The Sea Rose by Amylynn Bright Page A

Her voice was a reedy scream as she clawed
against his hand to free her arm from his powerful grasp. She was
desperate to get away from him and return to the imagined safety of
the cabin. Even an upside down cabin was better than a rowboat to
her hysterical mind.
    “ Get in the boat. If you
get into the boat you won’t have to swim.”
    “ No,” she shrieked. “That
boat’s too small.” She dug in her heels and sunk into a squat to
make it harder for the captain to drag her towards what she knew in
her heart was certain death.
    In an obvious demonstration of his
fear and desire to get her across the deck and into a lifeboat, he
slapped her–hard–across the face.
    Roselyn inhaled sharply but stopped
struggling. With wide eyed horror, she allowed the man to lead her
to the boat. In a desperate attempt to take control of the chaos,
he thrust her towards the boat and hurried off in the opposite
direction.
    “ Come on, miss.” A
grizzled old tar took her by the hand and wiped at the blood on her
face with a rag. He spoke with a heavy accent making it difficult
to understand him as he yelled over the wind. “The skiff is da best
place for ya, if dis ole bitch goes down, we’ll be wantin’ ya safe
and ou ‘o the drink.” With surprising gentlemanly solicitousness,
he handed her into the boat. Roselyn clutched at the man’s hands
not wanting to let go. She looked around frantically at the men
running past and tried to locate her maid, but she was nowhere to
be found. The wind whipped her black hair around her face gluing
the long strands to her cheeks and forehead with the blood and
making it nearly impossible to see anything.
    A deafening crack followed by several
loud crashes and the huge ship groaned under the weight as more
water dumped on deck. Roselyn was doused from head to toe with
frigid, salty water. Her scream wasn’t heard over the roar of the
sea and the creaking of the wood as the ship came apart. The deck
listed severely and, to her horror, several men lost their grip on
the rails and fell into the ferocious sea. She grasped at her
ancient sailor, terrified that he might also fall into the churning
water and abandon her to a dreadful fate.
    Roselyn could only wonder in mounting
panic where her missing maid could be. It was clear to her now that
this mighty merchant ship was sinking and her only hope was to stay
in the tiny row boat and pray.
    Time was running out. Another big wave
or two and the crumbling ship would go under the sea and never
re-emerge. The old sailor cut the lines holding the smaller boat to
the deck. The skiff slid and the enormous wave he’d prophesied came
and lifted the skiff into the water, turning the enormous ship
fully on its side.
    For one chilling moment, Roselyn
thought for sure the old sailor would be lost, but she grasped
whole handfuls of his shirt and hauled him on board just before the
small vessel crashed broadside into the roiling ocean. Their tiny
craft was drawn away from the sinking ship almost immediately and
it tossed about in the water. Each time the skiff crested the top
of a wave, they looked around wildly for a sign of the sinking ship
or other survivors, but they saw no one. Eventually, even the
remains of the ship were lost to them.
    Roselyn sat on the bench at the stern
of the row boat and peered out into the moonless night for signs of
other survivors. She screamed out names into the horrific darkness
until her voice gave out, her throat too sore to keep up the vigil.
The sailor operated the oars and steered into the waves, doing his
best to keep them upright.
    She realized she didn’t even know his
name. Hours later, while the sun rose on the calm sea, Roselyn lay
curled up in the back of the boat. Her dress was heavy with water
and ruined by salt. Her hair lay stringy and loose down her back.
The sea washed the blood from her face and hair. Salt stung the
cuts and abrasions until she was simply too numb to feel it. Her
sailor lay slumped over on his