I keep thinking of that man on the beach with the metal detector sounding for the residue of another’s misfortune —
a watch, a ring, some coins. I imagine that awkward device that he swings back and forth suddenly picking up other sounds deep in the pebble beach — a weak voice, a fading cry for help, fingernails clawing at the creaking hull of a wooden ship. Above him, the pier is linked out through a myriad of mobile phones, their invisible messages flowing across the globe. One man’s listening device pulling him down, rooting him into the wet beach of Worthing that smells of fish and rotting seaweed and tastes of brine. Above and beyond, the thoughts of many tourists spirit away in clear electronic ether.

The eleven on the beach read the signal from away and pushed off, crammed together in their make shift lifeboat, a ferry owned by Sidney Beck called the Britannia. The vessel carried them out into open water only to spill them, with harsh indifference, into the sea. Their boat was what its name implied, a ferry to carry them over, this time to a watery grave. That their vessel was, like so many, christened Britannia rings potent, for on that much grander voyage of Britain and empire, many a poor man’s life was sacrificed.

The Lalla Rookh, its signal flags snapping, barely visible in the raging storm, called the men to their doom like the tempting of a distant mermaid or the echo of a Siren’s song, drawing the sailors out from, rather than on to, the jagged rocks of shore. Where did it come from? Where was it going?

The Tragically Hip’s Nautical Disaster lyrics
More about sending signals at sea