Is The Ocean Dangerous
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I am not sure why I thought that being out of the ocean would be an improvement. The sea is dangerous, but it’s beautiful too; the sky is so wide and blue you could lose yourself in it forever, and all those tiny little islands just waiting to be explored.
But there are no little islands here. There are only great, empty deserts where nothing lives and the sky is a dark shade of orange from all the sand. And if there wasn’t a sea, how else would they get across to the other side?
We passed through the Suez Canal yesterday morning, sailing as fast as we dared given that our crew was still recovering from a bout with food poisoning. It wasn’t pleasant—the heat and sweat, the stink and vomit. But it passed quickly enough. The next morning we set sail for Europe. The sun was setting behind us by the time we were clear of the canal and heading north again.
We have been on this journey for more than two months now, traveling east and south along the coast of Africa and into Arabia, before turning north-east and crossing the Red Sea, then down the Persian Gulf and across the Arabian Sea to India, and then down through the Indian Ocean until we reached the Cape of Good Hope.
We spent a week at that southernmost tip of the continent, making repairs and provisioning for the long trip home.
But now it looks like it will be longer than expected. The winds seem to have deserted us and we are becalmed. There is no land to the horizon anywhere, no sight or sound of anything except for the endless blue expanse beneath me. I’ve tried counting waves, but there aren’t any. Just water and sky in every direction. It’s almost like we’re sailing on an island. And it’s boring.
It’s hard to concentrate when your mind keeps drifting away. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like had we never left England if I hadn’t joined the Navy. Would I be married with kids already? Maybe in some small town somewhere where everyone knew each other and everything always stayed the same. Where no one ever died and nothing changed.
The first mate walks past me carrying a coil of rope. He stops suddenly and turns around. “Mr. Fletcher.”
“Yes?” I ask.
“You need to do something about that hatchet hanging off your hip, Mr. Fletcher.” He points toward the top of my trousers. There is a big, heavy-looking blade protruding from my belt buckle. It looks like a butcher’s cleaver, the sort used to cut up meat in a butcher’s shop. I haven’t even realized it’s there!
I take the hatchet off my hip. “Oh,” I say sheepishly as he takes it from me. “I didn’t realize…”
He gives me a strange look and shakes his head slowly. “No sir. Never again, Mr. Fletcher.”
We stand in silence for a while before he leaves.
I sit staring at the deck as I put my hatchet back on, but I can’t stop thinking about that first mate’s reaction. Why does he hate me so much?
When the captain arrives and sees my hatchet hanging off my hip, he doesn’t mention it either.
There’s a rumor going around that we saw an iceberg in the middle of the day. It was impossible, I know it was impossible, but everyone is talking about how lucky we are to be alive.
And maybe that’s true. We did make a miraculous escape, sailing right through the middle of it without even realizing it until it was too late.
Maybe it was God who saved us? That seems unlikely. Not because I don’t believe in Him—I do—but because we made our own luck.
I think of our journey since leaving Africa behind and wonder about those rumors. Did we really see an iceberg? How can anyone tell when the sun is shining so brightly?
If someone said that we saw an iceberg, what would you say? That’s exactly how I feel about this story I’m writing. No one would believe it, no matter how hard I try to explain, and no matter how much evidence I present to prove its authenticity.
But I’ve read about people believing things before. About people who were sure they saw an angel walking the earth or who claimed to speak to Jesus or Moses—or any other person from ancient times. And yet these stories still exist today, even though there’s no proof of their existence.
Why should I be any different?
This has happened before, hasn’t it? Someone has seen something amazing, believed something unbelievable—something that could change the world. I remember reading about it once in history class, about Christopher Columbus and his voyage to the New World.
How he saw an entire island that looked like an upside-down mountain, with trees growing out of rocks, and decided it must be Japan. How he was mocked when he returned home and said his discovery was correct.
And what about that man with his glowing ball? Who else remembers him? What happened to him? Did anyone ever find out if he was telling the truth?
My mind wanders back to that rumor going around. Is that all it is? A rumor? I don’t want to think about it. But then again, perhaps it’s not just a rumor after all. Perhaps it’s more than that. Something that will change the way we live. If it is…
I don’t know what to do, or if I should write this at all.
I’m lying in bed when the captain enters my room and sits down next to me. It’s almost midnight and I’ve barely slept since I wrote that last paragraph. My head is spinning, trying to wrap itself around what I’ve written and wondering why I did it. It’s like a feverish dream I couldn’t wake up from.
He looks at me and says, “What is it?”
“It’s not important,” I lie. “Just leave me alone.”
I can hear him sigh quietly from across the room and then he gets up and goes out. I listen to his footsteps descend the stairs, then disappear into the darkness.
***
The next morning I go up on deck and stand at the railing. The ship rolls gently and I feel as though it will roll over onto its side. This is worse than a storm at sea. We’re stuck on this rolling stone, and the rocking keeps getting stronger and stronger.
I turn away from the railings to hide my face when the ship tips. There are screams and shouts from every direction as people tumble over each other. I stumble back into my cabin and collapse onto my bunk.
After a while, the ship starts to settle, and I hear the captain call for calm. Then, all of a sudden, it begins to rise again. Everyone is screaming as people fall against the walls of the ship or trip over loose items. I watch helplessly as one man lands heavily on the deck and disappears beneath the water.
A few minutes later the captain calls for order again and the crew starts to work together, pulling ropes and pushing against the hull. The ship finally stabilizes once more. The waves still seem higher, and I have no idea why, but it’s only now that I begin to feel safe.
The ship rolls again soon after; this time much less dramatically, and the captain calls for silence. He asks us where the problem lies, and the response comes quickly. Some of the men say that there are cracks in the ship’s side. Others suggest that there are holes in the bottom. No one knows, and that worries me most of all.
The ship moves slowly, and it’s hard to breathe. When it finally stops moving, we look at each other in amazement: it was so quiet, no one could hear another whisper, let alone scream. We sit silently by the railing or stare into the distance for what feels like hours.
The ship continues on its steady course and I decide it’s time to write something new, anything that doesn’t involve sinking ships.
As I finish my second page, the captain walks over to me. His expression is serious and worried. “Are you all right, Miss Winters?” he asks.
I nod.
“We’ll keep sailing until we reach land.” He pauses. “If there’s no trouble, we’ll stop somewhere along the coast.”
I try not to show my relief. For all I know, we could sink any minute, but I guess that’s too much to ask for. At least the captain seems to believe that we might make it to safety eventually.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
He nods, then turns away and heads out of my room without a word. As I sit on my bunk and begin writing again, the ship rolls again. This time no one panics, and we wait it out. Eventually, we see a light off in the distance. It appears to be a lighthouse—or so I assume since we seem to be approaching an island. Maybe we’re near shore now?
It’s difficult to tell how far away the light really is, but it seems we have arrived safely. Or maybe the lighthouse has just been built recently and we can use it as a guide to help us navigate. Either way, our ship is slowing down, and it looks as though the captain intends to stop here.
I take a few moments to admire the sight before me—the sun is rising behind us, casting a warm glow over the sea. Birds fly through the air with ease and fish swim below us. Everything seems perfectly normal, which makes me wonder even more if something is wrong with our ship.
Is everyone else feeling the same strange sensation, as I am? Does that mean there’s something terribly wrong with us all? What is going on?
I can sense the captain coming closer. He stands behind me, listening to everything that’s happening on board and trying to decide whether or not to send someone below decks.
“I think we should get some sleep,” I announce when he joins me. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he sits down beside me. I turn to look at him and notice that his eyes are red and swollen.
I’ve never seen a man cry before, and the thought frightens me. Why does he feel so emotional?
When he speaks it sounds as though he’s choking on the words: “I don’t know why we’re here anymore.” He wipes away a tear and continues. “This isn’t like my other voyages. Every day I’m waiting for something to happen, and now…” He sighs and stares at the horizon.
“Now it’s finally happened.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Has everyone lost their minds? Did they leave Earth? Are we on another planet? But that can’t be true either. That would mean… I can’t even think about it! I need to stay focused and find a solution to this puzzle. And soon.
“I think you should sleep,” I tell him as I stand up.
He nods. “You rest too, Miss Winters. We’ll continue on to shore first thing in the morning.”
I smile. “Yes, sir.”
He nods in response, then gets up and leaves me alone in the corridor, which is suddenly dark and empty. I’m so tired and my heart is racing. I wish I had time to go outside and see what’s happening on deck.
Instead, I lie down on my bed and close my eyes. I hope I’ll wake up from this terrible nightmare and everything will be back to normal again.
The End