The Sailor

"Bob, a call just came in and it may be related to our missing poet. Some kid found a sailboat on the beach with a lot of blood in it. It's way the hell up the coast in a place called Lucia Beach. I think it's part of the Birch Point State Park in Maine."

Robert Montgomery stirred behind his weathered mahogany desk. A lean northeasterner with a short-cropped beard. He spoke with a crisp Maine accent. "I'm not familiar with it. What makes you think it's our guy this time? There were seven ship wrecks from the last storm and three are still unaccounted for. That was one hell of a storm, even though it was not a direct hit. Sustained winds rose to 112 miles per hour."

"This is what the park ranger said. It was a large dingy, maybe 12-15 feet long. The sail was broken off, and the rudder had been badly damaged. The dinghy fits the description of the one owned by Magnus Nielsen, our missing poet. A waterproof portable writing desk was the only item found on the boat. They found a poem in the small desk and they just faxed it over. They said this is why they think it is our missing sailor. Here it is. I'll read it to you."

I left Yarmouth town on a sunny day about a week ago

 And set my sail for Nantucket Isle

The sun was out, the waves were light, and the gods were smiling down

 I opened my eyes, I’d been asleep a while

The sun was gone, the sky was dark, the sea no longer calm

My sail was gone, I grabbed for my oars, no land in sight

I must go west, for I knew the coast in that direction lay

But I wondered if the tide would make it right

Oh, the seabirds soar across majestic waves

And sing their songs of desperate times to me

I rock my boat, wave my hands and pray to the man above

A fisherman or sailor, my plight he will see

Out on this vast and empty sea there must be those that look for me

But they know not to where I was bound

The storm is gone, my boat is torn, my sail has tumbled down.

Lord, grant my only wish to plant my feet on solid ground

As days go by I no longer cry, it is a peaceful valley now 

I see myself playing on the sand

There’s a party there with beer and girls and friends that I know

 Just listen to the angel band

Oh, the seabirds soar across the silent sea

And sing their joyful songs to me

I no longer rock my boat nor wave my hands nor pray to the lord above.

A fisherman or sailor, my plight they will never see

 Once Jim completed reading the poem, Robert rose from behind his desk and read the poem to himself. He pursed his lips and sadly nodded his head. "I guess that settles it. I wonder what happened? Do you think someone shot him and threw the body overboard? Let's get forensics to look at it, but we may never know what happened." What is your story, Magnus Nielsen?

***

The Crazy Rooster Pub was rocking on this particular Friday night. Magnus's latest novels earned him a prestigious award, so he and his friends were celebrating. Magnus Nielsen was a tall, handsome young man. He fit one's perception of his Scandinavian heritage with his wide shoulders, blue-eyes and long blond hair. He was a member of the rowing team at Princeton University. While he was a member of the staff of the college newspaper that he became cognizant of his love of writing. Magnus worked for three years at the Royal River Boat repair shop before his first novel was published. The reviews were great and his book became a number one bestseller. His next novel received the same accolades as the first book.

One of his friends brought him a fresh beer. "Magnus, ole buddy. Where do you do your best writing? The last one about the one-armed pirate was great."

"Well, I do most of my dreaming about plots and characters while sailing in my dingy. I have a small portable writing desk and I jot down story lines. I enjoy writing poetry while I relax on my boat and feel the gentle rocking of the waves. Of course, I finish my writing at home."

Magnus left the party at midnight. Saturday, he would be out in his dingy if the weather was good. A fresh idea for a novel popped into his head. He would have to think about it and get some sleep tonight. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

***

Magnus set his course and moved out into the open water. It was a beautiful sunny morning with a brisk breeze blowing from the south. He decided to visit Nantucket and have an overnight stay with his Jamaican girlfriend, who worked at a high-end boutique on the island. It should take less than five hours to get there with this wind behind him. Nothing is exact with sailboats, it all hinges on the wind. This morning, the wind stayed steady, and he was making good time. A sailor loves the wind.

A rudder positioned at the stern controlled the boat's steering. He held the boat steady on course for an hour hour before his head began to nod and his eyes closed. Three hours of sleep last night was not enough. Magnus looked at his watch. He had time for a quick nap. He tied the rudder to hold steady on course, then spread out a quilt on the floor of the boat, and was asleep in minutes.

Magnus woke with a sense of dread. The boat was almost dead in the water, and the sky was ominous, with dark clouds looming overhead. The wind picked up and rain fell in sheets. He stood and looked at his compass. A sudden gust of wind knocked him backward, crashing into the starboard side of the boat. The compass made a soft plopping sound as it landed in the strengthening waves. Magnus crawled to the mast and pulled himself upright. The waves were increasing in size and force every minute. Crawling to the stern, he checked the rudder. It was holding steady. A gust of wind almost capsized the craft. A sharp cracking sound followed as the mast gave way. Fortunately, the mast fell near the stern of the boat on the starboard side. The top rail smashed, but the side held fast. It was impossible to control the boat with the mast hanging over the side. Magnus desperately tried to shove the mast into the ocean, but he could not budge it. Time and again, the waves crashed into the boat, sending him tumbling over to the opposite side of the small dinghy. The boat began to fill with water. He emptied a caulk bucket and used it in a fruitless attempt to bail the water from the boat. It seemed like one bucket out and the waves poured in three more. He looked for the two life jackets he always carried in the boat. Both were gone, along with his oars. The only thing left was his water-proof writing desk that was floating up under the foredeck area.

Magnus sat on the seat, dangling his feet in the water and holding tight to the sides of the dinghy. The water was almost up to his knees and he knew before long he would sink. After a while, he realized no more sea water was entering the boat. The storm had passed, and the waves were settling down. He began bailing the water from the boat.

It was a lovely evening with almost a full moon. Stars flooded the sky with glorious beams of light. He was totally lost and his compass was gone. He tried to recall the words of his high school science teacher. The sun comes up in the east and goes down in the west. That's good, but how about the moon? Does it also come up in the east? Maybe it comes up in the west and goes down in the east? He looked at the moon, which was off to his right. That probably means he is facing north, the direction the storm went. Land should be west and off to his left. He would pay attention to the rising sun in the morning, and then remove the damn mast so he could try to control where the dingy went.

The sea at sunrise was perfectly calm. It was as if the storm had just been a nightmare. Magnus assessed his situation. His body ached from the pounding he took during the storm. Luckily, no bones were broken. He had not intended to be on an extended trip, so he brought no provisions. His two bottles of water had washed away in the storm. He had not informed any of his friends about his destination. In fact, no one even knew he took his boat out. Eventually, his friends might notice his absence and check the slip for his boat. Would that be too late? Where was the wind when he needed it?

He could at least move toward land if he had a paddle. Surely, he was not that far out to sea. The broken mast remained attached to the side of the boat. Is there a way to remove some of the sail and make something to catch the wind when it returned? Magnus climbed over the side of the boat and slid down the mast. A small pocket knife was the only tool he had to cut the polyester sail and ropes attached to it. He yanked and pulled on the sail. The mast pulled free and floated away from the boat, leaving Magnus sitting on the mast. Magnus panicked and dropped the knife as he swam for the boat. He tried to pull himself over the side, but the boat almost capsized. He moved to the stern and climbed over the rudder into the boat. That gave him an idea. If he could remove the rudder, maybe he could use it as a paddle.

The steering mechanism was a two-part thing, with a metal handle attached to the wooden rudder submersed under water. It was secured to the boat with a large hinge bolted onto the wood frame of the boat. How could he remove the damn thing without tools? He tried kicking with his foot, but the soft soled sailing shoes gave no support and he only managed to hurt his foot. Despite bending the handle nearly in half with his kicks, the hinge remained securely bolted to the boat. He returned to the seat with his legs over the side of the boat and nursed his sore foot in the water.

A flock of ten or more birds soared overhead, chattering amongst themselves. Does this mean I am close to land? It was getting dark and Magnus lay down to sleep as the boat gently rocked and floated out further to sea.

The bright sun woke Magnus from a troubled sleep. Looking into the distance, he saw no sign of land. Jumping overboard crossed his mind, but it wasn't in his nature to quit. He opened his writing desk and started writing a poem. After some time, his thoughts turned again to making a paddle. Moving to the bow, he inspected the broken area on the port side of the boat that the falling mast had fractured. He cursed his luck again. His boat was relatively new and was made from some either fiberglass or carbon fiber. Not wood like older boats. He went back to his desk and worked on his poem.

By noon, his stomach was growling, and he was thirsty. Fortunately, he had the foresight to collect rainwater in his bailing bucket toward the end of the storm. He rationed what little there was, praying for more rain and wind. On the fourth day, the wind returned, driving him on a northwesterly course. Magnus was disoriented and had lost all sense of direction. He returned to his poem and tore it to pieces, and started a new one. That evening there was a light rain, and he collected an inch or two of water in his bucket. He knew he was weakening and had to do something. The rudder was his only hope, but how would he be able to remove the wooden part submerged in the ocean? Removing all his clothes, he lowered himself over the stern of the boat. Magnus was an excellent swimmer and felt at ease in the water. Diving under the boat, he tried breaking the rudder free from the handle. He repeated this action many times before giving up. Why did he have to buy an American-made boat? Climbing back aboard, he felt a stabbing pain in his left leg. He moved to his seat and realized he was hemorrhaging blood across the floor of the boat. A large section of flesh had been removed from his lower leg halfway between the ankle and knee. Sharks, what else could it be? He removed his shirt and made a tourniquet to stop the flow of blood. Blood still oozed around the tourniquet and he felt faint.

Magnus woke an hour later, lying face down on the floor of the boat. He crawled to a sitting position and checked the jagged wound in his leg. The bleeding had stopped, but he had lost a good deal of blood. It was day six, and the wind blew strong and steady. The boat moved ever north and west toward the coast of Maine. Magnus closed his eyes. Half asleep, dreamed about his friends and their last party. Opening his desk, he finished his poem. He had nothing to drink since yesterday morning and his tongue was thick and his lips were cracked and dry. He closed the desk and sat it beside him. If only the damn shark had stayed south where he belonged, he might have made it. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. In a fit of rage, he watched as a fin sliced beside the boat. He shouted, you dirty bastard and jumped on the shark. While in the air, he looked to his left. "Is that land I see?"

The End