Follow on from Message In A Bottle
I once stood in the grandiose glass cabinet in the Captain’s wardroom. With my gold foiled label and embossed screw top I was the centrepiece, only brought out to impress and delight the palates of the wealthiest guests. Now, however - how are the mighty fallen and humbled!
When the ship foundered and sank in the great storm I was thrown into the maelstrom; washed up on a beach, labels lost and gilt all scratched off my top, only to be found by, apparently, the sole survivor from the wreck. This ruffian, possessing no more grace than a rock, unscrewed my top, sniffed; yes sniffed, then knowing no better drank my contents at one session.
The following day the wretch, realising his plight, thought fit to write a note - at least he could write – pleading for rescue. The poor sap! Having no idea as to his whereabouts, whether his rescue is to be accomplished must lie in the lap of the gods. The note he then inserted in my body, screwed my cap on tightly and hurled me into the sea.
How many days and nights have passed since suffering this great indignity, I have lost count.
Having survived unbroken when my voyage was so violently interrupted, I have no knowledge of where I might be. The ship was bound for the East Indies, which means that I could have spent days being tossed about in the turbulent waters of Cape Horn, where many ships have lost battles with the elements. If so, I have avoided being broken on the flotsam and jetsam of their debris. Or equally it may be in the usually calmer waters of the Pacific Ocean that I have spent days after one of the area’s infrequent, though equally violent, typhoons caused our misfortune. In this case I have been equally fortunate not to have been swallowed by a great fish and giving it the worst indigestion imaginable.
As to whether I will ever be fortunate enough to land on a beach, be found and my top unscrewed, the message read and sympathy expressed for the poor fellow stranded he knows not where, I live in hope.
Image: Kristýna Mothejzíková
I once stood in the grandiose glass cabinet in the Captain’s wardroom. With my gold foiled label and embossed screw top I was the centrepiece, only brought out to impress and delight the palates of the wealthiest guests. Now, however - how are the mighty fallen and humbled!
When the ship foundered and sank in the great storm I was thrown into the maelstrom; washed up on a beach, labels lost and gilt all scratched off my top, only to be found by, apparently, the sole survivor from the wreck. This ruffian, possessing no more grace than a rock, unscrewed my top, sniffed; yes sniffed, then knowing no better drank my contents at one session.
The following day the wretch, realising his plight, thought fit to write a note - at least he could write – pleading for rescue. The poor sap! Having no idea as to his whereabouts, whether his rescue is to be accomplished must lie in the lap of the gods. The note he then inserted in my body, screwed my cap on tightly and hurled me into the sea.
How many days and nights have passed since suffering this great indignity, I have lost count.
Having survived unbroken when my voyage was so violently interrupted, I have no knowledge of where I might be. The ship was bound for the East Indies, which means that I could have spent days being tossed about in the turbulent waters of Cape Horn, where many ships have lost battles with the elements. If so, I have avoided being broken on the flotsam and jetsam of their debris. Or equally it may be in the usually calmer waters of the Pacific Ocean that I have spent days after one of the area’s infrequent, though equally violent, typhoons caused our misfortune. In this case I have been equally fortunate not to have been swallowed by a great fish and giving it the worst indigestion imaginable.
As to whether I will ever be fortunate enough to land on a beach, be found and my top unscrewed, the message read and sympathy expressed for the poor fellow stranded he knows not where, I live in hope.
Image: Kristýna Mothejzíková