The People Of The Little Boats

Many songs and stories are told about the little boats of Newfoundland. These brightly colored dories have been a common sight on the coast for hundreds of years. Fish are what brought the first people here and still it’s one of the best resources the island has to offer.

Despite the end times, life has continued as normal for many coastal communities. The men go out early in the morning with empty boats and return to loving wives in the evening loaded down with the days catch. Sure the fish have a few more fins and eyes than before, but for the most part life’s the same as it ever was. Heck some even say it’s better. Ancient stories tell of large foreign fishing fleets that once roamed the waters, reaping far more than the ocean could bear. Those stories are only told by fools who don't know the oceans depths. The waters are no safer now.

Storms still rock the little boats to the core, tossing them like leaves on the wind. Men are thrown to the waves like rubbish without even a chance to scream. "The cost of doing business" some would say, when boats come back missing some of their crew. If it was only the waves that took them to their deaths it would be fine. If it was only the storms they had to fear they wouldn’t need their weapons. Not all who sail the coast are looking for honest work. Some by choice, or by fate, have turned to piracy. Turning their guns on the little boats of the coast, to take their hard-earned catch for themselves or to sell at the larger ports.

Pirates are still human at the end of the day. They can be negotiated with for safe passage or in good years traded with, same as any merchant. The true fear are the things that can’t be reasoned with. The horrors that lurk beneath the waves.

Sirens, horrid amalgamations of man and fish. They glide beneath the waves where they worship dark gods that few understand. When they’re seen it’s rarely for a pleasant chat. Normally they appear only to drag unfortunate sailors off under the waves. The victims are often found days later on some seaside altar. Their bodies gutted and their faces twisted in an eternal scream.

Then there are the beasts of the deep. Stalking those who venture too far from shore and sinking ships headed to or from the mainland. Beasts of nightmare unfit for human eyes. Tales told on shivering lips of sights unimaginable. Massive inky black tendrils rip sailors from their boats and tear steel hulls to shreds. Ships boarded by murky figures with glowing eyes and rending claws. Entire crews willed to march over the sides of their own vessels like horrid clockwork toys. A massive gaping maw that rises only to swallow ships whole and vanish without a trace. The beasts are called by many names. Krakens, leviathans, call them what you will. They care little for words.

With waters fraught with such perils and horrors, why would anyone be willing to go to sea at all let alone make a living by it? Wouldn't fear drive the people to find a safer way of life? But the people of the little boats have always feared the sea. They have always braved it's perils and made their life by it. They speak of it as a warm friend. Beside the fires of the twinkling lights that dot the darkened shoreline they sing songs and tell tall tales of great battles fought and sea monsters slain. To the people of the little boats this is how life has always been. If asked would they choose another life they would respond with a grin. What better way is there to live?