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January's Storm
January's Storm
January's Storm
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January's Storm

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Life on a barrier island is not always easy as is depicted in this my sixth novel called "January's Storm".  The main character is John Steele, although a wealthy business man, lives in a small cabin on the island and is part of the newly formed life-saving service. The time period is 1890 and the service is a precursor to what we now call the Coast Guard.

I believe you will find this novel a good read and you will want to turn the next page and the next.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherJR Thomas
Release dateFeb 26, 2018
ISBN9781386754121
January's Storm

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    January's Storm - JR Thomas

    This is a work of fiction.  The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 

    No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    CHAPTER 1

    The overcast cold day turned to early afternoon as he sailed towards the Life-saving station at Cape Lookout. It had been about an hour since leaving Beaufort’s docks and he felt a noticeable temperature drop once clearing the inlet and saw drastic changes in the cloud formations on the distant southwest horizon.  Even heavily dressed, John Steele found himself already chilled from the wind sweeping across the expansive ocean surface.  He intentionally steered his sailboat closer to shore.  Windward to the wind, he did not foresee the need for tacking.  His route to Cape Lookout would be a fairly straight shot.  If his boat were to capsize, he might be able to manage a shorter swim in the icy waters.

    John noticed another telltale sign of what would come when his boat began to list further to port as the winds picked up and buffeted his sails.  His speed increased to a point where he had to partially empty sails to keep the port side rail from dipping into the ocean.  His bow began to plow through waves.

    The two foot seas became three to four with white caps appearing as far seaward as the far horizon.  Another thirty minutes passed as his small sailboat cut through the rough sea.  Distant clouds approached at a disturbing speed.  The intermittent sunshine became smothered by thick massive clouds overhead. The storm front overtook his ship, sped beyond him, covering the islands in an eerie darkness. Grayish turned to black, tumbling storm clouds seemingly spread to the wave tops below.  The storm spread like a visible blanket being laid between heaven and earth, reducing his sight and made question his judgment for making the return trip. 

    Already rough waves to manage became seven to eight feet with dancing white ragged tops spurred on by ever increasing winds.  Rain began to pour in sheets adding to his alarm and dismay. 

    He wondered if the people of Noah’s time felt the same when the springs of earth broke and the skies above loosened.  The rain seemed to turn even colder and his visibility became lesser as the rain fall ratcheted upward to a greater outpouring. 

    The distant storm had finally arrived in its full might; his stint to outrun it had failed and his very life seemed to hang in the balance as its presence struck with a vengeance.  Waves continued to increase, already strong winds became gale force, and heavy rain became interlaced with touches of sleet that stung his exposed skin.

    Once again, windswept spray from one of the approaching waves swept John’s hat off, fully exposing both his face and head to a peltry mix of cold rain, sleet, and hard flung sea water.  His favorite oversized brim hat would be lost if not for the hats chin strap.  This time he knew he couldn’t risk trying to put it back in place.  He would just have to continue without its protective coverage of his head.

    His vision blurred by continuous dousing of wind flung sea water; he found squinting helped somewhat, but regardless they burned as if he were sitting too close to a hot fire.  He could taste the salt on his lips.

    This latest douse of icy cold water didn’t just run, but gushed down under his leather rain gear; causing an uncontrollable shudder to race up and down his spine. His clothes, under the gear, had become just as soaked as his exposed pant legs. He didn’t know if it were possible to get much colder.

    To make matters even worse, water in the boat had reached a threatening level halfway up to his knees and rising.  What with the downpour of rain and water from waves, his boat wouldn’t handle much more and stay afloat. 

    Fighting to keep the sailboat from turning broadside to the assault of innumerable angry waves, he ignored both his hat and the bone chilling cold.  They seemed insignificant in his fight to save his life.  He kept his right hand locked tight to the boats tiller, left hand riveted to the port handrail, and his feet spread wide to try and brace himself in the boat. 

    His boat had taken on way too much water and it no longer responded well as the battering waves tried their best to sink him; his boat staying afloat this long only by chance or as his Mom would have said; sovereign favor of God.

    John Steele finally realized the probability of losing his boat to be extremely high; the weather he faced just wasn’t a typical rough day at sea, the towering waves unmercifully shoved and tossed his thirty foot boat around as if it were only a toy.  If it had not been built by a master boat craftsman, it would have been broken into pieces long before these waves had swollen to their present height. John also knew losing his grip on the tiller would no doubt allow the water laden boat to turn fully parallel to the waves and surely send it to the bottom, and he, into the bowels of the dark and unrelenting Atlantic Ocean. 

    Somehow, a small portion of his jib cloth remained intact and gave him just enough forward motion to steer.  If the sail ripped any further it would be the final straw for this boat and maybe him as well.  He’d lose control and be at complete mercy of this raging beast of a storm. 

    With all of his will and brawn he tried to keep the boat’s bow slicing sideways through the approaching waves sending geysers of water skyward into the evening’s darkness as the small boat broke through the tops of the giant waves and crashed down hard, jolting his bones.

    Being caught off guard and alone in a winter storm; he had found it impossible to both bail water and keep his boat under control.  John knew his situation to be extremely dire, more so than he had ever experienced before. 

    The sea continued, as if it were possible, to grow even rougher each passing minute.  Fierce wind whistled a ghostly tune of death and disaster as it blew across backstays supporting the main mast with its useless shredded sails.  John’s jaws hurt from clamping his mouth so tight.  He dare not stick his tongue out; for fear that he might bite it off.  His body ached from the beating he had suffered already at the hands of the storm.  The boat’s bouncing and jerks were having a direct effect on his body.  He felt more like a rodeo rider than a captain.  If it weren’t so serious, he would laugh.

    THE STORM HAD COME on him fast and with safety of Cape Lookout bight laying still miles before him.  It had brought with it an unusual despair in John; it might as well be twenty miles to what islanders called the hook, a naturally formed and safe harbor at Cape Lookout, bound by high protecting sand dunes on three sides.

    A day earlier at the station, John had volunteered to make the trip to Beaufort so it was all up to him to get back.  He had sailed alone and he would be returning alone.  The weather had been a little crisp on his departure from the Life-saving station yesterday, but not bad.  He had spent the night in Beaufort waiting on medicine to arrive.  The morning started out okay, but turned bitterly cold as a low pressure front moved into the area. 

    The medicine he had been waiting on got delivered to him around two o’clock in the afternoon.  It was kind of late for a return trip back, but he would have just enough daylight to make it.

    Normally he would have waited until the next day, but this time he had no choice.  More experienced sailors at the restaurant warned him against going this late in the afternoon with a front moving in. 

    He never thought the trip back would get this bad, but it was his only choice if he wanted to save his friend Matt’s life.  

    Matt’s life depended on taking the medicine and John had determined to get it back or die trying.  So, against their strong advice not to, he left the safety of Beaufort’s dock and had set sail.  Under his current duress it seemed like a million heartbeats ago.

    Fortunately, before leaving the Beaufort dock, John had placed Matt’s sealed bottle of antibiotics in a buttoned inside coat pocket for safe keeping.  Now, if he could just keep it and himself afloat and safe! 

    The front had proved to be much worse than he ever reckoned.  He had seen the dark clouds building far out to sea, but he had hoped on outrunning them back to the Cape.  His inexperienced logic had proved so wrong and the words of those old timers, one friend in particular, rang loud in his head.

    JOHN’S MIND SNAPPED back to his present situation.  Since the storm had overtaken him, strong wind, high waves, and torn sails had slowed his forward progress to almost a standstill. The monster storm had gathered his sailboat in its mighty grasp and seemed to be slowly closing its fingers around him and his boat. To make things even worse, a sky as black as coal seemed to bring night on early.  His only method of navigation turned out to be glimpses of the distant revolving light at Cape Lookout lighthouse.

    Once in awhile he also caught a glint of lantern light from a home on the seaward side of Shackleford Bank which gave him an idea of his distance from the islands shoreline.

    Fear gripped his gut and he could almost taste the nauseous bile burning in his belly.  He didn’t normally get sea sick, but he could feel his body reacting to the violent motion created by these giant waves.  Vomiting would be a relief, if he had time for it. 

    HE HAD SEEN OTHER SHIPS and crews caught in the grips of such furious storms and had himself rescued a few lucky crew members who didn’t go down with their boats on several of those occasions.  This time though it was personal – now it was he and his own boat fighting to stay afloat in an unrelenting onslaught of nature’s most powerful forces.  Gale force winds with waves approaching ten to twelve feet and building to heights he could only guess at.

    Out of nowhere, a rogue wave higher than the others rose before his stinging eyes and struck the starboard side of the small listing boat.  John felt the unsettling feeling of his boat being pushed upward and sliding sideways down the face of the wave all at the same time, his grasp on the tiller tore loose as he fell sideways towards the boat’s port railing.  The boat continued to roll so its port side sank beneath and into the valley of the wave.  Tilting even more so, the starboard side rolled upward and over with the giant wave, completely pushing the boat downward further into the hungry sea, engulfing it the rest of the way with water.  John’s six foot four inch body got tossed like a tiny ragdoll, thrown out of the boat, and forced under the surface and beneath the crashing wave. 

    It had happened so fast he didn’t even have time to react; in the water and sinking he knew his boat was a goner and his life would depend on his getting out of the water, somehow, before cold freezing water snuffed it from him.  From his fireman’s training he knew hypothermia could set in with fifteen to twenty minutes. 

    He had been thrown down under maybe ten feet before the buoyancy of his life vest and his survival senses took over.  With all the conditioning of a seasoned swimmer, he fought to return to the turbulent surface.  Strong currents tried their best to shove him under again and again as waves rolled overhead. 

    Almost breaking the surface, he felt himself being drawn up and up into the center of another approaching wave. His oxygen starved lungs cried for air and fortunately for him, his head cleared the surface of the wave just long enough to suck in a partial lung of air before being shoved back under by another massive wave. 

    John lost all sense of his position, other than he knew he was being tossed around under the water instead of being on its surface.  With open salt filled eyes, he kicked hard, came up between waves, and turned his swimming towards the island even as the next wave lifted him and shoved him forward in that direction. 

    At least he was being driven towards land.  His boat no longer visible it would be up to him to make it to shore.

    With another silent, desperate prayer for his life to be spared, John began swimming.  The life preserver hindered his forward motion, but it aided his ability to keep his head above water, well sometimes. 

    He caught a glint of a faint light on shore and tried to keep it before him.  His arms and legs felt heavy, ever stiffening by the minute; he knew the cold water was starting to take its effect.  If he didn’t soon get out of it, he knew he wouldn’t. 

    Not being one known to give up easy, John pushed himself harder, but after a few minutes of limited forward progress he realized his plight, stopped swimming and started to tread water, sinking when waves rolled over him. 

    Still fighting for quick gulps of air, he slid out of his leather water slicker, his boots were harder to get off, and lastly – he untied his

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