The Shipwreck

A ship ran aground against shallow rocks a few miles off the coast. The vessel capsized and the stunned passengers desperately clung to pieces of driftwood and debris, struggling with all their will to stay afloat.

One man, a strong youth, set off swimming away from the wreck, angling for the distant shore. The water was dark and cold, and the waves rough. As brutal forces above battered his body, the still depths below beckoned. Yet each time his lungs filled with salty water, his arms grew weary, or his heart felt faint, he redoubled his efforts.

Gradually, stroke by labored stroke, the hazy coast grew larger. As the sun slipped near the horizon and darkness began to seep into his vision, the man's body, soaked like a prune, pulled itself onto dry, solid land. Two fishermen, making a final haul for the day in the fading sunset, saw him emerge from the frigid waters. Recognizing a human form, they rushed over with concern.

The man, shuddering from exhaustion, voice hoarse, only barely managed to croak out an explanation that he had swum to shore from a nearby shipwreck.

“How horrendous!” cried one fisherman. “We must send out a rescue boat to save the other survivors.”

“Of course,” replied the other, “I’ll run to the town right away.”

But the man, the escapee of that awful incident, shook his head vehemently.

“No,” he said, “I had to struggle so hard to swim all the way to the shore. And I did it without anyone’s help. It would be unfair to my efforts to send aid to the others. A real slap in the face to my hard work.”