Sep. 21, 2008 - The Waves of Desperation~ Part 2

    As Ambrose helped the doctor to his feet, they both looked around, spectating at their fortune and their misery. The vast ocean of water was intimidating and warned of the past attempts at rescue. Planks from previous ships' end, scattered the shore, and Ambrose thought he saw a compass buried in the sand, but was distracted when Dr. Warren cried out,

    "Ambrose, what is that object in the east?" Ambrose turned to see where the surgeon was looking. He had to squint his eyes to even make out the shape, for his eye was still bad, and the object had an odd appearance. He caught up with Dr. Warren's long stride and stood next to him as they both tried to make out what it was they were seeing.

    "Warren, could it be...the Emerald?" Ambrose turned to the doctor, and saw his face morph into disappointment as he realized that the figure was indeed their beloved ship, only now, she was torn and sinking slowly into the ocean depths, along with their hopes. She was now only the size of a fishing boat, with her bow tipping up in the morning sun as she dipped below the waves.
 
     "We should search and see if any of the crew have survived this disaster," he said, but Warren did not move, he only stood, watching the Emerald as if he too were sinking below the waters, unable to escape from a place of sadness and despair. Ambrose started walking away, hoping Warren would regain his emotions, but instead the surgeon called out after him.
 
      "I must rest, please go on and see what you can find...I will tarry here for a while longer." Warren motioned him to continue and then found his way to a piece of driftwood where he slowly threw himself upon it.

       Ambrose went on ahead, and discovered many things he had touched aboard the Emerald stretched upon the sand. Bits of cloth and material from the sailors' ragged clothes and strips from the once mighty sails, hunks of timber from her ever steady masts, and the fist thick ropes he had tied and unloosened thousands of times before, were strewn across the beach, as if they had never been. However, one thing he found, so lonely and forgotten upon the sand was the camel pouch of Ol' Jenkins.
 
       Ol' Jenkins was the oldest sailor upon the ship, and was a tale teller for when the days upon the waters grew slow, but one story everyone knew was the tale of how he had gotten the camel skin canteen. Apparently, when he was a young lad, he sailed with Captain Faraday to Africa, where he met with an Arab sheik. 'The man was as tall as a horse, and wores so many folds of clothes, he seemed so large even Captain Faraday was intimidated by him, howevers I weren't afraid of  he. ' And then, as he continued, he would tell of how he, Ol' Jenkins, helped the sheik stop a raid of camel drivers from stealing his ancient breed in the middle of the night. Ol' Jenkins wanted to marry the sheik's beautiful daughter, but was granted  the camel skin pouch that was made by the sheik's great -great- grandfather when the tribes still ruled the land.

       Of course, the story changed every time Ol' Jenkins told it, but he was aging, and had the years of ninety and seven to his advantage. But as Ambrose picked up the now tattered canteen, he knew that the old man had been claimed by the seas he had sailed for almost a century; never to be parted from it again.

       Ambrose walked for another five minutes until he came to a bend on the shoreline, where he would lose sight of Warren. He wanted to carry on, and search for his crew, but he also did not want to find only sand, confirming everyone had been taken by the seas. After deciding with a grief stricken heart, he picked up his sore feet and kept going.

       As soon as he passed the bend, he noticed that this side of the island was more peaceful and inviting than the side he had been cast before.  Exotic perfumed flowers bloomed from the tangled brush, and the limbs of the unknown trees twisted until it created a natural ladder above the tops. It seemed that this island was so peaceful without anyone knowing, and even the presence of one not native would cause the serenity to fade and the silent inhabitants to distress themselves.

         To his left he beheld the beauty of the jungle once more, for he could not stop admiring the splendor etched in such an unknown location. Mysterious and uninhabited, those two words were the reason Ambrose was in complete awe of this island.

        However, Ambrose then saw another figure, much like how Warren's looked upon the sand. This man was nearing the shore upon the slow oscillating tide, his face down in the water, with no life seen about him. Ambrose waded out slowly, telling himself this man was dead, and then towed him in his arms back to the beach.

        But to his amazement, the man was not only alive, but the companion of Ambrose's life. Harry had been stuck between two fallen masts when the ship went down, and Ambrose withstood the scorch of the flames to help his friend escape. But when the last explosion of the gunpowder ripped through the ship, Harry and he were separated, both sure of their death as they were flung into the dark waters.

        "Harry! Come to! You are safe!" ordered Ambrose anxiously. Harry's face did not change, but grew paler as if his life was fading in Ambrose's arms. Alarmed, he began to search Harry's limp and splintered figure for the wound that was tearing silently at his life.

        He opened Harry's shirt, and exposed the bloody gash in his side, where a long piece of wood had severed his flesh, and almost completely passed through his body. Ambrose's stomach churned, despite the fact that he had seen many crude surgeries upon the seas, and men die of horrendous pain and loss of blood. But seeing Harry in such a state made him fear he would indeed die, and that scared him most of all.

         Hastily he gently picked him up and trudged back around the bend to Warren, who was now standing up and surveying the other side of the shore. He seemed to have recovered from his temporary shock, and was now his old sensible self.

         "Warren!" called Ambrose, "I found a man, he needs immediate attention or I fear he will be gone before nightfall!" The sound of urgency in his voice, recalled the surgeon's expertise in completing surgeries quickly and accurately, and he immediately made a place suitable for Harry to lie down, which consisted of a few wide palm leaves to make a crude cushion,  laid it off of the sweltering sand and in the cool shade upon the edge of the forest.

         "Where is the wound?" he cried out to Ambrose who moments later was at his side, setting Harry upon the palm leaves.
 
          "He has a deep puncture to his side, it is where a mast had cut through his flesh when I rescued him aboard the ship. Take a look, and tell me what needs to be done." Ambrose knew how to react and awaited the commands of Dr. Warren.

          "Ambrose," said the doctor as he pulled back Harry's shirt and gazed upon the fatal blow to his side, "I am afraid I can not do much without my surgical tools, but they are aboard the Emerald. I can do nothing that would heal the wound without proper equipment."
 
           "But if your tools could be retrieved?" Ambrose knew the folly in his question, but considered Harry's amount of time left to live in his present condition.

            "Ambrose, you would die too if you swam aboard the Emerald. It is sinking too rapidly!"

             "But if you indeed had the tools, there is a chance Harry's wound could be in fact tended to properly?" Dr. Warren knew his answer, but he did not want to send a man to a ship that was presently sinking to retrieve tools for another man's life, who may not have a chance at living with so deep a pierce into his flesh. But the determination in Ambrose's eyes was too great, and the truth in Warren's eye so easily seen, that Ambrose took to his feet and started towards the Emerald.

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Sep. 17, 2008 - The Waves of Desperation~

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