Against the Sea: Tales On and Under the Sea Page 2

  “We must hurry,” the British captain said. “There is a storm brewing and it won’t be safe out here much longer. We will do this as we have before. Agreed?”

  “Agreed!” His father shouted.

  A cable near the stern of the British boat was slung out over the water dangling a small brown package. His father maneuvered his boat slowly toward the package.

  “Boy, take the gaff and grab the line above the package when I tell you,” he said loudly. “Be quick when I give you the signal.”

  The boy up to this point had not been aware of how much motion the waves were causing. Now he knew his reflexes and timing were going to be important. More than anything he wanted to look good in front of his father. He took the gaff to the side rail and watched the line with the package get closer. When the package was two yards away the signal came.

  “Now! And be quick!”

  The boy reached out with the gaff just as the package flew upward and their boat sunk downward into the valley of a wave. Fortunately, he had not tried to grab the rope. He knew success was rewarded by proper timing.

  “Wait until I bring the boat around,” his father yelled.

  The bow swung away from the British boat as his father gunned the throttle. Moving in a wide circle he came back into position for another attempt at snaring the dangling package. The boy remained alert and aware of the complex movements he had to overcome for success. The deck carried him up and down and rolled slightly with every wave.

  “Grab it quickly into the boat,” his father shouted and pointed at the package.

  Positioned even closer than the first attempt, the boy knew success was not guaranteed. The package flew upward but not before he grabbed the line holding it. As the deck sunk below, his feet he momentarily felt pulled upward out of the boat. With the next wave the package came downward and the deck upward. The boy easily guided the package onto the deck. Once on board, the crew of the British boat slackened the line.

  “Remove the package and attach the black box!” His father barked. “Quickly!”

  Moving as fast as he could he completed the exchange in a matter of seconds. When his father saw everything was ready he waved to the other boat; and the slack in the line was immediately taken up.

  “Lift the box up to the rail,” his father said loudly. “Let it go only when they signal.”

  A man on the British boat held up his hand when the line became taut. When the line started going in an opposite direction the man lowered his hand to toss the box out. The box remained dry, never hitting the water and was safely on board the British boat quickly.

  “It has been a pleasure,” the British captain shouted. “We shall meet again I’m sure.”

  “It is my pleasure to be of service.” His father waved. “I shall await your instructions.”

  With a final signal of thumbs-up from the British captain the mission was complete. His father gunned the engine, swinging the bow away from the British boat toward a compass heading home. Fortunately, there was a following sea the entire way. The British boat quickly became nothing more than a green and white light in the dark, then vanished completely.

  “Boy, you did well tonight.” His father reached into his coat for a cigarette. “But always remember to have one hand for you and one for the ship.”

  “But I was careful,” the boy said.

  “Never mind being careful,” his father said. “Always have a hand free to save yourself.”

  “I won’t forget next time.”

  “Take the wheel while I check the package.”

  The boy silently took the wheel. His father took the package into the depths of the forward cabin and disappeared. He was left with feelings of frustration; no matter what he did his father always found something to criticize. Someday I will show him, he vowed. With this thought a chill ran down his spine. He had the strange feeling he was not alone. Scanning all around, he saw nothing but blackness. The clouds completely blanketed the sky and blocked out the stars. He had a feeling of premonition, he felt stared at or something was about to happen. He prided himself that he was not superstitious, but there were things he knew he did not understand. His concern was broken by the reappearance of his father, a lit cigarette in one hand, a bottle of brandy in the other.

  “Let us celebrate.” His father laughed. “We are one thousand pounds richer. A fool and his money are soon parted!”

  The boy stood staring ahead across the bow waiting for instructions. Instead of giving orders, his father extended the bottle of brandy.

  “For me? I thought . . .”

  “Don’t think, just drink!”

  With one hand on the wheel, the boy took the bottle of brandy in his free hand. As his father blew smoke out his mouth up into the night air, he quickly took a swig. He barely suppressed a cough to the flow of the warm liquid fire as it coursed down his throat.

  “Good, isn’t it?” His father chuckled. “Someday you’ll learn to drink like a man and you will remember these days we spent together on the sea.”

  “I’m sure I always will.” The boy handed the bottle back.

  The wind gusted strongly off the stern and pushed the stern to port. The boy turned the wheel to counteract the change in direction. In the distance, behind the boat there was a silent flash of lightning. The previous sense of foreboding returned. He scanned in every direction without trying to look foolish.

  “What do you see?” His father took another long drink from the bottle.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” the boy said. “Except the storm that’s overtaking us from astern. We’ll never make it home before it arrives.”

  “Regardless of what happens, a man of the sea is always prepared for anything and everything. There is never an excuse for disaster.”

  “Yes, father, I always remember,” the boy barely whispered and felt another chill.

  A huge wave overtook the boat and lifted the stern into the air plunging the bow directly into the trough. The boy cut power to the propeller and slowed the forward motion. The last thing he wanted was to bury the boat underwater. He maintained complete control as the high wave finally passed. He advanced the throttle and resumed forward movement.

  “Always be alert. The waves can be dangerous, if you don’t stay awake.”

  “Yes, father.” The boy gritted his teeth. “I think I’ve learned your lessons well.”

  “You have more to learn than you think. No man sails on the same sea twice. Every time you go out to sea I guarantee it will be different. Only time and experience will remove the green behind your ears.”

  The wind gusted, followed by a hard pelting rain. Each drop exploded on contact with the deck and sides of the boat. A flash of lightning and a muffled clap of thunder announced the beginning of the storm. The waves overtaking them were bigger than the ones they previously encountered. The boy slowed the speed; he wanted to avoid burying the bow into the water and at the same time make forward progress toward the safety of home. It was impossible to leave the throttle at one speed. Ever watchful, he adjusted the throttle from idle to as fast as he dare. With one hand working the throttle, the other fought the waves with the wheel. He learned to anticipate the motion the boat would take almost by instinct, and easily held it on course. His father produced two yellow slickers, one of which he put on, the other he handed to the boy. The boy could not take the slicker immediately from him. There was the hint of a smile of approval in his father’s face as he took the wheel from the boy long enough to allow him to put his slicker on.

  The night air was filled with rain in every direction. Visibility, never very far, disappeared to zero. The boy and his father stood side-by-side in silence fighting the storm. His father pulled another cigarette out of his coat before he realized it was futile to even think about smoking. Throwing the wet cigarette overboard, he put the bottle of brandy up to his lips and took a long swig. He held the bottle in front of the boy’s chin but the boy declined with a shake of the head. He put the bottl
e back to his own lips, took one last drink and threw the empty bottle into the rain, overboard, into the sea.

  An unexpected wave hit the boat and it listed violently to port. They almost lost balance and fell. Quickly recovering, the boy noticed the gaff and a coil of rope sliding back and forth across the deck. The boy pointed to the loose items and his father nodded he understood. Pulling the hood of the slicker over his navy blue Greek fisherman’s hat, his father stepped out into the rain moving slowly but surefooted to re-secure the loose gaff and rope before they were lost or caused damage. The boy divided his attention between the control of the wheel in his hands and glancing back at his father. Although the boy feared for his father’s safety, he knew he did not have to; years of experience allowed his father to move easily across the pitching deck blending the motions of his body with those of the sea.

  “Be careful!” the boy yelled.

  “Don’t worry!”

  Two giant waves instantly met behind the stern creating a bigger wave, the sum of the two. The boy saw but could not move fast enough to respond. The crest of the wave crashed over the stern and the pressure of the water muffled the sound of the engine exhaust until it could not be heard. The boy almost felt the sea was swallowing the boat stern first. He fought with the wheel holding the bow pointing in the safest direction.

  The sea let go of the stern, throwing it forward. In an instant, the boat was on the crest of another wave slowly sliding down its leading face. There was a pause followed by a burst of acceleration as the boat slid down into the trough ahead of it. The boy looked back and saw his father was still there. The water quickly drained off the deck through the scuppers.

  “Father, are you all right?” the boy yelled. He tried to quell his sense of panic.

  “Everything is back in its place,” his father said calmly. “The sea has to do more than that to get the best of me!” He laughed.

  The boy felt foolish he had even worried about his father’s safety. He scolded himself for not having more confidence. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe his father was right that he had a long way to go before he became the man he wanted to be.

  “I think the storm is slowing down.” His father returned next to the boy. “You handle the boat well, but don’t let that go to your head. Next time you may not be so lucky.”

  These words brought the old resentments back. I am a man, the boy thought angrily to himself. I will prove it even if I have to die trying. The tempest within replaced the tempest without and the waves laid down to an undulating serene calmness shrouded in rain.

  “I have to piss,” the boy said. “I think it is calm enough for me.”

  “Go ahead.” His father laughed and automatically took the wheel. “Go ahead and be careful.”

  The boy went to the stern unbuttoned his fly and proceeded to make his contribution to the sea. He stared at the water and thought he saw something move. A large dark shadow with a large staring eye appeared momentarily and vanished.

  “Father! There is something moving in the water!”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. I saw it just for a second and then it was gone.”

  “Come take the wheel and let me take a look.”

  The boy exchanged places with his father who before seriously looking proceeded to relieve himself.

  “Sometimes there is nothing better than a good pish,” his father said heartily. “I don’t see anything in the water now.”

  “But I saw something,” the boy said. “It was dark and had a big eye. I’m sure of it.”

  “You must be dreaming. There is nothing.”

  The boy bit his lip and stared ahead at the sea in front of the bow. The waves were noticeably smaller by the moment. The tall tightly spaced mountains were replaced by short drawn out rolling hills. Even the rain diminished to a heavy drizzle. His father could see nothing in the murky water and threw his hand to dismiss the notion there was anything of any consequence.

  “Bah!” His father turned away from the stern rail. “Enough foolishness!”

  Off the port side a giant three inch eye peered curiously at the intruder to its home. Whatever it was made light and too much noise. The movement raised its primitive curiosity to find out whether this was food or not. The decision to attack was more instinctual than conscious thought. A short burst from its siphon placed it directly in front of the strange intruder’s path. The intruder continued its blind movement directly into its waiting arms.

  The boy and his father simultaneously heard a dull thump at the bow. The boy remained at the wheel and soon noticed a difference in how the boat handled.

  “Dammit!” his father cursed. “We have hit something in the water.”

  “I was watching carefully,” the boy said quickly. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Pull back the throttle and put the gear into neutral. We don’t need to do any damage to ourselves if we can help it.”

  “Yes, father. What could it possibly be?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  His father crept cautiously along the side rail holding onto the pilot house roof overhang. He leaned as far forward as he dared; he strained to look over the point of the bow but could see nothing through the dark. He returned to the safety of the deck behind the pilot house and took out a kerosene lantern which he lit with difficulty. The wind kept blowing out his matches before he could touch them to the wick. On the sixth try and next to last match in the box, he finally had a light he could use to hang over the side.

  “Now we shall see what we have hit in the water,” his father said confidently. “It’s probably some seaweed and junk tossed off by another ship.”

  Without forward momentum from the propeller, the boat swung into a drift with the port side windward. The deck rose up and down with each wave swell and gently rocked side to side. His father held the lantern over the leeward side and saw a large patch of seaweed floating nearby.

  “Look, boy,” his father said triumphantly. “Seaweed! We’ve bumped into a bunch of seaweed! Put the gear in reverse. That should pull us out of the patch caught on the bow. I’ll check the stern before you do that.”

  The boy remained alert, holding tightly to the wheel. He wanted to respond instantly at his father’s command. As he watched his father move toward the stern he caught something moving in the corner of his eye on the windward side. He snapped his head to see what it was but it was gone.

  “The stern is clear,” his father said. “Put it into reverse!”

  Reaching for the clutch, the boy turned his back to his father.

  “Kyrie Eleison!” his father shouted. “What is this?”

  The boy turned around and saw a long brown-black tentacle reaching over the stern wrapped around his father’s forearm. The lantern dropped and was forever lost into the depths of the sea.

  “Father!” the boy screamed, dashed over and grabbed his father’s other hand and forearm. “I’ll save you!”

  His father said nothing but leaned backwards with his knees braced against the inside rail. The veins of his temples and forehead bulged as he strained to pull himself free from the arm-thick tentacle wrapped twice around his mid-forearm. He turned and looked into the face of the boy. The boy saw something that he had never seen in his father’s dark brown eyes before. His father was afraid and he was asking for help with his eyes. More exactly he was pleading for help. If he lost this battle, it would certainly be his last.

  A second and third tentacle snaked over the side. The boy dodged them easily when he suddenly remembered the fire axe.

  “Hold on father, I’ll get the axe!”

  “Hurry!” His father gasped.

  The boy snatched the axe and raced back. He swung the axe at the tentacle holding his father expecting it to slice through easily. Much to his surprise the axe did nothing but bounce off. The tentacle recoiled, squeezing his father tighter. A fourth and fifth tentacle appeared, thrashing through the air in sear
ch of him.

  “What now” he said frantically. If the axe would not hurt the monster what could he use that did? A tentacle hit him across the shoulders, knocking him to the deck. The boy scrambled up out of the way, barely escaping its searching grasp.

  “What do I do?” the boy screamed. His father continued to hold on for life, but the effects of fatigue were beginning to overcome his resistance. The long arm of the sea was about to claim another victim.

  “Eureka!” The boy raced back to the wheel. “Hold on father!”

  The boy threw the clutch into reverse and gunned the throttle. The boat began moving backward. The tentacle holding his father pulled even harder causing him to cry in pain. The free tentacles began retracting over the rail.

  “Hold on a little longer!” the boy shouted.

  His father was losing the battle for his life. Without warning the boy heard a thump from the stern followed by another desperate cry of pain from his father. A second thump was followed by several others. The propeller began chopping the monster to pieces. The boy’s plan was working. His father pulled harder and fell back onto the deck. The tentacle, although still holding him firmly, no longer pulled. He released himself with his other hand, uncoiling the loop from around his forearm. The tentacle limply slid back over the rail into the sea. His father scrambled up off the deck and took over the controls of the boat. He roughly pushed the boy aside, reduced the throttle enough to change the gear from reverse to forward and advanced the throttle to its maximum limit. The boat shuddered as it began making forward headway.

  The boy saw nothing but smoke and sea spray where the tentacles had reached out to grab him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled with an audible sigh. His father rotated his head toward the boy and gave a slight hint of a smile with an almost imperceptible nod of his head. He patted the boy on the top of the head, glanced back at the stern and returned to the task of bringing the boat back to a homeward compass setting. A knowing thoughtful expression indicated that no words were necessary.