Shanty

The schooner turned coastal barge underneath a blanket of sand until one February. For over a century the ship hid, safe from the worms, fed by salt and water, until a storm found its sanctuary. Storm by storm they pelted the shield, shifting the sand until the poor shipwreck lay exposed. Soon the iron bars bubbled with rust and worms threatened to eat every piece of Douglas Fir until nothing remained. No man alive could save the ship in time, so they left it alone. Two deceased experts, however, readily took on the job of saving the C.A. Smith.

"Really Sean, you sh'd know better 'an to drink on yer watch." The first caressed the wood gently, almost reverently. The barge would never carry wood again, but it might serve for a decent ghost ship.

"Aw, Rich, how was I s'pposed to know that a storm w's comin'? I only had a little." Sean crawled up the dune, surveying the work ahead of them.

"You were drunk off yer arse, and you know it." Rich leaned close to the ship, as if to kiss it, and blew a small layer of sand away.

"I was sad. M'girl lef' me! Wot was I s'pposed to do? Sail sober?" Sean picked up a shovel he'd stolen from a dairy farmer. Hopefully the farmer wouldn't miss it.

"You sailed against the wind, you buggerin' bastard. If it weren't for you, we would have made it past the jetty! But noooooooooo."

"I said I was sorry."

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The next morning the BLM showed up to look at the shipwreck again, but they only found the hole, quickly filling with sand, that once held the keel close. With no other answer but a couple of stolen shovels, the BLM blamed it on the storm, at least in their reports.