Discovery
A brisk wind pulls at my great coat, pushing up through the open bottom to chill my panted legs. Residue of last night’s storm cannot deter me from thrashing out near the rocks.
What nerve, to ask for my hand!
I weave my way between the jutting rocks of the shoreline. Soft sand sinks beneath my quick-paced feet.
There is a war on. I cannot marry a man who will soon be sent away.
Dark moss-covered rocks, wet with the ocean mist and crashing waves, feel cool to my hands as I climb up a small slope from the shoreline.
If Braden had not volunteered to go, then maybe. But how can I give my heart to a man who will fight in this mistake of humanity?
Rising atop the mass of broken rocks I look down the shoreline where the fog meets the ground and sea in a single point of outward triangles.
Air, land, and sea stab all at once against my heart. Which direction do I go from here?
A dark object with a twisted limb juts out from behind one of the rocks just visible before the morning mist swallows everything. It floats and bumps, coming above the rock in rhythm with the tidal waves before disappearing behind the rock again as the tide goes out.
What could that be?
Slowly descending the damp rocks, I make my way toward the object. I keep my eyes fixed on the rocks at my feet so as not to slip on the wet moss. A gale blows across the upper rocks, a last gasp of last night’s tumult. Howls and screams of powerful wind rushing past jagged wet rocks remind me of the tales of witches and monsters.
Can’t he stay out of the war? Nothing good can come of it.
Making my way toward the object, I can’t quite make out what it is. As I approach, I start to see what looks like a bloated dark bobbing thing the size of a large seal.
It must be dead since it’s only moving with the current of the waves.
The twisted limb comes into view above the rock. Clenched fingers in the shape of a fist appear at the end of the limb.
It’s a man!
Rushing over, I slip on a small rock, falling to the soft sand so my knees, coat, and hands get covered. I look back at the rock upon which I slipped, but it’s no rock. Tufts of hair stick out from an almost completely buried man’s head.
Two dead men!
Without thinking, my hands quickly start digging around the head, exposing a soft, gentle, still, bloated, and rotting face.
He must have been here for a while.
I keep digging. A whole head comes into view.
Who are these men?
What are they doing here?
A scream tears at my ears.
This war takes men I don’t even know, kills them, and brings them to me!
I pause; bringing my sand-covered hands toward my face. Staring at them, my body collapses under its own weight.
I cannot marry any man in THIS world.
A hand touches my right shoulder. Screaming out, I turn to see Braden standing, in shock, behind me. My arms drape around his broad shoulders as he squeezes me tight against his warm body.
His warm body. God, his warm body feels good. Please keep him warm!
My tears fall on his shoulder as he pulls me away from the bloated cold bodies on the beach. I don’t look back.
*****
HMS Viknor
http://dawlishchronicles.com/the-loss-of-hms-viknor-13th-january-1915/
From late January 1915 through mid-year, bodies began washing up along the shores of Donegal, North Antrim, Raghery (Northern Ireland) and the Scottish Islands. For a long time, they could not be identified. People from coastal towns simply kept finding more bodies every few days until one was discovered who still had ID tags. His name was Private J. Griffin. Research revealed Private Griffin was from the HMS Viknor, an armed merchant cruiser that disappeared January 13, off the coast of Ireland.
No one knows for sure what happened to the Viknor, but it is supposed that after capturing the German spy, Baron H A Wedell, the ship struck a German mine in a storm. All 291 men aboard, including the German spy, disappeared until many of them washed ashore over the ensuing months. Their remains are now scattered in cemeteries across Northern Ireland and Scotland.
Private Griffin, whose ID tags led to the realization of the ship’s loss, is buried with four unidentified companions at Bonamargie Friary, in a small corner of North Antrim Northern Ireland. Bally castle erected a Celtic cross memorial with an anchor, harp, and shamrock on it. The Viknor’s wreck was found by the Irish survey vessel Celtic Explorer in 2006 but the reason for her loss could still not be identified with absolute certainty. A small flag was placed upon the wreck to commemorate the loss of life.