain Misha is not your enemy, and will never be!

— By the way, Misha, is that true that our cook told us about some girl who doesn’t care about you? The owner of some small tavern in the port… She keeps spitting on you, although you have been hovering around her for three years, like a seagull over a herring? — some sailor kept inexorably asking the boatswain to everyone’s subdued laughter. He was sure that there was nothing to worry about, as long as the captain was present on deck — he never allowed quarrels and fights on the ship, severely punishing the guilty, So, this time he took a chance to amuse his fellows with impunity.

“Your cook is lying like a rotten mermaid,” Misha answered, looking sideways at the captain and carefully choosing the words. — Do I look like a brainless poop? No, Misha has got a smart head on his shoulders and knows his worth. And be sure, I'm not my own enemy, no way! Well, if I really wanted to be dried up, like a flounder in the sun, from unrequited love, then, of course, I would hang around for that beauty from the “Sailor's Shelter”. But I know my own worth, as well as hers. So, she's not for me, definitely!

— That's right, — the cook agreed, looking out of the galley viewport, attracted either by sailors’ laughter or by mentioning his name. He was a steady man in his sixties, Every time when he left his cramped galley for a walk on deck of the ship, he always had a pipe in his teeth, puffing in the fresh air to his pleasure. For some reason, he used only Spanish tobacco, strong, but fragrant, scenting with aroma of exotic plants. Many older sailors, using their privilege of long-term friendship with him, asked him to puff on his pipe at least once to enjoy the unknown sensation, but they always received a decisive refusal. — Yes, even if you put all gold in the world at her feet, she won’t even look at you, Misha.

— Why is that, Alexander Petrovich? Misha was really hurt and even clenched his fists from undeserved resentment.

Unlike Misha, the ship’s cook has not yet forgotten that he had compared him to a rotten mermaid, and therefore decided to take a revenge in their conversation. However, in order to do that he had to leave the galley and smoke his favorable pipe. After taking a puff, he suddenly calmed down and said peacefully.

— Well, Misha, you know… that beauty would go with the poorest beggar in the world if she fell in love with him. But if she didn’t fall in love — all is in vain, no matter if you were rich Croesus, or, for example, this flag-pole, everything is the same for her. Do you remember the skipper from the "Swift" ship? What a guy he was! Not a patch on you! But even he left with nothing.

Indeed, even the boatswain cannot afford to quarrel with the ship’s cook.

— Well, actually, I don’t argue, Alexander Petrovich — said Misha, breathing with relief. — I tell you, she is no match for me, she is out of my league to run after.

— You are quite right, a fat chance you have of winning! — the cook confirmed patronizingly. And a moment later he added in a such a low voice, that only the sailors nearby could hear him. — I know one lucky guy to whom she gave her heart. Well, but he flatly refused this gift.

The listeners got excited surrounding him tightly, they asked not to torment them and tell everything as it was, if he had hinted anyway. Alexander Petrovich puffed a couple of times with his pipe, then put a warning finger to his lips and nodded mysteriously in the direction of the captain's bridge.

— Once I heard her conversation with our captain, — he began his story. — We were staying in the port, filling the ship’s hold with cargo. I went out on deck to smoke my evening pipe. It was getting dark already. Everyone around was fussing, running to and fro… I felt like if Saint Peter himself, the sailors’ patron saint had appeared on deck, no one would have paid attention to him. Well, I noticed her from a distance. One can't hide such beauty under any hat, no matter how much one tries. Her long black hair were shining like a raven's wing… Tall, willowy, sharp she was, like a flamenco dancer. I saw such women in Spain in the days of my youth. God forbid, to stand in her way, and even worse — to fall in love with her …

The cook got silent for a while, thinking about something, he even forgot about his pipe. The sailors did not rush him, realizing that he had accidently touched some hidden strings in his soul, awakened some forgotten memories, and if they interrupted him — they would never hear the story up to the end. But just have a little patience — and everything would return to normal condition. So, it happened just like that. The next moment Alexander Petrovich released a fragrant cloud of smoke, and started talking again.

— So, she sneaked up to our ship, waited for a right moment and, like a cat, slid down the ladder, and then ran straight to the captain's cabin. Whether he was waiting for her or not, I don’t know for sure. But he didn’t immediately drive her away, which means that there was something between them, that’s for sure. Well, I know our captain better than any of you, lubbers. He would never tolerate a woman on board the ship for a single minute. But with that lady, he had been talking about something for about half an hour. I saw the flickering light through the viewport of his cabin — so he was nervously pacing, explaining something to her. While she was silently listening to him, standing still, without interruption. And this is a clear sign that a woman loves desperately. She had been listening to him for some time and then turned around silently and left the cabin. So pale she was and unhappy, trembling all over, as if she was going to faint. I was about to support her, so that she would not fall right on deck, but she pushed me away, so tough that I could hardly stand on my feet. Then she ran down the ladder and disappeared in the darkness, as if it were not a woman, but a spirit, a Spanish duende.

The old sailor got silent again and puffed with his pipe.

— And what about our captain? — asked the boatswain Misha impatiently. — What happened to him?

— The next morning he drowned himself, — Alexander Petrovich told his joke calmly, releasing a cloud of smoke. Have you forgotten?

There were chuckles all around. However, the boatswain did not let up.

— If you don’t know, just say that, — he urged the cook on.

It worked out well. Alexander Petrovich snorted dismissively, but satisfied his curiosity.

— Since that evening, our captain hasn't been to the Sailor's Shelter any more. He used to be a regular visitor there, but now he walks a mile around this tavern. But I see how hard it takes him. He got thin in his face, he never smiled. However, he holds tight. That's how he was born. Real sailor. For him, the ship is his home, and the sea is his wife. And it will always be like that, not another way. That's why he is Captain Luck. But if he betrayed the sea with an earthly woman — that would be the end of his luck. Then his ship would go to the bottom at once, or some even worse things would happen The sea is jealous, it does not forgive betrayal. There is a certain reason that in Spanish language the word "sea" is feminine…

The cook paused for a while, and then said with a conviction that made the hardened hearts of the sailors tremble with anticipation:

— So don’t forget, guys, to pray that our captain does not get along with that beauty. Well, the others are not harmful for him, he is not that type of person…

The sailors hummed excitedly, trying to comprehend what he had just said.

— What are they talking about? asked the chief mate, nodding at the talking sailors.

The captain adjusted his telescope and shrugged.

— They might be discussing which port tavern they will visit when they go ashore, — the chief mate took a guess himself. — And what would you advise, Anton Ivanovich?

— "Sailor's Shelter," the captain said briefly. And he kept examining the shore through his telescope. And when the chief mate was about to leave to join the crew considering the conversation was over, Platov unexpectedly added: — I am thinking of visiting this tavern myself. Maybe tonight…

But it was uttered very quietly, as if the captain was talking to himself. Therefore, the chief mate did not hear and asked him:

— What did you say, captain?

The captain didn't answer. Deep in his own thoughts, he did not even hear the question. And the chief mate left.

The waves were gently striking at the sides of the ship, rocking it like a baby's cradle. Well-fed seagulls lazily took off the sea and immediately descended, indifferent to everything in the world. The sun was shining, promising a fine warm evening.

A boat with a marine pilot approached the ship. The sailors, free from the watch, were looking forward to how they would go ashore to the port taverns in search of entertainment and love. They were joyfully talking about what would happen to them that evening, and how it would affect their future lives.

And the Lord God was looking from heaven at them laughing.