BABES AT SEA short stories
Book Details
Author(s)Shirley Nichols B
ISBN / ASINB003V4B2V8
ISBN-13978B003V4B2V3
Sales Rank3,605,403
MarketplaceUnited States 🇺🇸
Description
The darkest night hid the departing ships and a winter mist dimmed the stars and a half-moon snuggled behind clouds drifting over the dark blue sea.
Silently, but swiftly two weather-seasoned deck hands with calloused but adept fingers, released the huge ropes securing two tiny sailing vessels tied fast. Then as though sensing the urgency for haste, the ships slowly rocked free from their berths and on the risen tide, coincidentally backed away.
All on board watched as the Isle de Ustica slipped away into a background of darkness and only the sea sounds pounding its shores gave evidence of its presence. If not for the tiny flashes from the mariner’s signal seeming suspended in flight, no life existed.
Then with care, but fleet as they could with the winds favorable, the ships sailed towards a future of mystery, possibly greater dangers and absolute uncertainty for these babes, there may not be any tomorrows. Two schooners, the ‘Empire Paradise’ and the ‘Pilgrim’ snuggled within sight for safety and when secured in a blanket of total darkness, their sails quickly spread to full. Greedily, the large sails gathered in lusty northeast winds pushing the ships a favored route toward the Straits of Gibraltar. Slapping and straining, testing the ship’s rigging, evidenced by the creaking network of rigging supporting sails, spars and barrel-width hand-hewn masts.
Captain and crew held their thoughts silent. An arrogant captain at the helm of the Pilgrim and his untested crew of twenty-eight young boys prayed they make the strait long before dawn’s first light.
Military boots, at that very moment were pounding the cold granite pathways of the small island searching each home for the young sons of Italy, the fruit of every mother’s womb to gather to the bosom of Garibaldi, self proclaimed leader, patriot and hopeful redeemer of the great nation of Italian people. But this day, few would be found, and silence was the doorplate except for mourning and lamentations muffled in the folds of every mother’s apron.
Yet, in the throes of sorrow there was exhilaration in triumph knowing a new life of freedom and opportunity awaited these twenty-eight sons at the end of a journey.
A new country, offered them freedom and limitless opportunities, but unbeknownst to the families, even then the first shot had been fired proclaiming the beginning of a war to obtain personal freedom or possibly enslavement to another kind of hell. Could death, destruction and slavery so well known by the Usticesi be the one who would greet them at the end of a long journey?
The small schooners, one carrying the babes and the second only an empty shadow for sure protection their cargo would survive, playfully huddled together along the southern coast of North America bathed in the clear blue waters of the ‘Gulf of Mexico’. And at first light on the seventh day of March 1861, they tacked a sure course headed for the mouth of the Mississippi Delta.
Silently, but swiftly two weather-seasoned deck hands with calloused but adept fingers, released the huge ropes securing two tiny sailing vessels tied fast. Then as though sensing the urgency for haste, the ships slowly rocked free from their berths and on the risen tide, coincidentally backed away.
All on board watched as the Isle de Ustica slipped away into a background of darkness and only the sea sounds pounding its shores gave evidence of its presence. If not for the tiny flashes from the mariner’s signal seeming suspended in flight, no life existed.
Then with care, but fleet as they could with the winds favorable, the ships sailed towards a future of mystery, possibly greater dangers and absolute uncertainty for these babes, there may not be any tomorrows. Two schooners, the ‘Empire Paradise’ and the ‘Pilgrim’ snuggled within sight for safety and when secured in a blanket of total darkness, their sails quickly spread to full. Greedily, the large sails gathered in lusty northeast winds pushing the ships a favored route toward the Straits of Gibraltar. Slapping and straining, testing the ship’s rigging, evidenced by the creaking network of rigging supporting sails, spars and barrel-width hand-hewn masts.
Captain and crew held their thoughts silent. An arrogant captain at the helm of the Pilgrim and his untested crew of twenty-eight young boys prayed they make the strait long before dawn’s first light.
Military boots, at that very moment were pounding the cold granite pathways of the small island searching each home for the young sons of Italy, the fruit of every mother’s womb to gather to the bosom of Garibaldi, self proclaimed leader, patriot and hopeful redeemer of the great nation of Italian people. But this day, few would be found, and silence was the doorplate except for mourning and lamentations muffled in the folds of every mother’s apron.
Yet, in the throes of sorrow there was exhilaration in triumph knowing a new life of freedom and opportunity awaited these twenty-eight sons at the end of a journey.
A new country, offered them freedom and limitless opportunities, but unbeknownst to the families, even then the first shot had been fired proclaiming the beginning of a war to obtain personal freedom or possibly enslavement to another kind of hell. Could death, destruction and slavery so well known by the Usticesi be the one who would greet them at the end of a long journey?
The small schooners, one carrying the babes and the second only an empty shadow for sure protection their cargo would survive, playfully huddled together along the southern coast of North America bathed in the clear blue waters of the ‘Gulf of Mexico’. And at first light on the seventh day of March 1861, they tacked a sure course headed for the mouth of the Mississippi Delta.
