Man overboard by Winston Spencer Churchill. It was a little after half past nine
when the man fell overboard. The mail steamer was hurrying through the Red Sea
in the hope of making up the time which the currents of the Indian Ocean
had stolen. The night was clear, though the moon was hidden behind clouds.
The warm air was laden with moisture. The still surface of the waters
was only broken by the movement of the great ship, from whose quarter the
long, slanting undulations struck out like the feathers from an arrow shaft, and
in whose wake the froth and air bubbles churned up by the propeller, trailed
in a narrowing line to the darkness of the horizon. There was a concert
on board. All the passengers were glad to break the monotony of the voyage,
and gathered around the piano in the companion house. The decks were deserted.
The man had been listening to the music and joining in the songs,
but the room was hot, and he came out to smoke a cigarette and
enjoy a breath of the wind which the speedy passage of the liner created.
It was the only wind in the Red Sea that night. The accommodation ladder
had not been unshipped since leaving Aden, and the man walked out onto the
platform as on to a balcony. He leaned his back against the rail and
blew a puff of smoke into the air reflectively. The piano struck up a
lively tune, and a voice began to sing the first verse of the Rowdy
Dowdy Boys. The measured pulsations of the screw were a subdued but additional accompaniment.
The man knew the song. It had been the rage at all the
music halls when he had started for India seven years before. It reminded him
of the brilliant and busy streets he had not seen for so long, but
was soon to see again. He was just going to join in the chorus
when the railing, which had been insecurely fastened, gave way suddenly with a
snap, and he fell backwards into the warm water of the sea amid a
great splash. For a moment he was physically too much astonished to think.
Then he realized that he must shout. He began to do this even before
he rose to the surface. He achieved a hoarse, inarticulate half choked scream.
A startled brain suggested the word help, and he bawled this out lustily
and with frantic effort, six or seven times without stopping. Then he listened,
High, Hi, Clear the way for the rowdy dowdy boys. The
chorus floated back to him across the smooth water, for the ship had already
passed completely by, and as he heard the music, a long stab of
terror drove through his heart. The possibility that he would not be picked up
dawned for the first time on his consciousness. The chorus started again. Then
I say, boys, who's for a jolly spree? Rum tumdilium? Who'll
have a drink with me? Help? Help, Help, shrieked the man,
in desperate fear. Fond of a glass now, and then fond of
a row or noise, High High, Clear the way for the rowdy dowdy
boys. The last words drawled out faint and fainter. The vessel was steaming
fast. The beginning of the second verse was confused and broken by the ever
growing distance. The dark outline of the great hull was getting blurred. The
stern light dwindled. Then he set out to swim after it, with few
curious energy, pausing every dozen strokes to shout long, wild shouts. The
disturbed waters of the sea began to settle again to their rest. The widening
undulations became ripples. The aerated confusion of the screw fizzed itself upwards and out.
The noise of motion and the sounds of life and music died away.
The liner was but a single fading light on the blackness of the waters,
and a dark shadow against the paler sky. At length, full realization came
to the man, and he stopped swimming. He was alone, abandoned.
With the understanding, his brain reeled. He began again to swim, only
now, instead of shouting, he prayed, mad incoherent prayers, the words
stumbling into one another. Suddenly, a distant light seemed to flicker and brighten.
A surge of joy and hope rushed through his mind. They were going
to stop, to turn the ship and come back. And with the hope
came gratitude. His prayer was answered. Broken words of thanksgiving rose to his
lips. He stopped and stared after the light, his soul in his eyes.
As he watched it, it grew gradually but steadily smaller, then the
man knew that his fate was certain. Despair succeeded hope. Gratitude gave place
to curses. Beating the water with his arms, he raved impotently. Foul
oaths burst from him, as broken as his prayers, and as unheeded.
The fit of passion passed, hurried by increasing fatigue, he became silent,
silent as was the sea, for even the ripples were subsiding into the glassy
smoothness of the surface. He swam on mechanically along the track of the ship,
sobbing quietly to himself in the misery of fear, and the stern light
became a tiny speck yellower but scarcely bigger than some of the stars which here
and there shone between the clouds. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and the man's
fatigue began to change to exhaustion. The overpowering sense of the inevitable pressed upon
him. With the weariness came a strange comfort. He need not swim all
the long way to Suez. There was another course. He would die,
He would resign his existence. Since he was thus abandoned, he threw up
his hands impulsively and sank down, down, he went through the warm water.
The physical death took hold of him, and he began to drown.
The pain of that savage grip recalled his anger. He fought with it,
furiously, striking out with arms and legs. He sought to get back to
the air. It was a hard struggle, but he escaped, victorious and
gasping to the surface, despair awaited him. Feebly, splashing with his hands,
he moaned in bitter misery, I can't, I must, Oh,
God, let me die. The moon, then, in her third quarter,
pushed out from behind the concealing clouds and shed a pale, soft glitter
upon the sea. Up in the water, fifty yards away was a black
triangular object. It was a fin It approached him slowly. His last appeal
had been heard. End of Man Overboard.