The Lifesaver

The moon was high. The surf was crashing. Lighting struck, illuminating a night and ocean black as obsidian. In such brief illumination, I saw the storm. Massive breakers smashing on the shore and rocks. Showers of spray and ivory plums shot skywards. Mountains of water rose and disappeared. Above, the sky exploded with cannonades of thunder ripping, tearing, thrashing through the clouds.

We charged the water, roaring as the rain and salt pelted our faces. Pushing the lifeboat into the water, many of us lost our footing as a breaker washed against us. The boat bounced up and back. I lost my grip and slipped below the surface. For a moment, my world was that of gray and black; swirling sand, seeping seaweed, frothing foam, seething sea. Tumbling and tossing, my boots found footing and I stood.

Gasping and spluttering, I sprung upward and clutched the gunwale of the bobbing boat. For a few tense moments, I thought I was alone. Hats disappeared into the dark water. Here and there was a floating shoe. Suddenly, all the other men popped out from the water, their heads bare and their raincoats blown open.

We tried to vault into the boat but we were seized and thrown around by the waves. Our lifesaving boat was thrown back towards the shore, the ocean rejecting it. Finding myself fallen on the sand, I caught my breath until I had enough of the waves washing over me. Standing and gripping the gunwale, I took a moment to gaze at the haggard faces of the brave souls with me; drooping mustaches and waterlogged beards, hollowed eyes and salt-stung cheeks.

I looked past them. There, upon the sandbar, was the ship. A proper sailing vessel of three masts, shuddering on the bar as massive waves assaulted it. In the flashes of lightning, so repetitive and succeeding the night was lit brightly for seconds at a time, I saw it. I saw it. Free ropes swung and flew in the biting wind, the masts shivered, and the waves hit it again and again. One of the masts snapped and tumbled down, crashing onto the deck, then shipping over the gunwales and into the sea.

Little figures wriggled onto the mast from the ship, using it as a bridge to approach the rocks. Those rocks which threatened their vessels were now their stepping stones to salvation. But only for a moment. Rushing waves swept them off the rocks and engulfed them in their rage.

Again, we drove the boat into the waves. First by brute force only to be thrown back, then gauging our moment to go out with a receding wave. Nothing worked. Each time, we were forced back again, again, and again. We swore, screamed, sobbed, and pounded our fists against the poor craft, begging it to take us out there. Our curses were directed to the sea itself, demanding it give us entrance. But the wind howled, the surf crashed, and the thunder roared.

Exhausted, slumping, crying, our boat lopsided on the sand, we looked upon the ship. One great wave struck it. The surviving masts broke away and the hull broke up. As the ship shattered and its decks collapsed, we heard a great wail of human suffering and terror overtake that of the howling wind. A great horde of pitiful, pathetic people fall into the sea. Huge waves swarmed over the skeleton of the shop, seizing those passengers, and in their clutches brought them into the water. In moments, the crying ceased, the wreck disappeared, and with one final detonation of raging thunder, the storm announced its victory.