Power cables crossed the straits overhead in those days and may today for all I know, but I was dumbfounded that wire could run so far and not break. These are some of the wondrous sites available to a youngster on their first Med. cruise but by no means, ALL the sights!! 

We Med. moored in Palermo, in a protected dock, which was shaped like the inside of the letter "U". We were about mid-way between the arms and dropped the anchor as we backed into position. Carefully letting out scope in the chain and eventually taking it up until we were suspended between lines ashore astern and our anchor rode forward.

The brow was positioned from the turtle back to the pier itself, which was no simple feat as the Cobbler was a PUFFS boat and the aft dome presented a problem. Now any sailor who has sailed the Med. And visited these ports is familiar with "rat guards" and the rigging of same. A rat-guard is a conical shaped metal funnel sans spout. It needs not be water proof so is slit up one side which allows the seaman gang to slip it over the shore lines and then lash it close again. It is positioned as to impede the progress of rope climbing rats.

Now I wouldn't say that Palermo's or Sicily's rats were smarter rats, but they damn sure were bold bastards!! They never even tried to cross the lines and contend with rat-guards. Why bother??? There is a fine gangway laid shore to ship…let's board!!! Therefore we found it necessary to arm the after deck watch with a broom:   we had two deck watches everywhere in the Med. one forward and the other aft.

Now one of the sailors aboard Cobbler was an EM3 named Springer. Springer is a story all by himself, but today we will only tell the part of it that applies to the here and now. Our first night ashore, Springer was making his way through some alley when he happened upon a bicycle leaning against a wall. The bicycle had a box mounted over the rear tire which was loaded with bottles of wine. As the evening was young and Springer hadn't taken on a snoot full of some other alcoholic beverage he recognized the value of what the Mediteranean Gods had presented him with and saddled up.

Later he came riding down the street to the pier proud as punch and in true submarine spirit, willing to share his find with the boys aboard, one of which happened to be me. We untied the box from the bike and brought it aboard. It was a wonderful spring evening and we sat around the deck drinking what turned out to be a rather horrid red wine with a body like a dump truck and a flavor to match. (Neither attribute deterred us in the least as far as consumption was concerned.)

As the evening's shadows lengthened the infamous Sicillian rats came from their daytime hiding places and the after deck watch took up a defensive position near the bow, broom in hand. The first boarder took it hard as the watch wanted his shipmates to note his prowess at driving the vermin from our boat. Unfortunately, not only was the rat fired ashore like from a cannon, but so was the end of the broom which had come up against one of the brow's stanchions, snapping it from the handle like a toothpick.

The much smaller weapon made accuracy important, but success much more satisfying. A solid body hit would now knock the average rat a hundred feet or more. Now this was FUN!! (I might have to point out at this juncture, that there was no shortage of rats in Palermo then and may not be now, although we certainly did our collective best to reduce the herd.) Soon there wasn't a broom or mop to be found aboard or ashore with it's business end still attached.

Guys were stalking the pier in search of rats and found that firing them out to sea was even greater FUN as you got to hear them splash when they hit, plus survivors (rats ARE tough) might try to regain the shore via the tank tops, allowing the poor deck watch some of the sport they had invented, but were now cut out of, as all rats were intercepted while still on the beach.

The peaceful Scillian nights were the scene of sailors stalking the pier front, sticks in hand, then the cry of BAT-a-RAT!! would rend the silence, followed by a soft "thwack" sometimes a squeal and then a resounding splash. A cheer would erupt and the hunting would resume. So that is how the Mediteranean game Bat-a-Rat began. All thanks to Springer, a few bottles of wine and a broken broom.

Remember, this is only the first evening and we were in for at least a weekend, so there is more to come, much more.