By Abdool A. Aziz

JUST before dawn on a Saturday morn, a husky voice bellowed “See wha me gat hey? Mo ah dem pan de beach. Boat sink allyuh go pick up free.”

On his shoulder was a bunch of plantains and under his arm was a pumpkin. Around his waist hung a bag of oranges, now there a mad rush to the beach which was half a mile away. I too was in the stampede and though I later brought home lots of goodies I had my behind ‘cut’ for leaving the early morn prayers.

I couldn’t believe it: pumpkins and melons rolled up and down with the tide. Plantains and bananas were stuck in the mud flat. Fruits were everywhere. The ship was a cargo boat transporting produce to the market in Georgetown. No one paid any attention to the ill-fated vessels or the fate of the crew. All were busy carting off the bonanza. This day, few shoppers went to the market. There were ground provision, fruits and vegetables galore; even coconuts and awara. By noon, the beach lay trampled and deserted. A pig farmer waded into the water to pick up the water-logged oranges. I scanned the horizon to see the shipwreck. No sign of it. Then a stool floated in. It must have been the captain’s seat at the wheel. But where were the crew members? I felt so sad for this tragedy. Though I got my share of cargo, I still visited the beach to ponder over this mishap.

Before it has set sail, the vessel was laid up on dry dock. The owner demanded that it sail as he was losing money. The captain felt uneasy. She was not in good shape to sail the turbulent Atlantic on his 21-mile journey. But he was forced to put her to sea. As she limped out of Pot Laden to the Plimsol Line the captain was scared of the treacherous trip. He took some booze to bolster his courage and at midnight, the ‘Seahawk’ left Parika headed north then east to the Demerara River. The wind and tide were merciless and a storm arose. The navigation lights went out. The steering ‘jammed’ and the beleaguered captain had no control of the vessel that floated like a calabash. Then suddenly there was a loud noise. She slammed into the concrete groyne. Her bow split in two and she went down like a stone. The crew jumped overboard but no one saw them since.

Then a fisherman brought ashore a strange catch – the badly eaten body of the captain still holding the bottle of liquor he had grabbed as the ship was submerged, the other two sailors were never found. Not one of the beneficiaries of the cargo offered a word of sympathy. The free food blinded their conscience. I still recall the sailing a shipwreck. It was devastating, especially when live perished.

The ‘Seahawk’ was put to sea too soon. She was a big risk. The owners showed interest in profit. Now the marine regulations insist on safety inspections, the installation of radio safety jackets and a lifeboat to be in attendance. Shipping in the Parika – Georgetown Atlantic corridor is safer – thanks to the ‘Seahawk’ catastrophe.

One day while combing the beach, I found one of her navigation lights. I treasure it in memory of the crew. I often look out to the ocean and recall that tragedy which could have been avoided.