By Jeffrey Caminsky (Ship/Desperate/5:37am)
The clouds hung low in the eastern sky. The sea had grown rougher through the night, and the chop in the water had come to be a source of concern. Dan Collins, the young ensign manning the helm for the morning watch, could feel the hair prickling on his neck. As dawn approached, the sea looked different; it felt angry and treacherous now, like a bosun on a bender, and Collins felt like the last person who should be steering the ship through growing head seas. Farther down the bridge, Mr. Johnson, the first mate, looked to be snoozing peacefully at his station. Two nights earlier, heading through a dense fog, Collins’ efforts to rouse the Lieutenant from an earlier nap had won nothing more than a tongue-lashing and double-watch, that had made the ensign miss his dinner. The young officer didn’t like the thought of being the only soul awake on the bridge, but he was too hungry to miss breakfast.
The sea rose mightily, and the ship rode up the crest of the wave. The ensign’s belly quivered through the downside of the swell, and he could hear the wind howling across the deck. He struggled to keep his heading as the ship plowed the sea toward the next wave. A quick glance over his shoulder toward the first mate promised little help.
Three bells sounded. Collins took a deep breath. The morning watch wasn’t half over, but the Skipper would be coming to the bridge shortly, and Collins knew he’d feel better with the old man watching over his shoulder. Trying to keep the ship moving ahead, Collins quartered the rudder, and hoped he wouldn’t capsize the ship in the meantime. Water crashed over the port bow as the next wave hit them before lifting the ship up and over. Before he could react the next wave was upon them, and the young ensign had his hands full, tacking back and forth between the larger waves, determined to keep the ship on course.
The wind screamed as it shook the windows; rain started pummeling the deck. The waves were coming more quickly now, as the ship headed into the teeth of the squall. The skies loomed dark and forbidding, and the young man felt a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach.
A heavy wave battered the starboard bow, rattling the instruments across the bridge. Glancing behind him, Collins saw the first mate dead to the world, no use to a sailor struggling to keep his ship afloat. Collins felt anger seething through his body; he was furious at having to confront the rough sea by himself. Enraged, he quartered the rudder again as another wave slammed into the bow.
His heart racing, Collins struggled to hold his course steady, but sensed that the ship had stopped fighting him. The sky ahead was dark and forbidding, but the seas seemed calmer. The interval between waves had grown more relaxed, and the water felt less frenzied, more manageable. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. The sky still looked threatening, but for the moment it seemed they were out of danger.
Behind him, the door to the bridge swing open, and Collins could smell the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting up from the galley. He closed his eyes, and sighed in relief.
*****
“Morning, Skipper!” yawned the first mate. “You’re up bright and early.”
“Bit of a rough spot, this morning, isn’t it?” laughed the captain. “Ship was tossing me about like a shuttlecock , and thought I’d come see if you lads needed a hand. Especially with a rookie at the helm.”
“No sir. Young Collins had me worried for a moment, but he managed just fine…at least for a bubblegummer. Tacked his way through the worst of it even without help, and kept us more or less on course. We shouldn’t lose much time, especially with the squall line so thin. If we don’t meet up with any more storms, we should make port before sunset.”
The captain walked to the helm station.
“Good work, Lad,” he smiled, giving a gentle squeeze to the young officer’s shoulder. “Probably the dodgiest bit of water you’ve seen, I suppose. But it’ll get easier.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the young man, trying his best not to break out into a silly grin. “I suppose the bigger ships don’t pitch as much in the rough seas. Less of a roller coaster, I imagine. Probably not nearly as much fun.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the captain. “Johnson, tend to the Log, then off you go to breakfast, now. I’ll take over from here.”
“Aye, sir.”
As ship continued rolling over the waves, the captain lifted his binoculars and gazed through the mist. They were nearly through the squall, and would have to make up the time once the skies cleared. The radio promised them scattered storms throughout the day, and they’d have to be on their toes to avoid the worst of them.
At the helm, Collins relaxed his grip on the helm and felt the thunder disappear from his chest. Starting ahead at the sea, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but for the first time since they’d set sail he felt like he belonged. Summers on the coast were never anything like this, he thought. But dawn at sea was always full of surprises.
The clouds hung low in the eastern sky. The sea had grown rougher through the night, and the chop in the water had come to be a source of concern. Dan Collins, the young ensign manning the helm for the morning watch, could feel the hair prickling on his neck. As dawn approached, the sea looked different; it felt angry and treacherous now, like a bosun on a bender, and Collins felt like the last person who should be steering the ship through growing head seas. Farther down the bridge, Mr. Johnson, the first mate, looked to be snoozing peacefully at his station. Two nights earlier, heading through a dense fog, Collins’ efforts to rouse the Lieutenant from an earlier nap had won nothing more than a tongue-lashing and double-watch, that had made the ensign miss his dinner. The young officer didn’t like the thought of being the only soul awake on the bridge, but he was too hungry to miss breakfast.
The sea rose mightily, and the ship rode up the crest of the wave. The ensign’s belly quivered through the downside of the swell, and he could hear the wind howling across the deck. He struggled to keep his heading as the ship plowed the sea toward the next wave. A quick glance over his shoulder toward the first mate promised little help.
Three bells sounded. Collins took a deep breath. The morning watch wasn’t half over, but the Skipper would be coming to the bridge shortly, and Collins knew he’d feel better with the old man watching over his shoulder. Trying to keep the ship moving ahead, Collins quartered the rudder, and hoped he wouldn’t capsize the ship in the meantime. Water crashed over the port bow as the next wave hit them before lifting the ship up and over. Before he could react the next wave was upon them, and the young ensign had his hands full, tacking back and forth between the larger waves, determined to keep the ship on course.
The wind screamed as it shook the windows; rain started pummeling the deck. The waves were coming more quickly now, as the ship headed into the teeth of the squall. The skies loomed dark and forbidding, and the young man felt a gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach.
A heavy wave battered the starboard bow, rattling the instruments across the bridge. Glancing behind him, Collins saw the first mate dead to the world, no use to a sailor struggling to keep his ship afloat. Collins felt anger seething through his body; he was furious at having to confront the rough sea by himself. Enraged, he quartered the rudder again as another wave slammed into the bow.
His heart racing, Collins struggled to hold his course steady, but sensed that the ship had stopped fighting him. The sky ahead was dark and forbidding, but the seas seemed calmer. The interval between waves had grown more relaxed, and the water felt less frenzied, more manageable. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. The sky still looked threatening, but for the moment it seemed they were out of danger.
Behind him, the door to the bridge swing open, and Collins could smell the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting up from the galley. He closed his eyes, and sighed in relief.
*****
“Morning, Skipper!” yawned the first mate. “You’re up bright and early.”
“Bit of a rough spot, this morning, isn’t it?” laughed the captain. “Ship was tossing me about like a shuttlecock , and thought I’d come see if you lads needed a hand. Especially with a rookie at the helm.”
“No sir. Young Collins had me worried for a moment, but he managed just fine…at least for a bubblegummer. Tacked his way through the worst of it even without help, and kept us more or less on course. We shouldn’t lose much time, especially with the squall line so thin. If we don’t meet up with any more storms, we should make port before sunset.”
The captain walked to the helm station.
“Good work, Lad,” he smiled, giving a gentle squeeze to the young officer’s shoulder. “Probably the dodgiest bit of water you’ve seen, I suppose. But it’ll get easier.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the young man, trying his best not to break out into a silly grin. “I suppose the bigger ships don’t pitch as much in the rough seas. Less of a roller coaster, I imagine. Probably not nearly as much fun.”
“That’s the spirit,” said the captain. “Johnson, tend to the Log, then off you go to breakfast, now. I’ll take over from here.”
“Aye, sir.”
As ship continued rolling over the waves, the captain lifted his binoculars and gazed through the mist. They were nearly through the squall, and would have to make up the time once the skies cleared. The radio promised them scattered storms throughout the day, and they’d have to be on their toes to avoid the worst of them.
At the helm, Collins relaxed his grip on the helm and felt the thunder disappear from his chest. Starting ahead at the sea, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but for the first time since they’d set sail he felt like he belonged. Summers on the coast were never anything like this, he thought. But dawn at sea was always full of surprises.