A Ravel of Waters

Chapter 20

I knew I was in love with Kay when I saw her death-fall from the mainyard next day. That morning death struck three times aboard Jetwind. I was on watch; it was about seven bells, 7.30 a.m.

Our speed had fallen slightly during the night, but she was still logging a splendid eighteen knots. The storm had eased but the ocean remained an awesome sight. In the grey first half light the crests seemed steeper than before. Jetwind was putting her shoulder into them and every time her bows went down mountains of water swamped her long, unbroken main-deck. It was the sort of situation I had foreseen when I had criticized the deck's lack of 'breakwaters' to Thomsen.

I had just spoken to Jim Yell, the bo'sun, on the intercom. Jim's quarters were aft, under the poop. The bo'sun in a sailing ship occupies a-different status from a bo'sun aboard a steam ship. Jim had almost officer standing. Since Grohman's suspension and 'house arrest' a much greater burden had been put on him. I intended to use the half-hour before the relieving watch came on duty to inspect the after-peak which housed the auxiliary engine nacelle, the stern dropkeel, and the steering gear.

I arranged to meet Jim in the crew's mess3 also aft near his own quarters. I passed Arno's office on my way and told him where I was going. He eased the head-phone clear of his blond hair and nodded. It was the last I saw him alive.

Kay and I almost collided as I started down the companion-way from the bridge to the main-deck. She had watched her moment with the seas coming aboard and had sprinted along the deck from her cabin in the stern. The icy cold air — contrasting with the air-conditioned interior — had brought colour to her cheeks. She was wearing sneakers and a green and white tracksuit with a loose top. It did nothing for her figure; I was not to know then its importance in the forthcoming drama.

'Isn't it enough to sprint a hundred and fifty metres along a deck without running up and down the mast as well?' I joked.

She held on to the handrail and looked up at me. I should never have let her go.

'Exercise is a sacred cow with me,' she smiled. 'If it's not milked every day, it becomes sloppy.'

'There seems to be a strictly feminine undertone to this conversation.'

She laughed and was about to reply but then exclaimed urgently, 'Watch out, Peter! Here it comes!'

The water did not reach the top of the companion-way where we were but swirled along the deck. It was cold, green, hostile. The big deck ports clanged as it flooded overboard. 'This is my moment,' I said, and started down. I managed the deck without the life-lines. An additional precaution was safety nets. I barely had time to dodge up the quarter-deck companion-way before the next roller swept the decks. I glanced aloft before making my way inside. There was ice on the burnished yards above.

Jim's cabin was the fourth down the passage. As I passed, his phone rang. I answered in his absence.

The scream of terror was Arno's. The shot was someone else's. 'Arno! Arno!'

I dropped the silent instrument and ran for Jim Yell. He was standing smoking and talking to a seaman eating breakfast. 'Jim!'

He spun round as I burst in. I jerked my thumb in the direction of the bridge. We both erupted on to the main-deck.

The nearest companion-way to our objective was on the starboard side of the bridge. But that was the weather side, the side which was shipping hundreds of tons of water. It created a waist-deep, freezing barrier. We hung on to the life-lines. There was an interminable delay while we waited for the sea to drain

'It's Arno!' I explained hastily to Jim. 'He gave a scream. There was a shot…'. 'Now — run!' shouted Jim.

We had reached No. 3 mast when Jim grabbed me and pointed aloft.

Kay was standing on the mainyard of the next mast for'ard, No. 2 mast, the one which bisected the bridge. This was her daily run. She was far out along the yard, hanging on with one hand to a loading cable. She spotted us, gesticulated urgently forward seawards. From our level nothing could be seen but the next wall of water waiting for Jetwind’s bows. 'Hang on, sir!'

I made an uncompromising gesture in response to Kay. I grabbed the life-line and braced myself.

To my horror, Kay let go the cable and cupped her hands like a megaphone to her mouth. 'Ice! A growler! Right ahead! Port! Hard-a-port!'

The wave dealt a right cross to Jetwind’s jaw. She gave a wicked lurch, like a boxer absorbing a hay-maker. Kay grabbed frantically for her support. The yard was coated with ice. I saw her feet slip. She tried to regain her balance by tottering out along the yard. Her plan might have worked had there been no ice and no second lurch from the ship.

Kay staggered a few steps beyond the line of the ship's side, then pitched overboard.

Had she fallen from her original position, nothing could have stopped her being smashed to pieces on the deck. As it was, she catapulted clear of the ship. But a sea's surface from a height of twenty metres is as hard as a deck. She turned a complete circle in the air. It was not a quick kill fall. Even as my mind went numb, I sensed that she was falling more slowly than she should have. The wind had got under her loose track-suit top, ballooning into the loose-fitting pants as well.

It took a little less than five seconds for her to hit the water.

I followed her fall into the sea. A human body is a puny thing. It left no tell-tale splash where it hit the foam-torn surface. As Jetwind lifted again I caught a glimpse of a terror-struck face with staring eyes only a few metres from the ship's side.

I have no conscious memory of my actions during those brief seconds of her fall. All I know is that I had ripped a life-belt from the rail and was poised to throw it when her face showed again momentarily against the grey-white sea. Even as my mind registered the fact that she was still alive, another thought supervened: no human could live long in that icy ocean.

I hurled the life-belt. I could only pray that it would land near her. I didn't pause to think about the next flood of water sweeping along the deck. I took it up to the armpits. How I reached the starboard bridge wing within seconds, I shall never know. I threw open the door.

The bridge watch — Tideman was there now — stood frozen at my frenzied entry.

'Back the tops'ls — Numbers One and Two masts! Man overboard!'

No skipper gives an order like that in that sort of gale and sea unless he is mad or drunk. It is a life-or-death manoeuvre for a sailing ship — like pulling a Grand National steeplechaser up short while hell bent over Beecher's Brook. The ship, running off before the wind, would crash into the troughs of waves as big as hillocks. That meant she would roll — roll herself full of water, roll the masts clean off her. Even if she survived, she faced the same dangers a second time as she came round to pick up the rescue boat.

I was already shouting for a boat. 'Number Four boat — clear away! Volunteers!'

It was a small, four-man harbour runabout which was secured on the port, or lee, side of the quarter-deck.

I found Jim Yell at my elbow with two other of Tideman's men he had conjured up from somewhere.

Tideman held my eyes before obeying. He was silently asking the unaskable question — was it worth risking the ship and the lives of all aboard for the sake of one person who would already be starting to stiffen in the cold? Would it not be better rather to let her go? One life for the sake of twenty-eight? One life for the sake of twenty million dollars' worth of ship?

I never admired Tideman more than at that moment. When I did not respond, he gave the kill order steadily. 'Helm down!'

We four sprinted for the boat. Jim Yell cut it loose and in a moment we seemed to be pitching among the breaking crests. Once clear of Jetwind's stern, the full fury of the storm struck us. The light was as grey as a shroud. I steered by guess and by God. Somewhere to windward Kay was gasping out her life. It was the very greyness of the storm which saved Kay. 'Flare, sir! Thereaway!'

I was at the outboard tiller. Already the freezing metal was stripping my skin.

I got a sight of the self-igniting life-belt flare. That didn't mean to say Kay was in it. I guessed it to be a couple of hundred metres away; separating the boat from it were hills of water. I riveted my gaze in that direction.

Then — one of the men shouted. 'The ship — the ship, sir! Christ, she's going over!'

Maybe Tideman alone was capable of saving her. Nine degrees was Jetwind's theoretical maximum heel before things started to give. She must have been superbly built to have stood up to twelve degrees in those killer troughs. To my overwrought senses the sail plan seemed to flatten down almost parallel with the water. Would Tideman blow away her top-masts with the ring charges? It seemed the only way to save her now.

I tore my eyes away from the sight when Jim Yell shouted. 'There! There she is, sir! It's her!' 'Is she… dead?' 'No -1 saw her face.'

The next wave intervened like disaster itself. From its trough we had no sight of either Jetwind or Kay. We went deep, deep, into icy, white-lashed water.

When we soared to the crest — baling frantically — Kay was only two waves away. I hoped she could see us.

'Keep your eyes on her!' I yelled. If Jetwind were going to her death, there was nothing any of us could do now. Afloat in that tiny boat would be only a way of prolonging our agony. No wonder the old windjammer crews refused to learn to swim.

Jim Yell reached for an oar. 'Take-it easy, Jim! You'll smash in her face if that touches her! Hold the boat off till we can grab her!' 'She'll be safe enough with me, sir!'

The flare pinpointed her position. She was slumped over, head down, arms trailing. Her mouth and nose were perilously close to the water. 'Easy, boys! Let her come down into the trough to us!' Kay seemed to hang there at the summit, but the life-belt could not have taken more than a few moments to coast down towards us. Then — our boat cork-screwed away.

‘For Chrissake!' exclaimed one of the men. "Don't lose her now!'

I didn't though. The tiller felt ready to take my arm out of its socket but I forced the boar in close.

Kay's face was white against the scarlet paint of the lifebelt, Blotches of purplish-blue were forming round her mouth and eyes. 'Handsomely, boys!'

Yell leaned outboard, a man holding his legs, and plucked Kay, life-belt and all, to safety. I tried to steady my voice. 'Is there life in her, Jim?'

For an answer, she moaned and gagged sea-water on the bottom boards.

'Take over the tiller,’ I ordered, pulling off my thick jersey and pants. I'd already shed my oilskins. 'The cold will kill her if we don't get her warm soon.'

Jim and I got rid of her soaking track-suit. We rolled her over on her face and tried to clear her lungs. The roughness of the bucking boat platform helped our life-giving massage. She coughed and gagged repeatedly.

I picked her up. She was as limp as a rag doll. Her eyes were staring; I don't think she saw me. 'She'll make it, never you worry,' Yell consoled me.

With only my oilskins now, I realized how perishing cold it was.

'It's warmth she needs,' I repeated. I held her close to me to try and absorb some of my body heat. 'There's not such a thing as a blanket aboard, I suppose?' 'No, sir. Not in a boat this size.'

'Okay, let's get back,' I said urgently. 'Head for the ship, will you?' I said to the man at the tiller.

The tillerman made a gesture which took in the waves, the wind, the wide emptiness of the Southern Ocean. 'Ship, sir? There is no ship.'