The following is the first of a three-part short story. The remaining sections will be posted in the next few months. My purpose in posting the story in three parts is to try to create some suspense between posts (for the very few people who actually visit regularly- in fact, I'm not sure if there is anyone who visits regularly). Hopefully, you will enjoy it.
(This is my first serious attempt at public story-writing, so be nice.)
Part One: The Squall
“Brace yourselves lads, here she comes again!” The first mate’s command resonated through the thunderous gale, and every sailor grabbed the nearest secure item. The tremendous wave slammed into the hull, jerking the ship violently and detaching every man from his box, rope, banister, board of rotted wood, or any other thing the men could hold on to. Many were thrown across the deck, some flying into the rigging, breaking limbs in a vain attempt to untangle themselves. Others were cast overboard , never to emerge from the sea again. Thunder echoed across the open sea as the ocean unleashed her worst upon the poor sailors.
Through it all, Captain Bernard Garnier stood beside the second mate near the front of the ship. He never feared a hurricane, even the worst, just as he had never been afraid in the heat of battle. Garnier had a steel spirit, and he lived for these moments. He was not a hard man, not a heavy drinker or smoker, and did not like to use profanity- that was his first mate’s job. He did not, however, consider himself a refined gentlemen at all; he was a simple man of forty years who had been at sea since his youth. Garnier’s father, Jacques, was a sailor in the prime days of pirates, and a well-known and well-respected admiral in the British navy. Admiral Garnier was raised in France, but married a London woman and decided that England, due to the messy French Revolution, was the safest place for him to raise his family. After living in England for a few years, his wife became pregnant, but died in childbirth. Admiral Garnier was then forced to bring his mother-less son, Bernard, with him to the sea as a cabin boy. When Bernard was still young, the H.M.S. Remus was ambushed by a band of pirates and Bernard’s father was killed in the resulting fight. Through the next thirty years of his life, Bernard learned the art of sailing and was eventually named the captain of the Remus. His men admired him more than they loved him, but most importantly, they obeyed him without question. Garnier knew that his men would never be a mutinous group, and this trust was mutual, for the men depended on their captain.
Garnier was not one for romanticism. He never liked the idea that sailing was adventurous or exciting, for he had seen the worst of his profession and did not think of it as romantic in any way. He never understood why young boys would throw away their lives of promise away so quickly for such a vile, unscrupulous lifestyle. Garnier never embraced the idea of being a heroic captain, a daring an valiant leader. A captain was not courageous or gallant, he had to be harsh and punishing, letting it be known that slackers would not be tolerated. A captain needed to be willing to raise the black flag of death, to be willing to order his men to certain failure and demise. There were no deeds of valor, there was only duty and obligation. Garnier felt that one could be an effective captain once he realized that he had to expect the occasional empty chair.
Lightning flashed, and thunder rocked the captain from his thoughts.
“How far are we off course, Mr. McMillan?” he shouted at his first mate.
“Pretty far, Cap’n,” said McMillan. “I don’t be recognizing anything’ sir. But as we keep sailing, the tides are getting stronger. Cap’n, I think we are headin’ toward land.”
Garnier shuddered beneath his rain-soaked coat. Most islands in the Caribbean were surrounded by large, sharp rocks. As difficult as it would be to pull the ship ashore during the day, it would be nearly impossible at night- especially with the storm. Heading toward land would be a very bad thing for the ship and those aboard.
“Mr. Lewis!” Garnier bellowed at his second mate. “Climb the rigging and see if you can see land from above.”
Lewis obeyed, clutched the rope, and gingerly began working his way up the rigging. Winds blew and shook the ship, debris flew about the air, but Lewis remained steady and slowly continued to climb. The ship swayed as Lewis was lifting his leg up over the banister, and he lost his grip on the rigging- falling toward the deck far below. Garnier’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. The thought of losing this intelligent, reliable young man was almost too much for him. Fortunately, Lewis’ boot had caught on the rigging about halfway down, sparing his life. Lewis sat up, and, after climbing a bit more carefully, reached the crow nest. Lewis yelled from above, but Garnier could not hear him- for the storm noise was drowning out his voice. Garnier motioned for Lewis to come down, and he did as ordered. He sped down the rigging and jumped to the deck from much higher than Garnier would have recommended.
“Land is straight ahead,” he shouted between gasps for air. “We’ll be shipwrecked for sure!There are rocks surrounding the coast; we will be lucky to survive.”
Garnier remained his composed self as he walked to the front end of the ship and peered through the rain and fog to catch a glimpse of the land. As the waves briefly subsided, he saw the grey coast of a mysterious island, and it was much closer than he had thought. The crew was grabbed by terror, and ran hysterically away from the island, as if the rear of the ship would provide better protection. The ship was now out of control; the result inevitable. The bow of the Remus shattered as it slammed into the rocks of the coast, and Garnier was thrown across the deck, smashing his head on a barrel when he hit the floor. Blood began pouring from his mouth and the back of his head , and a tunnel began to form in his vision. He tried to say “stay calm”, but he merely coughed up more blood when he did. As the black tunnel grew, and the ship and the crew shrank, Garnier knew he was losing consciousness. The last thing he thought before he could no longer see was we are all going to die, there is no one left to wake me up…
Through it all, Captain Bernard Garnier stood beside the second mate near the front of the ship. He never feared a hurricane, even the worst, just as he had never been afraid in the heat of battle. Garnier had a steel spirit, and he lived for these moments. He was not a hard man, not a heavy drinker or smoker, and did not like to use profanity- that was his first mate’s job. He did not, however, consider himself a refined gentlemen at all; he was a simple man of forty years who had been at sea since his youth. Garnier’s father, Jacques, was a sailor in the prime days of pirates, and a well-known and well-respected admiral in the British navy. Admiral Garnier was raised in France, but married a London woman and decided that England, due to the messy French Revolution, was the safest place for him to raise his family. After living in England for a few years, his wife became pregnant, but died in childbirth. Admiral Garnier was then forced to bring his mother-less son, Bernard, with him to the sea as a cabin boy. When Bernard was still young, the H.M.S. Remus was ambushed by a band of pirates and Bernard’s father was killed in the resulting fight. Through the next thirty years of his life, Bernard learned the art of sailing and was eventually named the captain of the Remus. His men admired him more than they loved him, but most importantly, they obeyed him without question. Garnier knew that his men would never be a mutinous group, and this trust was mutual, for the men depended on their captain.
Garnier was not one for romanticism. He never liked the idea that sailing was adventurous or exciting, for he had seen the worst of his profession and did not think of it as romantic in any way. He never understood why young boys would throw away their lives of promise away so quickly for such a vile, unscrupulous lifestyle. Garnier never embraced the idea of being a heroic captain, a daring an valiant leader. A captain was not courageous or gallant, he had to be harsh and punishing, letting it be known that slackers would not be tolerated. A captain needed to be willing to raise the black flag of death, to be willing to order his men to certain failure and demise. There were no deeds of valor, there was only duty and obligation. Garnier felt that one could be an effective captain once he realized that he had to expect the occasional empty chair.
Lightning flashed, and thunder rocked the captain from his thoughts.
“How far are we off course, Mr. McMillan?” he shouted at his first mate.
“Pretty far, Cap’n,” said McMillan. “I don’t be recognizing anything’ sir. But as we keep sailing, the tides are getting stronger. Cap’n, I think we are headin’ toward land.”
Garnier shuddered beneath his rain-soaked coat. Most islands in the Caribbean were surrounded by large, sharp rocks. As difficult as it would be to pull the ship ashore during the day, it would be nearly impossible at night- especially with the storm. Heading toward land would be a very bad thing for the ship and those aboard.
“Mr. Lewis!” Garnier bellowed at his second mate. “Climb the rigging and see if you can see land from above.”
Lewis obeyed, clutched the rope, and gingerly began working his way up the rigging. Winds blew and shook the ship, debris flew about the air, but Lewis remained steady and slowly continued to climb. The ship swayed as Lewis was lifting his leg up over the banister, and he lost his grip on the rigging- falling toward the deck far below. Garnier’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. The thought of losing this intelligent, reliable young man was almost too much for him. Fortunately, Lewis’ boot had caught on the rigging about halfway down, sparing his life. Lewis sat up, and, after climbing a bit more carefully, reached the crow nest. Lewis yelled from above, but Garnier could not hear him- for the storm noise was drowning out his voice. Garnier motioned for Lewis to come down, and he did as ordered. He sped down the rigging and jumped to the deck from much higher than Garnier would have recommended.
“Land is straight ahead,” he shouted between gasps for air. “We’ll be shipwrecked for sure!There are rocks surrounding the coast; we will be lucky to survive.”
Garnier remained his composed self as he walked to the front end of the ship and peered through the rain and fog to catch a glimpse of the land. As the waves briefly subsided, he saw the grey coast of a mysterious island, and it was much closer than he had thought. The crew was grabbed by terror, and ran hysterically away from the island, as if the rear of the ship would provide better protection. The ship was now out of control; the result inevitable. The bow of the Remus shattered as it slammed into the rocks of the coast, and Garnier was thrown across the deck, smashing his head on a barrel when he hit the floor. Blood began pouring from his mouth and the back of his head , and a tunnel began to form in his vision. He tried to say “stay calm”, but he merely coughed up more blood when he did. As the black tunnel grew, and the ship and the crew shrank, Garnier knew he was losing consciousness. The last thing he thought before he could no longer see was we are all going to die, there is no one left to wake me up…
