I awoke after a long night of storms and choppy waters, and all that was just to live in Maine. Though when I neared the coast I saw an unfamiliar color of water. It was royal blue and not a deep soft blue like in my home, and even after that I was sure about one thing which is work. I am not sure of how the mainlanders think of a North Carolinian though I kept my hopes up. I was sure it would be hard work to make a living and settle down though I have a plan. The only thing I don’t have a plan for is a supposedly savage native that will change my whole life forever. The ride to Maine was horrible it wasn’t the waves it was the poor conditions of the boat for 15 days on sea. There were leaks on the creaky boards so when it rained in my quarters it would drip, and the wind threatened to sink the boat every time it blew a gust. Though that was sure better then the pirates! They are scoundrels they think if someone bought it it’s there’s! They steal and destroy whatever you own! That was my last straw so next time they came I defended my property and now they …show more content…
he was making a flint spear, and when he was done he told me to make one! I had the slightest idea how to and all he gave me was flint, a branch, and some type of rope. Because I had some background with sailing I knew a few knots so I tied a reef knot with the flint in between the branch and it stayed! After that he taught me how to make a fire with rocks, and then how to build a shelter. after that I learned how to hunt. he taught me to make a bow first and then how to aim and make arrows. Then I was almost mauled by a Bear. We entered a towering forest that loomed over a mountain and started hunting. But then Koko heard the Bear. He stabbed it with his spear just as I shot a deer. I looked back because I heard a thump and saw a Bear’s corpse. After that i repeatedly thanked Koko and we made our way to the village that was
The first mate, the owner of the Sally Anne, dominated his life with his boat to the point of never being able to sleep right without the hum of its motors. This artificial connection made between mate and boat can have major complications. From the text we discover that this first mate has dedicated his life to sailing, ever since grade 10. At the finding of the Sally Anne, it becomes an unhealthy obsession of creating, but later not maintaining, the perfect boat. The text shows paragraphs of the first mate going on about the boat, and how he could not leave it for a day. The irony in this situation is that he spent so much recreating this boat, yet rejected the fact the eventual flaws that accompanied the years of use. It was always just another water pump and coat of perfect white paint away from sailing again. At this point it is clear that the boat has become a symbol for him and his insecurities. At the flooding of the boat and at the initial loss of life upon the Sally Anne's wreck the denial towards the destruction shows how he was using the boat as his only life line, now literally as he clings to last of his dream. At this point of the text, there is no survival, and no acceptance of the truth he must
Every cold Alberta winter, or dry summer, makes me long for the East Coast. When I grow tired of the brown dirty hills of Alberta, I can close my eyes and picture being back in New Brunswick, bright green meadows and clear rivers. I miss how the fog creeps into your yard in the early mornings, the bittersweet smell of the sea that never could be washed out, I miss the feeling of home. As a child, my family and I would road trip, traveling East to the sea. I remember how the vastness of Alberta would change into the golden prairies of Saskatchewan, then shift into the forested hills of Ontario, and finally the calm rocky shores of New Brunswick. I remember the house we lived in, white paint peeling off the sides of the house, a Canadian and Arcadian flag flying on the porch (put there by my historian of a cousin), floral green wallpaper clashing with antique, mismatched furniture. That house has been in my family for generations, each of our stories have been told, beautiful new memories have been made there. I miss it so much. I miss the beach side bonfires, sparks drifting so far away they became stars, the rainy marketplace days, coming home and smelling like fish. The Alberta cold makes my heartache, I want to go home. My home is a comfortable old cabin, where I grew to not be scared of a
But nearly as soon as Marion's dreams of sailing became reality, the reality became a nightmare. On the voyage home, a whale rammed the schooner, ripping the seams and sending water into the hold. Before the schooner went down, the captain, al...
Some of the most intriguing stories of today are about people’s adventures at sea and the thrill and treachery of living through its perilous storms and disasters. Two very popular selections about the sea and its terrors are The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger and “The Wreck of the Hesperus” by Henry Longfellow. Comparison between the two works determines that “The Wreck of the Hesperus” tells a more powerful sea-disaster story for several different reasons. The poem is more descriptive and suspenseful than The Perfect Storm, and it also plays on a very powerful tool to captivate the reader’s emotion. These key aspects combine to give the reader something tangible that allows them to relate to the story being told and affects them strongly.
I think that people should participate in the Seagoing Cowboys programme because it is a nice thing to do because you can help when there could be a natural disaster and you could participate on doing that.
I left about two years ago from your house as an indentured servant to go to Jamestown and soon, I was able to establish myself in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and now I am having an amazing life with my family. At my farm, I grow the biggest crop in the middle colonies, wheat, and I’m earning a lot of money from just this crop. To add on, my daughter likes animals so much, that she begged me for cows and pigs, so I have harder work, but the animals make plowing easier. Once in a while, I go to the market in Philadelphia and there is so much fighting that sometimes I feel like that I am in a street boxing ring. Unlike the many people, I don't have tiles, but hard wooden slabs. In the middle colonies, I can be whatever religion
Just as the fair season was over and the wretched sea started to slam against the hull of the ship, Bradford writes, “they were encountered many times with cross winds and met with many fierce storms with which the ship was shroudly shaken, and her upper works made very leaky; and one of the main beams in the mid-ships was bowed and cracked, which put them in some fear that he ship could not be able to perform the voyage…in a mighty storm, a lusty young man called John Howland, coming upon some occasional above the gratings was, with a seel of the ship, thrown into sea”( Bradford 79,80). Bradford and the colonist must survive the perilous journey to America by battling horrible ocean conditions. They have a broken beam that threatens their voyage to America and a man is thrown overboard. These men and women are in the heart of the most dangerous voyage to America. They have to overcome problems at sea before they even reach land. Most of them don’t even believe that they will even make it to the land. And once they do reach land they are more grateful that they reached land and was finished with the ocean even though they are not in
Being a seagoing cowboy is a great way to see the world, and being on board a cattle boat is an opportunity of a lifetime to help many countries that were left in ruins after World War 2. Being a seagoing cowboy, you had to learn many things that you take with you in your life. Also, it gives you great adventures and opens your eyes to other people in many countries and their needs.
Each narrator encounters an actual physical trial. The new captain in The Shadow Line finds, when at sea and with a crew afflicted by tropical fevers, that the "mad" fo...
I thought all of my problems could be solved in America, “The land of the free.” The whole journey from Syria got my insides spilling out with thoughts of a whole new great life. The boat wasn’t even the thing that brought me closer to my new fate. It was my hope, the fragile string holding me tight. I knew that the new world would be hard living with a Syrian name, Adnan Hadad, and an Arabic language. Though, I was hopefully taking a permanent vacation from the famine and war in Syria, I still didn’t imagine what I would really face when I got to America.
... The short story "Ship" is simply full of irony. This story is about a group of men who strand themselves on an island. At first they planned 2 set traps in the floor in order to harm the people in the village trying to harm them. This was all changed when they also fell into their own traps. This is how O. Henry potrayed the situation, "The first to emerge uttered ambiguous squeals, and raised one foot
The smell of the restaurants faded and the new, refreshing aroma of the sea salt in the air took over. The sun’s warmth on my skin and the constant breeze was a familiar feeling that I loved every single time we came to the beach. I remember the first time we came to the beach. I was only nine years old. The white sand amazed me because it looked like a wavy blanket of snow, but was misleading because it was scorching hot. The water shone green like an emerald, it was content. By this I mean that the waves were weak enough to stand through as they rushed over me. There was no sense of fear of being drug out to sea like a shipwrecked sailor. Knowing all this now I knew exactly how to approach the beach. Wear my sandals as long as I could and lay spread out my towel without hesitation. Then I’d jump in the water to coat myself in a moist protective layer before returning to my now slightly less hot towel. In the water it was a completely different world. While trying to avoid the occasional passing jellyfish, it was an experience of
The waves are violent and “most wrongfully and barbarously abrupt and tall, and each froth-top was a problem in small-boat navigation.” (1352). The waves toss and jolt the small dinghy, which creates fear among the crew. After one tumultuous wave passed, another followed close behind, and “it was not difficult to imagine that this particular wave was the final outburst of the ocean, the last effort of the grim water.” (1354). The dinghy was no match for the waves, and “the craft pranced and reared and plunged like an animal.” (1353). The narrator describes the setting from third person point of view which encompasses the different characteristics of the individuals who make up the crew. The narrator is simply an observer and does not change the plot of the story, but he gives insight on the men’s thoughts. The four men on the boat form a brotherhood that is “more than a mere recognition of what was best for the common safety. There was…a quality that was personnel and heart-felt.” (1356). The men are in the same situation, face the same problems, and together their support keeps them united. They are devoted to each other out of respect, and dedicated to their goal as a group.
Towards the end of 1989, my family and I were on vacation in Fort Myers, Florida. We drove from Trenton, New Jersey all the way to Florida where my grandfather lived. It was a long trip to undergo, especially being six years old and knowing that my father never stopped the car. By the time we arrived at Fort Myers, it was a beautiful sunny day. The wind was gusting enough to pull my hair back, and I was admiring the palm trees, coconuts, and lizards near the Gulf of Mexico. The first few days were nice, but little did I know that I would soon be caught in the middle of a twister.
Sitting on the porch waiting for Michele, tall, southern, red haired and fiery, I have to do much needed laundry at her house where the wash is free and the dryers do not charge by the minute. I am down to my second and third wearing of jeans and socks are scarce so sandals in cool weather are necessary. Basking in the delicious intoxicating sunlight, this is one day in the unusually cold Florida February that my toes are not blue and numb from wearing sandals. I rest my twenty-two-year-old English filled head against the siding on the porch and wonder; “Does it get any better then this?”