Night Watch

It’s 0230.  Startled by a loud noise, I yank out my ear buds and throw off the warm blanket.  I uncurl with lightning speed.  Tethered to the jackline, I bolt from the safety of the companionway. In my mind, I heard a ship’s horn, loud and close. A big ship’s horn. I check the radar. It picks up only sea-clutter.  As Gitane rocks gently in the ocean swells, I grip the dodger rail and pull myself up onto the starboard settee.  I jump to port and back again. I strain to see just a few yards through the foggy darkness.  The flat, black seas are disturbed only by the bright, white foam from our wake.  Sizzling and bubbling, it sounds like a gentle sauté.  The wind is calm.  The engine hums softly.  The glow of the stern light illuminates the limp flag and the engine exhaust as it billows and slides away. The darkness of the night envelopes us.  We are completely, utterly alone.