The alert buzzes over the wires. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.”
The mariners are in trouble. An emergency threatens the lives of those that fare the sea.
Their two-mast ship, a great white schooner, used to skip along the waves. But now division tears at the decks and the wood creaks with the constant tension.
It can’t last forever.
The deckhands swop gossip, while the officers argue which port to lay course for. No one hears, or maybe everyone ignores, the warning call from the crow’s nest.
Nothing is getting done.
It’s too late.
The schooner is sunk.
May’s day is passed.