Author: Cyrus Borzak
Maine, United States of America, Atlantic Coast, 1850
Mother’s Venture parted the black ocean waters in the deep of night. The ship’s lanterns did little to illuminate the surroundings but at least helped ensure other vessels were aware of its presence. Thankfully, the moon occasionally showed between drifting clouds and provided enough light to confirm the water remained calm and the coast was well off the starboard side. While he appreciated knowing Mother’s Venture was not going to run aground on the mainland, the night helmsman maintained a heading that the navigator assured would keep the vessel away from any jutting peninsulas or surprise shallows. The helmsman did his best to keep the wheel steady and verify their heading whenever the sky provided a landmark, but he was certain some course correcting would be required come daylight.
The ship was laden with granite set to adorn a new monument being built in the nation’s capital. She moved slowly and sat low in the water, and despite being expertly loaded to maintain perfect balance, Mother’s Venture would not fare well in the open waters of the Atlantic. This was the crew’s fourth journey to Washington, D.C., and the experienced group found the voyage to be particularly uneventful.
Crewman Desmond Beauchamp walked the deck amidst the calming slosh of water against the hull. He occasionally stopped to check rigging and that on-deck supplies were secured. While it was his shift tonight, he likely would have been strolling the deck anyway, finding the ocean breeze to be particularly intoxicating at night. Desmond was also fascinated by the stories he heard about this part of the ocean and coast. While in Portland, this intrigue led to Desmond venturing into a tavern and buying an old seaman a drink as admission to his tales.
He figured most of the stories were fantasy resulting from hard years at sea and too much alcohol. One story, however, made the old sailor polish off his fresh drink with a single gulp while a shaking hand played with the pendant around his neck.
“If yer heading that way yet again, I worry yer luck may end. To tempt it once is brave, but beyond that, tis foolhardy. You’ve been a good lad to sit here and pay for my drinks and listen to my tales, so I tell ye this to hopefully save yer soul. I pray you heed these words.”
Desmond nodded and stood to fetch another drink.
The old man waved it off, “No! No. I need my wits for this else I stop believing it happened.”
He stopped playing with the pendant and held it out toward Desmond, “See this? You know what it is?”
Desmond leaned close to get a better look at the golden pendant that still glimmered in the scant tavern light. It was worn, but he thought he could make out a crown atop an indistinguishable symbol. Script of some kind followed the curve of the pendant’s edge. Desmond had only received basic schooling but learned a great deal about the world from his mother, and he definitely recognized that the pendant’s script, while nearly rubbed bare, resembled the Latin of his mother’s Bible.
An old gold coin could have several sources, especially to end up in a mariner’s possession. Desmond opted for a guess of the most popular, coming from the storied galleons of the old world. He looked from the pendant to the man’s eyes, “Is that a Spanish coin?”
The seaman gave a slight smile and nodded, “Aye. But it’s not a simple Spanish coin. Every sailor from here to the Orient has one of those. This one is far older.”
Desmond looked again at the pendant but did not see any further hint of its origin, “When was it made? What makes it so special?”
The man nodded knowingly, “The year has long since been erased by these hands, but I remember its date. 1490.”
Desmond’s eyes widened with the realization of what that date could imply. The old man looked hard at Desmond and gave a wink to confirm his thoughts. A half smile accentuated the lines across his weathered face. Desmond could barely squeak out his next question, “Columbus?”
“Aye, I reckon so. This coin took a voyage before our time, before this land’s time. But when it came to me, twas like new.”
The seaman stared at the pendant as he spun it in his fingers, transported to a memory that had mystified him across his years. Desmond waited for the story to continue, but the man sat frozen in contemplation.
Impatience finally got the better of Desmond, “How did you get it?”
The man returned from his mental sojourn and leaned back in his chair, “I got it from the Spaniard who brought it over.”
Desmond snorted and laughed. The statement was preposterous and impossible. The seaman was old but not centuries ancient, at least for what Desmond could believe. Then, he started wondering about the storied Fountain of Youth. He believed the world held more mystery than could ever be explained, and if this old man was as well-traveled as he looked, then who could prove he did not drink from the fountain or encounter some other enchanted bauble that granted long life. Desmond considered the coin could be fake and the story a ruse to keep the free drinks coming, but he felt the man was genuinely reliving his past and needed to gauge its worth with a willing audience. And if the man was desperate to talk, Desmond would keep listening and asking questions. His mother always told him being curious was the most important quality in navigating the world.
“The Spaniard that brought it over, he brought it from Spain? That’s impossible. Tell the truth, did you find it buried on a deserted island? Was it in the wreckage of a downed ship?”
Now it was the old man’s turn to laugh. He laughed until a tear rolled down his craggy cheek. Then, he slammed his hands down on the table and leaned close to Desmond, “Impossible you say? It’s impossible in what you know of the world!”
“Then enlighten me! Earn all those drinks I fed you tonight!”
The man sat back and held up his hands to ease any tension, “Okay, okay, lad. I would tell ya anyways. You seem to like stories, and I’ve waited to tell this one since I was as green as you. I changed me mind though. What do ye say to one more round?”
Desmond returned to the to the table with a fresh pint for both of them. The old man took his mug and lustily looked at its contents. He held it out to Desmond and waited until the younger man clinked their drinks together to take a long pull, leaking some of the liquid out the corner of his mouth. He placed the mug down on the table with great satisfaction, waiting a moment while the beverage swirled down his insides and sent a jolt of euphoria through his nervous systems.
“Thank ye. You’re a generous lad.”
Desmond raised his glass in thanks but said nothing lest he divert the man to a different topic. The seaman suddenly had a twinkle in his eyes and a flush of energy that brought a ruddy color to his face, even in the dim light. He cradled his mug on the table with both hands and looked into it as he began his tale.
“Years ago, when I was a young crewman, like you, I worked on a clipper known as The Pale Gull. She was a fast and hard working, powerful gal. The seas had nothing on her. We ran goods of all sorts from up north, timber camps and such, to sometimes down to the West Indies. We’d stop anywhere along the coast to do business.
Once, along this very coast, we ran into a spot of weather. We musta done something to make the ocean mad, cuz there’d been nary a cloud in the sky that day. The Gull bucked and tossed, worse as I’d ever seen. Thought we’d lose most the crew in those waves and the Gull itself. After a lifetime fightin’ that storm, it broke. The water calmed but the clouds, they remained. I remember I was spittin’ seawater with every breath. We was lucky to still be aboard and afloat. Captain set me to checking damage on the deck and for injured. Hear me when I tell ya I expected to find a dead sailor or two after that.
But the ship was lookin’ good, no real damage but some ropes and barrels shifted round. So there I was, picking up, no problem, and then the strangest thing happened. Found meself all alone.
Not another soul on deck. I called for the captain and a few other chaps I knew should be up there. They didn’t answer, but something did. Another voice just kept saying, ‘Kay! Kay! Kay!’ It didn’t sound like anyone on the crew, but I followed it anyway.
I came to the Gull’s bow and found a man sitting on the deck. He was looking around scared and confused like. I’d never seen ‘im before in my life. He was dressed peculiar too. You ever see a picture of those conquistadors?”
Desmond nodded.
“He looked like one of ‘em, and he just kept shouting, ‘Kay! Kay!.’ Once he saw me he started clutchin’ a cross round his neck and talkin’ real fast. I didn’t ken a lick of it.”
“He was probably saying, ‘Qué’, asking ‘what’. Sounds like he was Spanish, and I assume he gave you the coin.”
“No, he drew his sword and backed away. I was just as scared as him by then. I tried to calm him down, but he just got more frantic and talking faster.”
The seaman now gripped the pendant hard enough that even his rugged, chapped knuckles went white. He was reliving that moment as clearly as if it happened yesterday. For his own part, Desmond realized he was hanging on the man’s every word.
“What happened next?”
The seaman swallowed hard, “He got hung up on the deck railing. Must’ve surprised him good too, cuz he turned to look down into the water, and then…”
The man drifted again, forcing Desmond to keep the story moving, “And then what?”
“Something pulled him in, right over the edge. All that was left of ‘im was this here coin. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How’s a man there and then not? Dunno what got him, but I can tell ya, once I picked up that coin, the storm came surging back.”
A moment of silence passed between them while Desmond digested the story. It could have just been a drunk sailor who went overboard, or maybe the storm had everyone out of sorts. There were plenty of plausible explanations, but Desmond wanted to believe the coin belonged to a conquistador and that supernatural forces were at play.
“Any of your crew mates see anything?”
“Not then, but during the storm they did. Said a creature was out there, could see it breaching the surface.”
“Did you see it?”
The old man shook his head, “Nay, they said it disappeared when the storm lifted.”
Desmond leaned against the deck railing of Mother’s Venture and thought back to that conversation. He left the sailor with one last pint as he headed off to catch some sleep before his voyage got an early start the next morning, but Desmond found little rest as his mind wrestled with possible explanations and reverie.
He suddenly noticed the breeze off the water had intensified. Desmond focused his wandering thoughts and looked around. The barebones crew on deck went about their business without interruption. He saw, however, that the stars and moon were completely gone, obscured by dark clouds that made the Mother’s Venture feel like it sailed on nothingness, black below and above. Then, out of nowhere, the storm hit.
Waves crashed over the deck and made Mother’s Venture rock violently from side to side. Crew members poured forth from below, responding to the frenzied shouts of Desmond and those above frantically trying to keep the mast and deck intact. A massive wave tipped the vessel far over onto her starboard side, nearly perpendicular to the water. In the hold, some of the granite broke free from its ties and shifted, disrupting the ships balance. Instead of rocking back to port, Mother’s Nature bobbed up and down several times before the granite shifted again and pulled the bow permanently underwater.
Desmond held onto some rigging as the deck disappeared below him and his body swung over open water while Mother’s Venture plummeted. Another wave battered the ship and Desmond, causing him to lose his grip. He fell toward the water and watched as a creature awaited him with open maws. Its depths were somehow darker than the roiling waters surrounding it. He disappeared into the blackness and felt nothing.
When he realized he could open his eyes, Desmond thought he would find himself waiting to be judged for entrance to Heaven. Instead, he was greeted by another approaching storm.
“Was it all a dream,” he asked himself.
Desmond looked hesitantly from side to side and saw he was still on a ship, but it was not Mother’s Venture. This one had railings of white metal and was of an odd construction. The deck felt metallic as well, and upon further inspection, there was no rigging or mast. Everything felt askew to Desmond. He knew he was in the wrong place but had no recollection of getting here. Even the air he breathed felt different.
As he looked around, the only words that came to him were, “What? What? What?”
No answer presented itself, but Desmond soon discovered he was not alone. His blood froze as he heard a voice behind him yell, “Get ready!”
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