Against the Sea II: Tales On and Under the Sea

by John E. Christ

  Jacko scanned the dark water. “I don’t see anything. Give another shove and let’s get out of here.”

  Before Bill could comply he felt a sharp pain in his left thigh. “My God,” he screamed. “It’s got me.” His hands were pulled off the boat as he was dragged underwater.

  “Shark, a bloody shark!” Jacko yelled. “It’s got Bill. I’ve got to save him!”

  “Stay where you are, Jacko!” Jeremy shouted. “There’s nothing we can do for him. Jumping in will only get yourself killed or worse maimed for life.”

  Blood colored the water where Bill had stood. Bill's head suddenly surfaced. He wildly thrashed the water. “Help me, for dear God, help me! Don’t let me die.”

  “I’ve got to help him.” Jacko took off his shirt but hesitated when Jeremy held an oar up ready to swing at him.

  “The man is dead,” Jeremy said coolly. “He will no longer be a problem to anyone. May he rest in peace.”

  “Help me, for God’s sake, help me!”

  “Ignore him.”

  Jacko shook his head. Bill had always been his friend. Whatever choice he made would forever damn his soul. Bill’s hands touched the boat. He almost leaned over to help get him aboard when the shark grabbed him again. This time Bill did not come back to the surface. Tears filled his eyes. His friend was lost forever.

  “It is finished,” Jeremy said grimly. “The sea is a harsh Mistress.”

  Jacko nodded and crossed himself. He hoped he had made the right choice. What had started as simple piracy was turning into a nightmare. It dawned on him that his previous life was not so bad after all. Now he would have to live with the consequences of something he had doubts from the beginning. In the gathering darkness, he saw the waves lapping at the Captain’s neck.

  “Put your back to the oars,” Jeremy said loudly. “We still have time to beat this storm if we’re quick enough.”

  A few strokes of the oars moved the boat into deeper water. Jeremy sighted the ship and set course. They took turns at the tiller and oars. The beach soon faded into the growing darkness.

  By rocking back and forth the Captain freed his upper body which in turn allowed him to flex his knees. Once he had enough movement he flipped sideways in imitation of a large earthworm. Inching out of the sand he managed to crawl away from the edge of the water. Slowly but surely he wriggled out of the ties around his wrists. Hands-free he regained the freedom of his feet. When he turned to the sea, he could see the faint outline of the departing boat and an even fainter outline of the ship at anchor. The gusting wind was howling through the palm trees. A few large drops of rain pelted his face. It was time to find shelter. If he was right, the ship would be lost in the storm.

  A dark object washed up at the water’s edge. The Captain was horrified to see the mutilated corpse of Bill. In the end, Bill had expressed sympathy even though it had been rewarded by self-serving treachery. He now wished he had not attacked Bill. He grabbed the one remaining arm and dragged the legless body up onto the beach. The shovel was still where it had been abandoned. In this one instance, he was glad his crew had been sloppy. At first, he thought about burying Bill under the palms but decided otherwise. On the upper part of the beach he dug as deep a hole as practical, said a prayer, and covered Bill with sand for eternity. The rain became continuous; it was time to find shelter. The island was small and flat but it was covered with lush vegetation and palm trees. The foliage would have to serve as his shelter. There was no other choice

  “Pull harder, Jacko,” Jeremy shouted. “We’re almost there.”

  “Aye, aye,” Jacko exhaled with each pull. “Aye, aye, Cap’n”

  The ship was straining at its anchor line when they reached the side. They scrambled aboard while several of the crew secured the boat and hauled it out of the water onto the deck. Jeremy gave orders to raise anchor. To survive any storm they had to be in deep water, away from the shore. Fortunately, the ship was on the lee side of the island with the wind blowing the stern out to sea. Raising the anchor alone would allow the ship to be blown clear into safer water.

  The rain made visibility of the island a virtual impossibility. A crack of lightning with thunder startled everyone on board. Each time lightning lanced through the sky the magnetic compass went haywire. A bad situation became worse without knowing where shallow water and the island were. As the anchor was raised the wind shifted direction blowing the ship in the opposite direction. The anchor snagged bottom again. The harder the crew tried to lift, the more resistance they experienced.

  Jacko ran to Jeremy with the bad news. “What shall we do now, Cap’n?” There was a faint smile on his lips.

  “When the wind shifts, I want the anchor line cut,” Jeremy said flatly. “We have to get into deeper water or we’ll smash up on the reef. Keep the crew ready to raise sails at my command.”

  “Aye, aye.” Jacko scampered back to the crew.

  The wind and rain intensified without changing direction. Jeremy had been in storms before and expected to easily handle this one. The deck heaved violently under his feet. The waves crested with white foam. All the boards of the hull creaked in protest to the pounding of the waves. The ship lurched to starboard and the anchor line snapped catching a sailor across the face. The blow sent him to the deck screaming.

  Free from all restraint, the ship laid broadside to the wind and waves. Each new wave either pounded the side or went over the rails. The ship rocked ever faster making it difficult for anyone to do anything either on deck or in the rigging.

  “Raise the sails!” Jeremy shouted.

  The man closest to Jeremy repeated the order for the next man to hear. The roar of the wind and rain overpowered all means of communication.

  “Quickly!” Jeremy yelled, trying not to seem panicked. “Steer us away from the shore!”

  The helmsman fought the wheel as the wind mercilessly tore into the sails. Rather than gaining forward momentum, the ship listed dangerously alee. Slowly the bow came about lessening the rocking and moving forward but toward the island.

  “You fool!” Jeremy flushed and was beside himself. “Away from the island idiot!”

  The ship turned away from the island only to be slapped with a giant wave that washed over the deck. One of the crewmen lost his hold and was swept overboard. Several crewmen started shouting “Man overboard.” Jeremy made it clear everyone was to stay where they were. The loss of one man was not important when the fate of the ship was at stake.

  The ship lurched violently with a loud audible crunch. Despite the best efforts of the helmsman, the ship ran onto the shallow reef. Jeremy rushed to the helm swatting the man in charge away. Every wave led to further hammering of the ship on the anvil of the rocky reef. Water poured into the hold. A sharp gust of wind ripped one of the sails to shreds.

  The island was close but the rain obscured exactly which direction. Jacko considered jumping overboard and swimming to the safety of the shore. However, before he jumped, he remembered what had happened to Bill. He realized he would have to take his chances with the ship. He crossed himself wishing he were a more religious man.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Jeremy yelled. The wheel longer responded. The ship was firmly aground being ripped apart by the reef. He sought Jacko and waved for him to come over.

  The main mast snapped crashing onto the deck in a tangle of lines. Jacko was unable to avoid being knocked in the head and was sent reeling over the rail into the inky black sea. Jeremy could not believe what was happening. Debris flew everywhere with the ever increasing strength of the wind. Another mast snapped catching Jeremy standing at the helm. The weight of the mast instantly crushed his head. What remained of the ship and crew was totally at the mercy of the storm.

  Long after the sun had risen above the horizon in the east, the storm finally cleared. Nowhere around the island was any trace of the ship. The Captain, completely exhausted, crawled from his nook of safety and stretched his legs. He went down to the beach where he had been buri
ed. There was no evidence anyone had ever been on the beach. He scanned the horizon and found nothing. He collapsed on the sand and fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes. When he awoke, he circumvented the island. Only then did he find flotsam and jetsam from the ship. It was quite clear he was the only survivor.

  Eventually more debris washed ashore from the wreckage of the ship. Several chests contained clothes, food, tools, and the land grants. He had enough to keep himself alive for months if not years to come. A tragedy like this should not happen to any ship he mused. If I report the mutiny, I punish innocent survivors. If I keep to myself, I harm no one. He began a journal to pass the time. He thought carefully before he wrote the first line. In a flash of inspiration he wrote: “In the year of our Lord, a maelstrom came upon us breaking ship and men. Of all those aboard I was to survive. This is the Chronicle of my survival. May my men rest in peace.”

  The Pelican

  Twenty-three men braced themselves against a large wave which pounded and rocked the boat, throwing a mist of salty air into their faces. None flinched from their steadfast determination to catch as many fish as possible. The day had been far less productive than expected; and there was little conversation.

  In the east the clouds began building up, portending a storm. The Captain checked the time, shaking his head. This business of party boat fishing was not as easy a life as it looked. If it were possible, he would retire in a minute, but he was not at that point in his life. He made a meager living day after day with little left over after expenses were paid. While no one was looking, he took a long swig of Scotch and washed it down with a swallow of beer. Somehow the alcohol took the edge off the disappointments.

  A line in the bow sang out, waking everyone up from the overcast atmosphere. Somewhere toward the stern a fisherman had his pole up reeling as fast as possible. The pole bent to a full semi-circle. The line came in, and then sped out against the drag. Joey had a big grin fighting his third fish of the day.

  “Hold his head up!”

  “Don’t give him any slack!”

  “Atta boy, Joey!”

  Everyone became more animated and enthusiastic as Joey gained line on his catch. Being overweight by a couple hundred pounds and out of shape brought sweat and fatigue faster than reeling the fish in. Joey stopped out of breath. “Do you see ‘im yet?”

  “Whatsa matter, Joey? Need some help?” Everyone roared in laughter.

  Watching someone else catch something was the next best thing to watching the murky water in expectation of a bite. There was not a single person that would not change places with Joey at that moment. As the fish swam one direction and then another, hardly anyone moved out of the way hoping there was another fish close by to be caught. Catch mama and maybe papa is next.

  Whatever was on the end of the line was not going to give up without a fight. Joey pumped his rod up and down gaining a little each time. Then a big wave rocked the boat violently back and forth. Aided by the elements the fish managed to pull more line out than reeled in. Joey nearly gasped for breath resting every two or three turns on the reel.

  “Com’on, Joey, what’re ya waitin fer?”

  “Let’s see the color of his eyes.”

  Joey stopped reeling. “You’re all jealous you ain’t got a fish.”

  The others jeered good-naturedly. Joey started reeling faster. The fish was getting tired. The battle was now definitely on the side of the fisherman. The line went straight out almost parallel to the water.

  “There it is!”

  The shadowy outline of an 8 foot long fish appeared under the surface a mere 25 yards from the boat. It appeared the battle was won at last.

  “What is it?”

  “Shark, it’s a friggin shark!”

  “Damn, no wonder we’re not catchin anything.”

  Joey stopped and looked at the shadow. He shook his head and grinned. Regardless of what it was, it was his catch. He had heard shark was good to eat. This was going to be the one that he would try.

  “Cut the line!”

  “Let’s get outta here!”

  The Captain watched unconcerned. This was all in a day’s work on the sea. Big Stoop, the mate, went over with a rope and gaff and stood next to Joey. Tiny, the second mate remained sheltered from the wind waiting for the moment he was needed. In the meantime, he lit a joint to take the edge off his queasiness. He understood why cancer patients used medicinal marijuana while under treatment and beyond. If he could sell it for sea sickness, he knew he could make a fortune. The shark swam back and forth picking up other lines.

  “Cut that damn thing off! It’s tangling our lines!”

  Big Stoop grabbed poles from those whose lines had tangled with the shark. So far, he was successful in keeping the lines separated. The sky in the east continued darkening and the waves grew noticeably higher. The Captain knew the signs of an impending northeaster. As soon as the shark was disposed, he would head back to port. The alcohol made his senses foggy, but it was nothing that he could not handle. Drunk or sober, handling a boat in any weather was his forte.

  The dorsal fin of the shark broke water just out of reach of the longest gaff. The dark brown predator remained unmoving while Joey made the most of the opportunity to pull it closer to the boat. Big Stoop called Tiny. It was time to get ready for the last battle.

  “Shake a leg!” Big Stoop was in no mood to be messed with. “Grab the end of the rope and tie it up when I tell you!”

  Tiny moved slowly into position. Big Stoop took the noose at the end of the rope and slid the rod and reel through it. The rope was now in place to slide down the line around the snout of the shark.

  “Ease it up now.” Big Stoop grabbed the gaff. “Bring ‘er up slowly.”

  The shark appeared dead as it rose to the surface next to the boat. The moment the snout pointed upward Big Stoop dropped the noose down the line around it. With the gaff, he quickly pulled the noose behind the pectoral fins and pulled the noose tight. If there was any question the shark was licked, it vanished. The shark violently thrashed on the rope.

  “Hold, dammit!” Big Stoop glared at Tiny who was just putting the end of the rope around a cleat. “Take up the slack. Let’s get ‘is head out of the water!”

  The water was a roiling foam. The shark was fighting for its life with all its strength. The paint on the side rubbed off with loud slap of its tail. With jaws snapping, the shark was more formidable than ever; a fiercer beast could not have been found anywhere.

  “Shoot the bastard!”

  “Don’t let him get away!”

  “Where’s the gun?”

  “What an ugly cuss!”

  “Look at those teeth!”

  “Step back! Step back!”

  The head of the shark was slowly hauled out of the water to dangle on the side of the boat. The shark fought with all its might. The Captain squeezed in at the rail with a pistol in his right hand. There was sweat on his brow which no one noticed. The alcohol made his aim unsteady. The wave action of the boat masked his disability. The first shot missed the shark completely.

  “Whatsa matter, Cap? Gettin old? Ha! Ha!”

  He held his breath, took aim and shot again. This time he was exactly on target. The bullet went through the cartilaginous braincase at the crossing of the X between the eyes and gill slits. The Captain grinned at his great luck. He staggered away from the rail unnoticed. He went back to the pilot house where he put the pistol back in its place of safety. He locked it up and put the key into his pocket.

  A cold blast of wind blew out of the northeast. It was already too rough; the sea was going to get rougher. At least, the wind would be from astern on the way in. The Captain looked at his watch. There was at least a half hour before he could justify heading back to shore. He was almost certain no one would object if they started back early. In indecision, he took another drink. By now he felt very mellow. A few minutes one way or another would make no difference. He checked the twin clutches making sure
they were in neutral. Each engine rumbled to life at the push of a button. The shout of voices could barely be heard over the noise.

  “Where are we goin’, Cap? It’s not time to go in yet.” Big Stoop entered the pilot house, an angry expression on his face. “You gonna cheat the customers again?”

  The Captain scowled at Big Stoop. “I’m the captain and I determine what’s done around here.” There was an obvious slur to his voice.

  “What am I to tell em now? I’m runnin’ out of excuses?”

  “Tell em we’re far out, the weather’s getting bad and we have to get in.”

  “Why don’t I tell them the truth for a change?”

  “What’s that?” The Captain shook his head.

  “That you’re a damn drunk who don’t care about nothing.” Big Stoop stood defiantly in the door to the pilot house.

  “You don’t need this job, do you?” The Captain turned the wheel to port.

  “I got plenty of offers. This ain’t the only boat needs help.”

  “Except...I pay better.”

  “You have to, for the way you run your boat. Every time we go out, I don’t know if I’ll ever get back. When was the last time you bothered to haul out and paint the bottom?”

  “Thas none of your business is it? I know how to run my business, now you mind yours. Get out there and get all those lines in, we’re goin’ in.”

  Daggers flared from Big Stoop’s eyes. He had no choice but do his job. No matter how much he threatened, he could not quit. There were not enough jobs paying as well as the one he had. He enjoyed being at sea fishing, but hated telling lies to hapless customers. Someday the Captain would have to answer for his slipshod way of running a boat. Nowadays anyone with enough money could buy a boat, outfit it, and set up a party fishing business. The business required nothing but the determination to get started. The Captain had been a taxi cab driver in Manhattan and Staten Island before starting his fishing career. He wondered if the Captain had ever stepped on a boat before he bought his own. The venture had been successful from the beginning. There was not anyone in the northeast who did not want to go fishing. There were not enough boats to handle all the customers comfortably. Maybe one day he would buy his own boat and make money hands over fist. If he did that though, he would maintain his boat and equipment in good order. He might even take a real course or two to learn all about running a boat properly. Learning on the job was not necessarily the best way.