Father Benedictus

• Nicholas Lowe, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2014

The storm had been raging for 8 hours when they first caught sight of the beach headland. Then it became rougher.
The crew of the Jäger rapidly rushed to the hull tying ropes, fixing netting and binding sails. Anton Benedictus, was underneath the deck, struggling to stay on his feet as the ship swished and swayed in the wind. The waters churned furiously and the waves increased in size, slamming their fists into the ship's sides. Like any Christian man would in a time of need Benedictus prayed.
"Dear Lord, I pray for the crew of this craft. Give them the wisdom to bring us to the shore safely. Please help me to stay strong in my faith whilst this storm rages. Help me to stay calm in this chaos. However, if it is your will, O Lord, then let this ship fall to the sea. Finally I pray for the Aboriginal community of the Great Southern Land. Please find a way to bring the good news to them, for they need your word. Amen."
Suddenly, a deckhand burst through the door of his room.
"Sir Benedictus, if you want to reach the shore, you will need to come with me," he said breathlessly.
He ran back out of the room with Benedictus following suit. As they emerged onto the open deck, a wave of elements came flew into Anton's face. The wind and water was everywhere. He spotted the ship's crew scrambling up and down the rigging. He spotted the headland in the distance. The deckhand signalled to follow him. Running towards the kitchen supplies, a large gust of wind nearly blew him off his feet. They reached the supplies room, and began to empty out barrels. Fish, vegetables, mouldy meat was poured over the ground. "Grab one, throw it over the edge and jump in!"
Benedictus followed the deckhand's instructions. The jump was the hardest part. He closed his eyes and leapt. That was the last thing he remembered.