The weather had appeared more than menacing all day. The sea was now rising, and Neptune’s white horses had already started to gallop over the crests of the rising billows. All the galaxies of heaven were now present above, replacing the two or three unusual sentinels that had previously protruded from the firmament. Our second mate, Garry O’Neil, perished at sea while sailing the Star of the North. He had fled to the sea as a child before attending medical school in Dublin.
After his mother passed away, he abandoned his newly-acquired dignity and went back to the sea since he felt no longer beholden to anything at home. The settings, the ship in the distance with its flag partially up, the light of the setting sun, and the resemblance of my boat then and now brought back memories of that special evening.
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