The Sea Guardian

By Tunir Bhattacharya

Sunday, October 3rd, 1723. The ship was finally complete, and we brought her home from the dock. “Hurrah!” – the voices of her crew rose high into the air, with an air of triumph. I felt a flame of enthusiasm burning inside me as well, as she was to set sail tomorrow.

Preparations were underway, with men loading food, water, whiskey, cannonballs and mortars. Some stood on the helm with one holding the wheel, imagining to steer the ship, while a few others climbed to the crow’s nest to view the well-lit busy suburbs behind us. I was sitting on a box drinking whiskey, when a female voice called out to me.

“Captain”, she said. I slowly turned my head back, and found the tavern maid staring at me. Small, petite, white-haired, and very bonny. Roughly nineteen. She wore a red-white maid dress, with small boots and a small straw hat. She was the talk of the town, and almost every man’s dream wife. Even the most committed men stooped to take a glance at her.

“Yes?”, I asked her in the politest way I could.

“Sailing soon?”

“Tomorrow at morning”

“Most wonderful. Can I accompany you?”

I was taken aback. A girl of her age seafaring with gung-ho sailors like us in the rough seas is not just dangerous, but also really stupid.

What could me further off was that she requested to be my quartermaster. I thought for a long while, balancing the yeses and noes, and finally accepted it, thinking what could go wrong.

But it did go wrong.

The next day, we all checked lists, confirmed everything on board, the crew count, and soon after, we sailed to the sea. The crew was elated, especially after knowing the white-haired was their quartermaster, and that we had a better ship than before. A few hours in, and we finally met the blue earth; the Pacific Ocean. Blue, blue, blue, as far as the eyes could see. While I was planning the route to our destination with the girl, a young boy from one of the swivel guns came up to me, and asked my attention. When I agreed, he asked me, “Sir, have you come up with a name for this ship?”. A good question indeed. Ever since we got her, I forgot about naming her in the sheer excitement.

The girl further pressed me to give a name for the ship, and soon slowly the crew started joining either on the stairs or in front of the captain’s cabin, discussing a good name. I gave a lot of thought to it. After what seemed like an hour, I said, “Wispon”. Most agreed, but a few rather disliked it. We eventually decided to go with the majority opinion, and Wispon was her name.

The first few hours of the journey were cushy. The men sang shanties while others lied down and bobbed their heads, while I was having a chat with my new quartermaster.

“I’ve always wanted to know what lied beyond the land” she said. “My father used to tell me it was really scary, but I never really believed him.”

She continued on. I listened. “We all know what’s on land, but do we ever know what’s underneath the domain we all proudly sail on?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a sailor, but everybody said that I’d lose my prettiness, they said I’d become rash, and what not.”

“But here you are, standing on a floating box.” We both laughed. It was true, sailing a ship required more than just intelligence. But one must enjoy himself to the fullest, find the beauty and joy of riding a ship, to become a sailor.

A few hours later, at afternoon, a cry came out from the crow’s nest. “SHIP AHOY, STARBOARD BEAM!” the man repeated several times. Those in a distant lull woke up to see the sight. I was very sure I felt the hair on my body rise, like it does when the body hears a trill. There in the distance stood a ship. Her proportions were absurd for a ship. Bigger than a man o’ war, her sails were as big as whales. She was painted black, and had a no flag anywhere. It had an eerie aura around it, and we all could feel it. The water around her was grey, with maybe a dead fish or two floating around. “Was she abandoned? Pummelled by cannons to the point it became black?” – were the questions around her head.

Much to our surprise, the ship unfurled all its sails, black in colour, obstructing all light, and started towards us. It was frightening for a ship that size to move that quick. We started feeling all queasy, as the ship ominously approached us. Once it decided that it came at a good range, the ship turned port and aimed her guns at us.

“DUCK!” I roared as hundreds of flashes could be seen. The cannons tore through our ship like locusts on a farm. After it stopped, the men ran to their stations to get ready for a counter attack. I reduced the sails to half, took the wheel and violently steered starboard. “FIRE!” I ordered and cannonballs zapped through the sky to meet the ship. Most of them hit, but the ship remained unscathed. Another volley fired. Nothing. It slowly turned straight towards us and charged. I ordered our front batteries and mortars to fire, but they only gave scratches; not a good sign.

“SHE’S GON RAM US!” someone yelled out loud. I skilfully manoeuvred Wispon but eventually the ship grazed its black enemy, generating a rasp sound. What was more eerie was that there were no crew members on deck – no captain, sailors, or quartermaster. Yet the ship kept firing, yet the ship kept steering. It fired again, this time directly onto ours, ripping through our hull, and completely immobilizing it. The crew on the lower deck lost, I looked out from the helm to discern the crew members alive through the thick smoke, and the fire. Without a second thought, I gave order to abandon ship, and one by one they jumped into the warm water around the inferno. I looked to right, and found the girl coughing, trying to hold her consciousness. I picked her up, and carried her to the rowboat, all the while thinking that maybe the people were right, maybe the girl shouldn’t have come with us. I lowered the boat as quick as I could, and then jumped into the water myself, seconds before the ship exploded. In the water, I found the boat, climbed onto it, and helped the girl pick up the few survivors from the water. WE stood there, some sitting, looking either at the sinking Wispon, or the black ship, that was going back with its grey water. “What was that?” I kept thinking to myself. Was it a ghost? Or was it advanced for its age? It will forever remain arcane to us.

By Tunir Bhattacharya