Man Overboard! - [A Short Story part 1/2]
A short story about a 19th century sailing ships dangerous attempt at an ocean rescue during gale force winds and high waves.
If you have followed me for awhile, you know I am a huge fan of history. One of my favorite things to read or watch movies about are the tales of sailing ships, pirates, treasure, and shipwrecks. I also love to play computer games that feature this era. I think I would read Robinson Crusoe every summer off when I was a kid, as well as play Sid Meier's 'Pirates!' I did have to study up on the crew positions and layout of the ships, so if you know better than me, let me know what I did wrong.
Here is my attempt at a short story during a time when sailing ships ruled the waves, enjoy.
Man overboard!
The thrilling cry rang around our swarming decks, lifted its troubled voice above the roaring of the elements, and caused strong hearts to tremble, and weaker ones to sicken over the perils of the unknown victim.
“Who is it? Where is he?” No one can tell. After some time a dark struggling spot is seen astern upon the frothy wake, raising two pleading arms and raising a frightened voice for help, for rescue.
”There he is! There he is!” A hundred voices proclaim the dangerous truth, a hundred fingers point towards that far off spot. But before their echoes have died upon the howling gale, our fast-moving ship has carried us beyond the reach of that frightened voice, almost too far away to see those outstretched and pleading arms.
”Cut away the life buoy! Jump to men! Hard down the helm! Make ready the lee quarter boat!” It was the trembling but ready and sounding voice of the officer of the deck that issued these rapid orders. Its well-known tones splashed upon the excited crew as they sprang to their stations. With nervous strength the ship was turned around to bring its face up against the gale and the sea.
”Hold fast the boat a moment, Mr. Talmage!” Said our weather beaten old commander, as he sprang out the hatch with the speed of a younger man. He cast an anxious glance at the threatening seas that were now bursting by us in their towering strength. ”I don’t think she will live in a sea like this. We must think for a moment before we risk more lives.”
The younger and more enthusiastic officer looked in the anxious face of his wary superior, and held out the bullhorn to him.
”Take charge of the deck, sir!” he exclaimed in an excited but respectful voice, ”and I will find men who will volunteer for that risk. We cannot leave a man to drown for fear of a risk. I will steer the boat myself.”
Mr. Talmage was a man of no few years himself. In 1820 he had entered the navy as a midshipman when he was fifteen, and it was now 1840. At 35 years of age and yet still a lieutenant, only the third in charge of the frigate. He was a man of powerful build, of courage and energy. Regarded as the best seaman on board, and was liked and respected as a man who always afforded justice to his inferiors, and who always took the heat for it from his superiors. He had the heart of a giant, too. He was the most noble type of the most noblest set of ocean wanderers.
The gray-haired commander looked into his blazing eyes and smiled a smile of hopeless consent. ”Call your men! Give me the bullhorn! I can see you are determined – so go and do what you can.”
Talmage walked quickly forwards toward the expectant crew and cast a searching glance across their anxious faces. Some who stood before him could read that glance and so dropped theirs to the deck as they shuffled behind their comrades. Others pressed forward into those vacant voids to hear what he had to say. He had but a few words, and he spoke those words to those latter men.
”Boys,” he said, ”one of our shipmates, one of YOUR messmates is overboard, and in need of help. No doubt he is at this current moment straining his eyes to see a boat lowered, and it would strengthen his heart and resolve to see such a thing happen. He can see the ship has turned around and that gives him hope, let’s not leave him to struggle alone. Look at that sea, know the risks that you will encounter and then step forward. Who will go with me to pick him up?”
Only seven men slowly, half hesitating, stepped forward. The rest hung back. The regular crew of the boat had stepped far back, now that they were no longer ordered.
”I want five more men,” said Talmage. ”The boat has space for twelve oars.”
There was no more excitement now from either his voice or manner. The former was cold, measured – almost touched by sarcasm. The latter was quiet and gloomy with the knowledge of the perils in what he was asking of these men, their lives as ante for a game of dice against Poseidon.
Still, three more men stepped forward to join the first seven. The rest hung back with an anxious look of troubled doubt.
”Only two more now,” continued Talmage, as he spoke he looked inquiringly into the eyes of a swarthy featured boatswain’s mate. A man who had been regarding him with a look of despair and uncertainty. ”I do not wish to force any of you. I only want you to look out there to where your mate is swimming towards us and tell me if you will let him swim alone? Is there not a man amongst you that will go to meet him?”
”It’s no use, Mr. Talmage,” now spoke up the boatswain’s mate, into whose eyes he still gazed. ”I ain’t afraid of neither wind nor water, and I don’t s’pose many of the rest is neither. But, sir, a boat’s a boat and water’s water; we ain’t got nuttin’ that’ll survive out in that sea long enuff to be pull’d adeck agin. I’d rather not risk it, sir, and further, I’d rather see you, sir, holdin’ onto that there bullhorn on the morrow than a temptin’ God’s good graces t'day. It’ll only be drownin’ fourteen’n place o’ one. Sir.”
Talmage turned his eyes from those of the speaker, slowly looking each man in the eye along the crowed front row.
”Only two more wanting,” he repeated.
Looks of sorrowful disappointment were the only reply. He thought about the honest words from the boatswain’s mate, a warning from someone whose life he had once saved, and who he knew to be a brave and ready seaman.
”Only two more wanting.” he said once again. An old quartermaster and a young topman, just a lad, stepped out from the crowd and crossed over.
”All right Mr. Talmage,” said the quartermaster ”I’m with you. I’ve been too long below decks but have no reason why I shouldn’t weather out this one there as well as them.”
The boatswain’s mate threw his hands up and turned his back to the desperate group. ”Bad! No use! Only so many more lost,” he muttered as he returned to his station and scowled out towards the threatening sea.
The frigate was now ’by the wind’ on the starboard tack. We had been running before the gale, under a double-reefed fore and main topsail. Now that she was ‘lying to’, the mainsails had been hauled up, the fore staysails hoisted, and the topmen were on the yard reefing. She was butting into the furious sea at a quick rate and heavily rolling at intervals that made the work of lowering the boat dangerous.
Everything was ready and, for this weather, had happened smooth enough. Talmage and some of the crew were in the boat while others stood ready to climb down the ropes into her as soon as she touched the water.
”Lower away!” cried Talmage, in a cool and measured voice as if he had been talking to the admiralty.
The boat creaked and moaned as if unwilling to participate in the desperate undertaking.
”Lower! Lower! Let go-o-o!” exclaimed a dozen voices, as the ship rolled heavily and the boat rested upon the top of that heavy swell that had risen to meet it.
”All right men, jump in! Now’s your time.” Yelled Talmage.
Another heavy dive of the ship, a heavy roll, a sinking feeling as the sea passed under her. A heavy thump and the crash of over-strained oak. The boat’s bow had been caught by the roll and came crashing against the ship, a fearful shattering sound and it bounced away by the force of the hit.
Our commander’s face paled, and he put his hand over his heart, under his jacket. It was his habit when anything troubled him. ”Pull back and we will raise you up, Mr. Talmage!” He exclaimed.
The winds of the gale were now a distance between him and the unwilling ear of the lieutenant. The boat pointed its battered bow against the sea and towards the pleading arms in the far distance.
”Brave fellow! He won’t listen.” Spoke a broken voice to my right. I turned and saw the boatswain’s mate, his eyes wide with a strange excitement and seaworn face writhing with emotion.
I was a boy then, a young midshipman, and I didn’t understand the hopeless nature of the work that was underway. I only knew that Talmage had once dragged this man from certain death and had just minutes before looked to this man in vain, pleading for assistance.
”You might have gone with him,” I remarked, condemningly. He looked at me and moved slowly away, it was his only answer. But I read his look and it said he was scared and a coward. I began to tremble myself, but I didn’t know why, and I ceased to blame him for his apparent cowardice.
The boat was evidently having a hard time of it. She was lifting more heavily into the crushing waves than she had at first been and seemingly was making little headway. Some thought that she sat lower in the water, but others said it was only the increasing distance.
Then we saw two oarsmen lay up their oars and head aft where they stooped down and started passing buckets over the sides. The sea was too much for her, she was beginning to swamp and so had started to bail. The boatswain’s mate had been right.
The captain’s face grew a shade paler and again rested his hand upon his heart. ”That blow was too much. She takes in water fast enough over her sides, and that has caused her to leak also. God help them!” He spoke with a voice of forced calmness.
The first lieutenant, who had been given the deck bullhorn, had now completed the tasks of stowing the sails. There was nothing more to be done so the men had lined the decks or stayed up in the riggings to watch the troubled boat and distant man who had now reached the buoy. Every man had their eyes darting between these objects with such an intense focus it seemed that all the other senses stopped working and concentrated their powers into sight only, such was their gaze.
Suddenly, men cried out! Some with a prayer, others a curse.
The boat was gone! Swamped! The sea washed over her and more pleading arms were now strewn about the sea.
”Misery! Why must God give us this misfortune!” the commander said as he turned from the dreadful sight and placed his hand upon his furrowed forehead.
”Sir, this is awful!” exclaimed the first lieutenant as he turned to look at his commanding officer. ”What can we do, sir? Launch another boat?”
”No more, no more! It will only be adding to the loss. We must bring the ship up along side them and then heave to. Call all hands, make sail, sir. Turn the foresails and set the course. Don’t be afraid of driving her under the waves.”
The whistles of the boatswain and his mates now rose over the howling of the wind, their hoarse voices calling each man to their station. But there was one whistle among them, one voice which seemed broken and half-choked by a rising heart.
Picture Sources:
HELP ME!
I have been nominated for 'Best Undiscovered Author' for the Golden Steem Awards and I need your vote!
Vote for me on the post linked in the next sentence! You have to scroll up a bit from this link, as it might bring my voting section to just above the very top of your screen.
nice. heroism has it's costs...some men still can't help themselves but be heroic
There are people like that, but they are also very few in number.
Loved this story, bro! Great descriptive techniques! You really feel as though you are one of the crew on board as the ship crashes through the waves. Great stuff indeed!
I need part two soon! :)
Hey thank you for your kind words, part 2 is coming soon(ish)
very good post congratulations thank you for sharing this wonderful post
Included in Steemprentice Spotlight :)