'That's where I need you, too, Kay. None of us has any idea at this stage what the wind speed will be, say at two o'clock or whenever the destroyer makes her entry. There's one hell of a lot of unknown quantities at this moment. But I must have at least ten knots speed when we enter The Narrows.'
Kay's eyes became abstracted as they always seemed to when she was busy with a calculation. 'It's a hell of a short take-off distance from anchor. Our harbour course is roughly a dog-leg, right? The first is the longer part, which will bring us to the southern entrance to The Narrows. Then, an almost right-angle change of direction to take us through-right?'
‘Jetwind keeps out of sight behind the intervening hills until the last moment before The Narrows,' I added. 'Our mast-head, where Paul will be stationed, is a fraction higher than the hills. So I'll keep the royals stowed until the last possible moment so there's no chance of detection. Once I set them, it will be too late — the race will be on.'
'Too late?' queried Tideman, voicing the question which was clearly in all their minds. 'Too late for what?'
'Sorry. That's the part of my plan you must take on blind trust. If it fails, it's the end of Jetwind. And of me.'
Chapter 13
There was a deathly silence, which I broke.
'There's something else. I'm not inviting any opinions about it. I want Number Two anchor cock-billed from the end of the fore-yard from a couple of metres of chain.' Tideman repeated the order as if to reassure himself he was hearing right. Kay and Brockton stared in incredulous silence.
'That's correct,' I said. 'John, that task is priority once you leave this cabin.'
'The crew is keen to get to sea but I'm afraid this business of the anchor will appear like a rank-pulling exercise to them,' he said. 'It seems, if I may say so, utterly purposeless, especially following on your cancellation of the picnic. The old-timers had a name for it — chipping the anchor cable.'
'I hope to change their minds before the night is out. Meanwhile, my order stands. Do it, will you, John?'
'Of course. I wasn't speaking for myself. But haven't you forgotten Grohman? All this activity must give him an idea that something is up.'
'I certainly haven't forgotten him. Take a look at the way I've arranged the watches. He's off duty during the vital early hours.'
'Once you give the order to make sail Grohman — and everyone else in the ship — will know.'
'By that time it will be too late for him to do anything, if indeed he is contemplating anything.'
'He knows this ship, Peter, and he's a good sailor,' Tideman went on. 'One touch of the wrong button could upset everything.'
'We must consider Grohman to be hostile because we don't know what's behind his political motivations,' I replied. ‘I can't take any chances. But, like it or not, we're stuck with Grohman till we reach the Cape.'
Tideman went on, 'Make no mistake, ‘I’m one hundred per cent behind the idea of getting to sea and your scheme to elude the Almirante Storni- whatever it may be. I don't want to sound as if I'm throwing cold water on it, but where is it going to get us? Or Jetwind?’ 'What are you driving at?'
'We slip past the destroyer in The Narrows. Fine. She can't turn there, it's not wide enough. All she does then is to carry on to where the inner port opens out, make a U-turn, and come after us at full speed. She'll catch us before she's halfway to the open sea. Into the bargain, you will have deliberately provoked counter-action. I'd say it would be much better to slip away to sea at this very moment.'
All three eyed me expectantly. I was greatly tempted to take them into my confidence. But the implications were too great. I repeated to myself what I had said to myself before, I alone would have to take the consequences.
'I asked you earlier to take me on trust. That is still what I say.'
Kay came tactfully to the rescue. 'You're going to make one man aboard this ship very happy — Sir James Hathaway.'
I laughed ruefully. 'When I talked to him earlier on I was surprised he didn't rip the panelling off the bulkheads.'
Kay steered Tideman away from something else he seemed about to say. 'Was he still acting up and hopping mad?'
'Let's say he'd rather go to sea in a sieve than set foot in a sailing ship again, let alone buy one.'
'He was keen enough while Captain Mortensen put her through her paces,' added Tideman. 'But of course once Grohman took over it was a different matter.'
'Everything always comes back to Grohman,' Brockton concluded.
I shrugged, checked my watch, and straightened up. 'Paul, up you go to your perch in the crow's nest. Report to me on the intercom the moment you spot lights in the main fairway. Bearing, distance, position. If you have any doubts…'
'I guess I know a Fletcher class lights as well as anyone afloat.'
'She may be rigged up differently than when she was U.S. Navy,' I replied. 'I reckon her spot will be near Ordnance Point, in the main fairway, as I've just said.'
'Why there?' asked Tideman. 'There's plenty of room elsewhere.'
'Because at almost any other place one or both the beacon lights at Navy Point or Engineer Point are obscured. They are essential for her entry. In the fairway sector I'm talking about, a ship can sight both lights at the same time. I consider the Almirante Storni will anchor there to get an exact fix of her position. Later, when it's light enough to see both headlands, she'll navigate The Narrows proper.'
I hoped I wasn't talking myself into a tailcr-made plan which made no allowance for contingencies.
I swamped my doubts with more orders. 'Kay, I want you to keep busy at your sums. I want optimum readings and sail settings at intervals of every half an hour from now until we sail — and after too. Clear?'
'Won't it seem odd if I'm seen on the bridge working out calculations to no apparent purpose?' she replied. 'Use this cabin,' I said. 'Everything you need is here.'
'Where is Grohman now?' asked Brockton. He seemed to attach more importance to the Argentinian than the rest of us. 'Probably in his cabin — he's off watch now,' I replied.
I rounded off the briefing. 'John, I'll take the bridge while you get on with rigging that anchor to the yard.'
He laughed. 'Slave-driving a crew in the middle of the night in a cold wind — a bucko mate from the past, that's John Tideman!'
His mood was infectious now that the die was cast. We all laughed with him, which broke up the party and the tension.
The stress returned in the next hour, however, and mounted feverishly while I waited on the. bridge for a sighting report from Brockton. The wheel-house was quiet, over-bright from the strip lighting. The banks of dials gazed back unwinkingly at me. All except the anenometer read-out, which continued to log the wind's rising strength: twenty-one knots, then twenty-two. suddenly twenty-five. I resisted the temptation, as the minutes dragged, to check on Brockton. He knew his job, I told myself. I rejected the further temptation to pace up and down the bridge, Hornblower-like. The helmsman had nothing to do but watch me. He lounged, eyes half-shut, on his high stool by the wheel. Three bells — 9.30. Nothing from Brockton.
Kay came in. I was glad to see her. I kept her longer than the abstruse technicalities required. When she had gone I found it harder than ever to sit out the long wait. I even found myself sweating slightly. The only distraction was the sound of Tideman's anchor gang at work. Four bells — 10.00. Half watch.
To pass the time, I decided to familiarize myself further with the instrument consoles. First the main cabinet. The intercom buzzed making me jolt.
I stopped in my tracks. At that moment Kay entered through a rear door. She, too, stopped. Our eyes met.
Paul's voice vibrated. 'Warship navigation lights in the main fairway channel. Three white, forward steaming light lower than sidelights. And — ' his Navy formality cracked somewhat' -1 don't know why in hell she's showing it but it helps us — she's displaying an amber quick-flashing light about two metres above her after steaming light.'
My thr
oat was tight. 'Is she coming in, Paul? What's her position?' 'Exactly where you predicted — in the fairway beyond The Narrows. Hey, wait!' 'What is it, man?' 'She's mounted a white all-round light amidships — the steaming lights are out — gee whizz, she's anchored! Peter, she's stopped!' 'You're sure?’ 'Sure as hell. Come up and see for yourself.'
'I will. Keep your eyes skinned, Paul! Report the slightest movement or change. Wait — black out the crow's nest. The mast-head will be visible from the destroyer.'
'I did so as soon as I spotted her, skipper. I'm sitting alone in the dark. It's getting goddam cold.' ‘I’ll send you something hot.' 'I'll have to piss over the yard-arm.'
'Hold it till a rain squall comes. No one will know the difference.'
Kay fetched a vacuum flask of coffee for me to take to Brockton. On the ascent up the mast ladder, the cold increased step by step. If the wind kept mounting, the rain would turn to sleet by morning.
I joined Brockton and took a long look at the destroyer through the night glasses. Captain Irizar might have been wanting to make quite sure we identified his vessel. A bright light amidships — usually carried only by moored submarines — and an amber flashing light silhouetted the warship's main distinguishing feature: that heavy mast with its clutter of radar and firing gear, supported by the clumsy stay. All this was clearly visible since the destroyer had swung head to wind, like Jetwind, and her port side was parallel with us. Between the two ships rose a range of low hills.
As I concentrated on the destroyer I made an assessment of how she would have to negotiate The Narrows. In order to comply with the rules of navigation, the destroyer would have to keep over on the Navy Point side. As I planned the escape, we would then race through on the opposite flank, or Engineer Point. That would leave the warship's stayed mast exposed to Jetwind. Exposed and vulnerable. A recurring low cloud squall jetted across my vision, blotting out the Almirante Storni and everything else. 'Paul,' I said, 'if Dawson is right, I reckon these squalls will come with fewer intervals between them as the night progresses.' 'Should he be wrong?'
'I'm staking everything on his being right. He's lived in Port Stanley for years. The cloud clearance has to do with the wind heating itself as it pours down the hills. It dissipates the cloud temporarily until the point is reached when the overall temperature becomes too low for the phenomenon to be effective.'
Brockton asked very quietly, 'You're sure of what you plan to do when the Almirante Storni up-anchors, Peter? The consequences could be hell for a lot of people and things.'
'That's why I want to take all the responsibility on myself, Paul.'
'Okay, you're the boss. I for one wouldn't mind sharing it. Nor would John — or Kay.'
'Thanks,' I replied. 'But I prefer to work it out alone. Anyway, now we know where the destroyer has anchored there's no point in my hanging around here. Let me know the situation as soon as the squall has passed.' 'Will do.'
The four hours that followed were as nerve-wracking as a depth-charge hunt when a sub lies doggo and silent on the bottom of the sea, not daring to breathe. Eight bells — midnight. Change watch. My watch.
Tideman remained on duty with me. His anchor job was completed. The massive piece of metal dangling from the fore-yard gave Jetwind a lop-sided appearance. Jim Yell, bo'sun-quartermaster and top of Tideman's Adventure School team, took over the wheel. I would need the best and coolest helmsman for the job ahead.
The wind remained in the west quarter. It was intensifying and becoming colder all the time. By one o'clock it was gusting over thirty knots, a near-gale. That gave all the wind I needed. The sky was clear of cloud. The waves picked up size. Jetwind snubbed her anchor chain, heaved short on my orders to the last few fathoms for a tearaway start. The cards were all on the table.
With that strange camaraderie which crisis and the small hours seems to engender, Kay and I drew closer. Her calculations needed only minute onward adjustments. We checked them a score of times until we knew them by heart. On several occasions when I could stand the silence on the bridge no longer, I went to her in my cabin. We talked about her passage of Cape Horn in the Round the World race, my run in Albatros, of what a man thinks alone, alone on a wide, wide sea — and what a woman thinks. Four bells, 2.00. Half watch. The intercom screeched. Paul's voice was excited.
'Get on the bitch-box, and rouse out those sleeping sons of bitches below! The Almirante Storni is on her way!'
Chapter 14
'Hands to make sail!'
I found myself shouting over the ship's public address system — Paul's bitch-box — as if I were roaring orders on an open deck in a gale. 'All hands! All hands! At the double!'
Jim Yell leapt to the wheel as if a shot of adrenalin had picked him up bodily from his lounging-stool. Tideman moved swiftly to station at the big central walkaround console. 'Break out the anchor!' I ordered.
He spoke into a voice-tube. 'Bridge here! Full power for all hydraulics!'
He banged down the voice-pipe and manipulated the sail and mast controls, watching expectantly for my next command.
'Back all yards on Numbers One and Two masts: Trim Numbers Three, Four, Five and Sixthree-zero degrees off the wind. Make all sail to the top-gallants — no royals. Stern thruster — full ahead port; bow thruster — . full ahead starboard!'
The purpose of my orders was to box Jetwind's head hard round to face in exactly the opposite direction to which she now lay, bow to the west wind. I would employ the backed sails to swing her bows, while the other sails, in normal position, gave her momentum forwards and sideways. Add to this ten tons of solid shove from the two thrusters and Jetwind would pivot on her heels like a dancer.
She came alive as Tideman's hands played the toggles and push-buttons. Kay was at my side with her calculations.
I snapped into the biich-box mike, 'Captain here! Black out the ship. No lights to be shown. Emergency illumination only.'
Tideman's racing fingers followed my commands. Next moment the bridge was dark except for the binnacle and green-yellow glow of the console dials. I added, 'Black out the sidelights.'
Tideman hesitated fractionally. The law of the sea required a sailing ship under way to carry red and green sidelights, but unlike a steamship no white mast-head lights. This put me legally in the wrong in relation to the Almirante Storni. 'Out!' I repeated.
Jetwind swung round like a racehorse being manoeuvred into its starting-box with only one idea in its head — to streak the hell down the course. The speed of the ship's pivot-turn was electrifying.
'Cut the bow and stern thrusters!' I ordered. 'What depth of water under her?' I asked Tideman.
He checked the fathomer. 'Nine-eight metres, making nine-nine.'
That meant deep enough, but Jetwind had a deep hull, whose grip on the water could be supplemented by two drop-keels, one in the bows and the other in the stern. These could be raised and lowered at will. Nowhere was the anchorage deep enough to use them to advantage. To allow for Jetwind's natural depth I would, in any event, have to follow an irregular course to The Narrows. A slight deviation would ground the ship on the muddy, sticky harbour bottom. 'Wind angle?' I asked. 'Two-seven-zero, true.' So far, so good.
'Steer six-zero,' I told Jim Yell at the wheel. 'Handsomely, as she comes.' To Tideman, 'Brace all yards as she steadies.'
The ship was in the final stage of completing her turn, the great yards above swinging with it. The thrust of over 9000 square metres of aerodynamic dacron was like shove-in-the-back acceleration.
It wasn't the sudden acceleration but a commotion which directed my attention behind me. It was Grohman. He had hastily thrown on his clothes — his shirt was not yet buttoned. His previous neat, rather sinister Spanish grandee air had given way to a savage intensity reminiscent of a stooping giant condor. His head and nose were thrust forward like the Andean bird of prey; his eyes above his stuhbled cheeks seemed to burn.
He came at me with his sleeves rolled roughly to the elbows, like a fen
cer about to lunge. 'Did I hear — Hands to make sail?’
It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. There was even more arrogance in it than he had displayed at Comodoro Rivadavia.
'You're not on watch,'.! responded roughly. 'And I'm the captain of this ship!'
He behaved as if he hadn't heard. 'You're taking the ship out!' 'You're damn right. Straight to the Cape.' 'You can't sail without clearance!' 'Says who?' 'It's illegal! The inquest!'
My attention was on the compass needle. 'Steady as she goes,' I told Jim Yell. 'Hold her like that!' In manoeuvring the ship, I missed the feel of the wind on the nape of my neck; I wanted instinctively to tell Yell to keep his eye on the weather leech of the foresail in order to steer by the wind. Instead, I had to interpret a complex series of read-outs before acting. More accurate, perhaps, but much less human.
My blood was up. Jetwind had a wonderful racing feel — there is nothing to match a ship which responds like that, except perhaps planing full-bore down a Southern Ocean super-wave.
My attention snapped back to Grohman. I told him briefly, 'This is my responsibility. ‘
I saw the cords in his throat knot. Anger blazed in his eyes, then died as he said contemptuously, 'The Almirante Storni is waiting outside. You won't get past her.'
'She is not outside,' I replied. 'She is on her way in. You can have a closer look at her very soon — as we go by.'
For a moment he looked taken aback and then he laughed derisively.
'All this up-and-away action is very dashing — like a movie,' he sneered. 'It is also very unrealistic, Captain Rainier. The Almirante Storni will intercept you, now or later. It is an empty gesture.' He added with a touch of pomposity, 'I wish to publicly dissociate myself from the illegality of your escape.'
'Fine,' I retorted. 'You've said it publicly. Do you also wish to be relieved of your duties publicly?'
A Ravel of Waters Page 11
