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Blue-Eyed Sea Monster

Edward N. McConnell

    Many years ago, when ships, made of wood, used wind in their sails to travel the high seas, a whaling ship, The Guernsey, found itself stalled in a dead calm on the Indian Ocean, ten days north of the Antarctic Circle.
    Hunting had been good. The proof of this was a hold filled to capacity with barrels of whale oil. The immediate problem for this bark, though, was finding its way back to favorable waters for the trip home.
    On the forecastle, looking skyward, First Mate, Tug Issacs noticed there were no stars or moon, only an India ink blackness. Usually dead calm meant clear, starry skies. Not this time. Besides the calm being unusual for these waters, the air temperature was climbing. It should have remained cold. These conditions spooked him.
    Alone at the helm, Captain Callum McPherson scanned the darkness. He could see the glow of a lantern approaching from the main deck. It was Tug. Greeting his Captain, he said, “Never thought we’d be caught in a doldrums in these waters. Add the darkness and this heat, it’s downright unnatural.” Both men had spent years at sea and had not seen this happen before.
    The Captain stood silent for a moment. Then there was a blinding flash of light. Squinting his eyes and cocking his ear to starboard, he thought he heard running water. On the heels of that flash, followed the onset of rough seas and a high-pitched squealing. Conditions deteriorated as fast as any in McPherson’s experience. It put a scare into him.
    Looking at Tug, he said, “Rough seas ahead. Clear the deck. Batten down the hatches. Trim the sails. Send the lookout aloft to the barrel. Tell him to watch for large waves. Mind you, I need the direction of any coming our way.”
    Tug called for the lookout, the ship’s best barrelman, Slider Feeney. Tug was about to hand the most important duty on the ship to its youngest member.
    “Aloft with you boy to the barrel. Keep a sharp eye out for any large waves. Use the pipes to report their location and size to the helm.”
    Slider said, “I’ll sing out as soon as I see any, sir.” Scampering up the ratlines to the crow’s nest on the foremast of the main sail, he settled into his familiar perch.
    Although young, the boy knew his job. A favorite of the Captain and crew, he was a crackerjack at spotting whales. Now, everyone aboard would be dependent on his sharp eye to measure distance, direction and height of any large waves.
    Dante Escarra, the ship’s lead rigger, started loosening the belaying pins which held the standing and running rigging in place. In high seas he knew strong winds could shred the sails if the crew failed to strike the canvas.
    He was hard at his task when he noticed something, there was no wind. The ferocity of the growing waves should have been in tandem with swirling, gusting or straight line winds, but there wasn’t a hint of a breeze.
    The lack of a gale did not go unnoticed by Tug or the Captain either, but there was no time to dwell on the phenomenon. The ship was being pitched back and forth, starboard to port, by waves that moments ago did not exist.
    With its sails still in place, The Guernsey was top heavy. Some of Dante’s riggers headed up the rope ladders to walk the towlines on the yardarms to tie off the sails. Others stayed on deck pulling up the halyards. The swaying of the ship from side to side complicated their task. If the sails were not secured the ship was in danger of capsizing.
    In the crow’s nest, Slider Feeney was trying to determine the source and direction of the waves. It was then he saw it. At first, he was sure the jostling and the spray stinging his eyes were playing tricks with his vision.
    Slider managed to raise the Captain. He shouted into the voice pipe, “Off the starboard bow. It’s terrible and it’s huge. It has an orange crest and bright blue eyes. It squeals like a hundred dolphins and is pounding the surface of the water.” Slider said no more.
    Before the Captain could angle off the bow, another massive wave rocked the ship a beam from the starboard side causing it to list hard to port.
    Aloft, Slider, thrown from one side of the barrel to the other, could not report further on the waves. As the ship listed hard over, the mast, yardarms, braces and barrel plunged into the water. Slider, Dante and his riggers found themselves in the maelstrom of the roiling waters.
    On deck, by the main mast, when the ship went over, Tug was able to grab some cargo netting and stay aboard. He saw the crow’s nest and Dante’s riggers disappear into the waves. Working his way along the cargo netting, pummeled by loose items on the deck, he got to the rail. He yelled, “Slider,” hoping there would be a response. None came.
    Tug was scanning the raging sea when another wave hit, this one came from the port side, ensnarling the ship. He figured to be swept overboard. Instead, the wave vomited Slider, along with Dante and his riggers, onto the deck. Tug grabbed Slider. For Dante and his crew, it was every man for himself, but all managed to grab on to something.
    Holding on to Slider, Tug pounded on his chest, hoping to get the sea water out, “Cough it up, boy,” he yelled. After what seemed like an eternity, Slider spit up his intake of sea water on the deck.
    The boy, struggling to speak, said, “It wasn’t a storm or the wind that churned the waves, it was a sea monster. It had blue eyes and made squealing noises; I swear.” Tug put his arms around the boy, happy the sea hadn’t taken him, thinking, “Poor boy’s been through a lot.”
    One last surge of water battered The Guernsey, then the tempest subsided, the seas quieted. An abrupt darkness followed. Then the air temperature started to drop.
    Using what working lanterns they could find; the crew assessed the damage. The Guernsey, having shipped great amounts of water, was in danger of foundering. Some of the crew manned the pumps. Others bailed with buckets. All knew the bottom awaited if they failed.
    Some of the whale oil barrels in the hold broke loose, suffered damage, and the contents were lost. All masts held steady, but the rigging needed repairs.
    Tallying equipment loss and any food store spoilage would take time. Odds and ends were missing but all crew members were accounted for. The ship’s sawbones tended to the injured.
    Tug made his way to the Captain at the helm. After his report, the Captain said, “Follow me.” They went into the Captain’s quarters.
    Under the dim light of tallow candles burning inside battered lanterns, Tug watched the Captain make a notation on his nautical charts. At their assumed location, the Captain wrote “Monsters Be Here.”

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    As the blue-eyed, ginger headed little boy was lifted from the tub by his mother, he made one last kick in the water. His joyous laughter sounded like the squeal of a dolphin. To her ears, it was a sweet sound. Swaddling him in a large white towel, in the tub remained a toy ship in danger of foundering.
    Carrying her precious cargo with one arm, using the other, she shut down the heater and turned off the light. She would return later to pull the drain plug and clean up the flotsam and jetsam left by her splashing youngster. For now, he captured all her attention.
    “Well, my little sailor, you have sure kicked up a storm tonight. Let’s get you dried off and into your pajamas.” The little boy wiggled as his mother rubbed the warm, white towel over his body.
    Once dressed for bed, the boy’s mother said, “Come my seafarer, I’ll read you your favorite story, Tales of The Guernsey.”
    When she bought that book, a replica of the ship came with it. She had no idea how captivated her son would become with the stories about sailors, whaling and storms.
    Her little boy loved hearing about those brave men on The Guernsey who braved the dangers of the high seas, facing storms to hunt whales. They were the stuff of many of his dreams.
    With the covers of the bed tucked around his arms and legs, the little boy felt warm and safe, his attention directed to his mother’s soft reading voice. Sitting close to the head of his bed, beginning at page one, the familiar words rolled off her tongue.
    “Many years ago, when ships, made of wood, used wind in their sails to travel the high seas, a whaling ship, The Guernsey found itself stalled in a dead calm on the Indian Ocean, ten days north of the Antarctic Circle. ....”

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