White Squall Page #3

TERRY:

What question?

Chuck tries to assimilate Lawford's words. Robin swings

his feet over the side of his bunk with a tortured look.

John rolls over and pulls his pillow over his head.

ROBIN:

(foggy)

What the hell is going on?

CHUCK:

Maybe it's an air raid.

In crisply pressed shorts and shirt, Bill Butler steps

through the aft bulkhead. He raises a bowswain's whistle

and blows. OOOWWWEEEEOOO!!!! Chuck and Robin grab their

ears. It's a nightmare. Terry jumps and hits his head

again.

BILL:

Roll out sailors! All hands on

deck! Sixty seconds. Sixty

seconds.

He blows the whistle again. This time it brings even John

to his feet, staring down at Bill in a blind rage. Bill

looks up and casually notices him.

BILL:

You gotta problem Goodall?

JOHN:

You blow that thing again I'll shove

it so far up your ass, you're gonna

need dental floss to get it out.

BILL:

Just get on deck.

Bill turns and disappears topside.

EXT. DECK - DAWN

The sun has barely cracked the horizon as the crew

staggers onto the deck, shirtless and shivering.

BILL:

Line up! Single file. Single file.

The crew lines up. John is the last one through the hatch

and he lets us know his boundaries are being pressed.

BILL:

Everybody swims.

The boys are aghast.

LAWFORD:

Don't think people, just go! Go,

Go, Go, Go, Go!!! Swim you win,

stay you pay!!

Rick is the first one through the gunnel door, followed by

Tod and Charlie. They howl and scream as they hit the

water. The rest follow like lemmings. But John stands

defiantly with his arms folded.

BILL:

Now what's the problem, Goodall?

Everybody swims.

The crew are piling back on deck. George stands in the

open galley door. The smell of fresh bacon is

intoxicating.

JOHN:

I don't.

LAWFORD:

You will if you wanna eat. Right

George?

George nods, wielding a butchers knife. The crew stand

shivering, waiting on John.

JOHN:

(to Bill)

You gonna swim for your breakfast?

Bill gives John a long look then strips to his shorts,

swings into the rigging and climbs up to the first yard

arm. He looks down at the water some twenty-five feet

below. It's a long way. Robin turns away.

Lawford booms in a voice that echoes across the harbor.

LAWFORD:

"Down, down beneath the deep, That

oft in triumph bore him, He sleeps a

sound and peaceful sleep, With the

salt waves dashing over him." --

Lord Byron gentlemen.

With that Bill leaps and hits the water with a huge

KERSPLASH! He swims to the boarding ladder, pulls himself

up and gets in John's face.

BILL:

Everybody swims. Now, I've been in

twice. So I guess I'll be eating

your breakfast too.

John considers him, then strips off his shirt. But

instead of walking over to the gunnel door, he jumps into

the ratlines, climbs to the foretop and looks down.

He manages a thin smile then climbs to the second set of

ratlines past the third yard and continues to the top yard

arm -- the topgallant. It's a pissing contest and

everybody knows it.

MIKE:

I got five bucks says he doesn't.

CHRIS:

I got five that says he doesn't

live.

TOD:

I'll take a dollar of that.

ROBIN:

This is crazy!

Robin refuses to watch. The others share a look.

John makes his way along the foot ropes and stands at the

end of the yard. He tosses a look towards Bill but with

no way to back down, he launches into the air. Everyone

gasps as he thunders through the air in a broad swan dive.

Falling, falling, falling...

CHUCK:

Jesus.

ROBIN:

I can't watch this.

John hits the water like a bullet. The crew run to the

side waiting for him to come up. Nothing. Finally, he

breaks the surface. Easy. He climbs up waiting, somehow,

to claim victory.

Suddenly, they all feel it. A presence. He has appeared

silently on top of the Chart House, like a phantom gazing

down at them, back lit by the sun the boys must squint to

see him.

RICHARD SHELDRAKE, (SKIPPER), ageless and windswept,

casually reaches up to a block and tackle with one arm and

glides to the deck. He is powerfully built and bronzed

from the sea and sun. He carriers the burden of command

like a cross. Soft-spoken and remote, he is a man to be

reckoned with. The crew know they are in the presence of

someone larger than life.

BILL:

Skipper on deck!

The crew line up clumsily. Skipper has a gaze that blazes

right through them.

He looks out to sea. Searching, ominous. He waits until

the silence is filled with everyone's attention.

SKIPPER:

You know what's out there? Wind and

wave and rain. Endless glassy pools

that'll hold a sailing ship for

weeks and then spit her out into the

eye of the kind of hurricane. A

blow that could knock the bridge off

a battleship. Reefs and rocks and

sandbars that'll tear the belly from

her and enough fog and night to hide

it all.

He spits into the water. The crew sheepishly throw

glances to the horizon.

SKIPPER:

So look out there... and explain to

me why any man in possession of any

sense at all, would take on the sea

with sail?

Skipper turns his gaze back to the boys. There is a fire

in his eyes. Nobody dare answers.

SKIPPER:

Because there's something else out

there. It beckons in the wind and

sings in the shrouds. Voices.

Whispering...

His ear to the wind.

SKIPPER:

They're voices of men. Calling. Men

you don't even know. Men you can't

even imagine. It's a seed, a wish,

that part of you and I that aches to

be alive, that was banished by

everything we've ever been taught or

told. It's a part of us that can

only be found on mountain tops and

deserts, in the deepest caverns,

smoking battle fields and... across

oceans.

He turns back to the sea, dark.

SKIPPER:

Out there, is where it all waits.

OLDER CHUCK (V.O.)

He was everything I had expected,

part Ahab part Queeg and even Bligh.

He spoke in whispers and answered

all queries with efficiency and

directness. He had gone to sea for

the first time at fifteen, the same

age as Bill Butler. And as he

looked upon us that first day it

must have been as though he were

staring into a mirror.

Skipper manages a sobering look and climbs on top of the

chart house. He pats a small brass sign that is welded to

the main mast and reads the inscription.

SKIPPER:

(reading)

"Where we go one, we go all."

With that, he disappears below. Nobody moves. This is

exactly the kind of man you want around when the sh*t hits

the fan.

TERRY:

This -- is gonna be a long eight

months.

INT. MAIN CABIN - DAY

The boys devour a hearty breakfast. Tod is the 'galley

slave' and fills glasses with orange juice.

TOD:

Chow down boys. The milk and eggs

are the first things to go once we

put out.

John enters balancing two plates heaped with food.

RICK:

You know we gotta dumbwaiter for

that.

John looks over to the dumbwaiter mounted in the wall.

RICK:

Not that one. Tod-o here.

The guys groan.

TOD:

Har, har, har...

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