Fair Providence

by Adam Lux

Land sighted, astern, 07:37pm: a peat black maw defying the dusk and fog. The crew is awatch for rocks. Rose and the rest of the passengers are jubilant yet pensive. We’ve traveled half-way around South America. Soon our good-ship Providence will bear northward for the first time since leaving Dartmouth. Fortunes seem assured in California, if only the journey were just a fortnight more to bear. But the inky depths menace fair Providence. Spiteful whales track her course from upside-down; The dim barely disguising the naked keel of a far older vessel, a villainous whaler plying trade in gold seekers westward around the horn. “Robert, I’m afraid my corsets shall have betrayed us this night and your typewriter keys.” “Nonsense Rose, your head’s afroth!” a sturdy voice replies and then more quietly adds under-breath, “Better turn your attention toward the prow… staring at our wake will only make dead men of us all.” Last known entry, Providence, 07:39 p.m., a sail’s yard past Cape Horn.