Mystery & Suspense - Daily Short Stories

Man Overboard - Winston S Churchill

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Duration:: 10m
Broadcast on:: 07 Jul 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

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Man Overboard by Winston Spencer Churchill. It was a little after half past nine when the man fell overboard. The male steamer was hurrying through the Red Sea in the hope of making up the time which the currents of the Indian Ocean had stolen. The night was clear, though the moon was hidden behind clouds. The warm air was laden with moisture. The still surface of the waters was only broken by the movement of the great ship, from whose quarter the long, slanting undulations struck out like the feathers from an arrow shaft. And in whose wake, the froth and air bubbles turned up by the propeller trailed in a narrowing line to the darkness of the horizon. There was a concert on board. All the passengers were glad to break the monotony of the voyage and gathered around the piano in the companion house. The decks were deserted. The man had been listening to the music and joining in the songs, but the room was hot, and he came out to smoke a cigarette and enjoy a breath of the wind which the speedy passage of the liner created. It was the only wind in the Red Sea that night. The accommodation ladder had not been unshipped since leaving Aden, and the man walked out onto the platform as onto a balcony. He leaned his back against the rail and blew a puff of smoke into the air reflectively. The piano struck up a lively tune, and a voice began to sing the first verse of the rowdy-dowdy boys. The measured pulsations of the screw were a subdued but additional accompaniment. The man knew the song. It had been the rage at all the music halls when he had started for India seven years before. It reminded him of the brilliant and busy streets he had not seen for so long, but was soon to see again. He was just going to join in the chorus when the railing, which had been insecurely fastened, gave way suddenly with a snap, and he fell backwards into the warm water of the sea amid a great splash. For a moment, he was physically too much astonished to think. Then he realized that he must shout. He began to do this even before he rose to the surface. He achieved a horse inarticulate, half-choked scream. A startled brain suggested the word "help," and he balled this out lustily and with frantic effort six or seven times without stopping. Then he listened. High, high, clear the way for the rowdy-dowdy boys. The chorus floated back to him across the smooth water, for the ship had already passed completely by. And as he heard the music, a long stab of terror drove through his heart. The possibility that he would not be picked up dawned for the first time on his consciousness. The chorus started again. Then I say, boys, who's for a jolly spree? Rum-tum-diddly-um, who will have a drink with me? Help! Help! Help! Shreaked the man in desperate fear. Fond of a glass now and then, fond of a row or noise. High, high, clear the way for the rowdy-dowdy boys. The last words drawled out faint and fainter. The vessel was steaming fast. The beginning of the second verse was confused and broken by the ever-growing distance. The dark outline of the great hall was getting blurred. The stern light dwindled. Then he set out to swim after it with furious energy, pausing every dozen strokes to shout, long, wild shouts. The disturbed waters of the sea began to settle again to their rest. The widening undulations became ripples. The aerated confusion of the screw fizzed itself upwards and out. The noise of motion and the sounds of life and music died away. The liner was but a single fading light on the blackness of the waters and a dark shadow against the pale or sky. At length, full realization came to the man and he stopped swimming. He was alone, abandoned. With the understanding, his brain reeled. He began again to swim, only now, instead of shouting, he prayed. Mad incoherent prayers. The words stumbling into one another. Suddenly, a distant light seemed to flicker and brighten. A surge of joy and hope rushed through his mind. They were going to stop, to turn the ship and come back. And with the hope came gratitude. His prayer was answered. Broken words of thanksgiving rose to his lips. He stopped and stared after the light, his soul in his eyes. As he watched it, it grew gradually but steadily smaller. Then the man knew that his fate was certain. Despair succeeded hope. Gratitude gave place to curses. Beating the water with his arms, he raved impotently. Foul oaths burst from him as broken as his prayers. And as unheeded. The fit of passion passed, hurried by increasing fatigue. He became silent. Silent as was the sea, for even the ripples were subsiding into the glassy smoothness of the surface. He swam on mechanically along the track of the ship, sobbing quietly to himself in the misery of fear. And the stern light became a tiny speck, yellower but scarcely bigger than some of the stars, which here and there shone between the clouds. Nearly twenty minutes passed, and the man's fatigue began to change to exhaustion. The overpowering sense of the inevitable pressed upon him. With the weariness came a strange comfort. He need not swim all the long way to sues. There was another course. He would die. He would resign his existence since he was thus abandoned. He threw up his hands impulsively and sank. Down, down he went through the warm water. The physical death took hold of him and he began to drown. The pain of that savage grip recalled his anger. He fought with it furiously. Striking out with arms and legs, he sought to get back to the air. It was a hard struggle, but he escaped victorious and gasping to the surface. Despair awaited him, feebly splashing with his hands he moaned in bitter misery. "I can't. I must. Oh God, let me die." The moon, then in her third quarter, pushed out from behind the concealing clouds and shed a pale, soft glitter upon the sea. Upright in the water, fifty yards away, was a black, triangular object. It was a fin. It approached him slowly. His last appeal had been heard. End of Man Overboard. Lucky land slots, asking people what's the weirdest place you've gotten lucky? Lucky? In line at the deli, I guess? I'd my dentist's office. More than once, actually. Do I have to say? Yes, you do. In the car, before my kids' PTA meeting. Really? Yes. Excuse me, what's the weirdest place you've gotten lucky? I never win and tell. Well, there you have it. You could get lucky anywhere, playing at luckylandslots.com. Play for free right now. Are you feeling lucky? No purchase necessary. V.G.W. Group would be recruited by law 18-plus terms and conditions apply. 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