Chapter 2 (Set just after the wall comes down in Return to the Sea)
The sea was growing fiercer by the minute, as the water quickly turned from a pleasant bluish-green hue to a muted gray. Powerful, hungry waves lapped at the hull of a small, wooden vessel. Its crew was in for trouble.
"All hands on deck!" an aging captain barked to his men, over the din of the heightening storm, "adjust the sails! Rig the halyards!"
Half a dozen sailors scrambled to meet their skipper's orders, as pounding rain cascaded off the edges of their caps, and into their eyes. Heavy feet stuck in rain-soaked galoshes, splashed through a collection of puddles that had formed on deck, as lightning continuously splintered the darkness. The doomed ship was taking in water... quickly.
There was a deafening clap of thunder, followed of course, by a single bolt of white-hot lightning, and then came the unexpected. One explosion from the rear of the ship, and then another, and another. The fateful lightning strike had apparently hit a barrel of black gunpowder, and the initial explosion had sparked a dangerous chain reaction. Before the crew's very eyes, the main sail, and fore sail were engulfed in angry, red flames, despite the heavy rainfall.
"Ready the lifeboat!" shouted the captain, "abandon ship!
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Meanwhile, in the hold below deck, a family consisting of father, mother, and infant were being harshly jostled about, banging into walls, the floor, whichever would catch their fall.
"In God's name what's happening, Charles!" a young mother cried, while unsuccessfully trying to soothe her bawling child.
"It seems that we're caught in an unexpected storm. Don't worry, Evelyn. It will pass."
They could hear the booming thunder, the driving rain, and the sloshing waves all around them, and somehow, Mrs. Evelyn Thompson knew her husband was gravely wrong. The family was startled when the door of the hold was suddenly, and forcefully kicked in revealing a visibly distressed Captain Morgan.
"Sorry professor." Captain Morgan began, delivering an unhappy glance over to the woman and child. Any seasoned sailor knew well that she-folk brought bad luck to long voyages. "Storm's getting too rough. Ship's on fire..."
"Fire!" shrieked Evelyn, clutching her child closer to her bosom.
"We're evacuating the ship," Captain Morgan warned in his distinctive, gruff voice, "follow me."
Professor Charles Thompson placed a gentle hand along the small of this wife's back; it was all he could keep from looking panic-stricken. It was vital that he remain calm for the sake of his family. After all, it was he who had brought his wife and infant daughter aboard for his research mission. If anything horrid occurred, it was entirely on his shoulders. So, he calmly guided his wife and child out the door, close behind the stocky form of Captain Morgan. Things would turn out fine in the end, he assured himself, until...
"Natalie's basket!" his wife gasped, shoving the poor, crying baby into his arms, and quickly ducked back into the hold.
"Evelyn!" Charles shouted in concern, his heart pounding. Was the woman mad? "Forget the damn basket!"
"No!" Evelyn screeched back at him, "I'll be damned if I allow my child to drown, Charles! The basket will keep her safer, at least!"
Charles Thompson was in such shock after the outburst of his normally mild-mannered wife, it literally incapacitated him. Unable to move, the professor hadn't even realized his wife had retrieved the basket, until she snatched Natalie from his tight hold.
"What are you waiting for, Charles?" she whispered in a weak, cracking voice, as she chased after Captain Morgan.
Evelyn and Natalie were the first to be lowered into the rickety lifeboat, and when he was certain they were safely seated, Charles followed. From the lifeboat, Charles looked up at the burning ship. The crew hastily abandoned all possessions and jumped pell-mell into the raging, black sea. His life's work was being reduced to a pile of ashes within the sinking ship, Charles realized. All of that research... gone. But most importantly, his wife and child were safe. Thank God for that.
Charles wrapped both Evelyn into a tight embrace, as Natalie was snugly secured in her basket that rested on this wife's lap. They were all soaked to the bone and shivering, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Evelyn was whispering an old prayer, but Charles could not bring himself to tear his eyes from the horrific sight of the fated vessel plunging beneath the menacing waves.
Twenty men surrounded them, the crew, and the captain. It was a tight squeeze, fitting all these bodies into one impossibly small lifeboat. But they made it work. They had to.
"All right men, start rowing," Captain Morgan commanded somberly, and the sailors nearest to the oars began to paddle.
All was deadly silent, as Morgan's men struggled to maneuver the rickety lifeboat through the chaotic wrath of the storming sea. And then in the distance, they all saw it. Despite the pitched darkness... despite the relentless gales, and stinging rain, they all saw it. Heading in a course straight for them, was an enormous wave, the crest of which was easily risen ten feet above their heads. Avoiding this monster of a wave was not only improbable, but impossible. And within moments, the wave rushed over them all, and capsized the rickety, wooden lifeboat.
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Evelyn Thompson, fatigued, her muscles burning, desperately clung to a small piece of driftwood with one arm while she tightly cradled her child's basket in the other. Evelyn did not know what had become of her husband, or the other men aboard the life boat, but she did know that her little Natalie was safe, and amazingly enough... soundly sleeping. Evelyn also knew that she wouldn't be able to hold on for very much longer. She was so tired, and so cold, and she could no longer feel her toes. Freezing. Evelyn was freezing. If she kept on like this, her child would perish right along with her, and she couldn't have that. So, Evelyn mustered her last ounce of strength to kiss the sleeping babe's forehead. The child felt so warm. Or perhaps it only appeared that way because she was so dreadfully cold.
"I love you, Natalie," she whispered, humming a few bars of the child's favorite lullaby.
And then the young mother deliberately loosened her grip of the waterlogged flotsam, and Evelyn Thompson retired to a watery grave.