Sea Men

SEA MEN

My hands slip on salt slicked handrail, feeling of touch drawn from my fingers by lead painted cold metal. Grasping tighter I steady myself and continue to squint ahead. The sting of wind driven sea sleet numbing my face, speech an effort.
Nudging the skipper I mouth 'smoke?'
He gives a wry smile looking back out to sea. Never had his own baccy nor asked for any, but smoked along with his crew on occasion, sociable.
Turning my back on the wind I catch the zip of my foul weather jacket between thumb and forefinger. Fortunately I have two rollies made up in my tin, so ducking into the collar of my coat I light both from two matches side by side, the additional flare holding in the wind, I catch a taste of pussers blend. Cupping both in my hand I pass them across, skip nods taking one and shielding it from the gale, we both took a pull. A seaman can light up in all weathers.

We didn't expect to find any survivors, but would keep at it until the morning, just on the off chance. Each of us keeping watch on deck for an hour, even the skipper took on his share of upper deck watches when bad weather came in and men were lost at sea.
Three were missing, so maybe if they strung each other together we might just spot them, better still if they had some luck and got into a life-raft. But florescent orange doesn't mean a damn amongst heavy swelling seas, spume covered on top, blacker than pitch below. Anything in there tonight would be seen fleetingly, pushed up on the crest of a great rolling swell. Daylight would bring the only likely chance of being seen, from the air, if they hadn't slipped under already.
The Port bow was my arc of sea to watch. With my leeward eye I steadfastly gazed into the ocean some fifty yards out hoping to catch a glimpse of flotsam or even a waving arm.
My smoke lasted just two drags, the water streaming over my face and tobacco, not even my tunnelled hood keeping out the driving briny.
Do I know them? They're men of the sea as I am, so yes I do and if ever I roll about in the trough of wave after wave, snot spilling from my nose and mouth, weeping for my long dead mother then¦.. the spark keeping me alive that little while longer will be the belief that other sea men will be looking for me as I once did them.
You forget your pain when at sea, I'm talking about physical pain. Continual cold of unrelenting ice salted water pins pushing into your skin.
Damn its cold tonight, poor bastards.
'BOSUN!'
The skipper was leaning over the rail staring intently, going around the bridge-waist I step in behind him looking out across his shoulder, following his pointing finger with my eyes.
'Have you got it there?'
'Aye got it about sixty yards off'

Turning back for the bridge, quickly knocking batons off the door, he slipped inside, wind slammed shut behind him. Seconds later the ships klaxon sounded off followed by 'All hands on deck' ordered over the ships' tannoy system.
Again for a few seconds the sea allowed me a glimpse of orange specks coming along slowly off our starboard side. The ship began to roll as the engines idled, a crewman joined me with a radar buoy ready to throw in, just in case we lost sight again.
'Think it's them?'
'Could be' I shouted back, hope rising within me.
Our bow began to come about and for a few minutes I thought I had lost them, but then close up on the port side I could see the twinkling of the lifejacket lights, then the yellow standing out from the black water.
'Yes!'
Dropping down to the main deck I rush along to the ships side where two crewmen, already in dry suits, were quickly putting on harness's. Standing alongside the crew I watched them clamber down rope netting set against the ships side.
It was plain they were struggling with the men in the water. One of the divers glanced up, raising his fist into the air his thumb pointing down.
The dead weight of a man sodden through takes a lot of effort to pull clear from a sea that has already claimed him. We all heaved to, bringing them up on a sling under their arms, one at a time, except the last one who the sea took back. His foot got caught up in the net, but the shouts from our men below were lost to the wind and we pulled the sling right off over his head along with his ruptured lifejacket. Toppling back he narrowly missed the crewman coming up behind him, hitting the sea, going straight down.
We pulled in our exhausted men who sat on the deck gasping in air, then smoke from a crew-mates cigarette.
Nobody spoke of the one we had lost at sea. His two dead companions lay out flat, each with a towel wrapped around his face, I and most at sea are not that suspicious these days but I suppose it was still bad luck to see their faces. Later the doc said it was the cold that got them, fast loosing consciousness then drowning as they breathed salt spray into their lungs.
The skipper went round with a bottle of brandy later that morning pouring each of us a tot; silently we raised a glass for the dead and for ourselves that it didn't happen to us.