We have little breath for talking as we walk. We head further north than the time I came here with Mikkel. As soon as we come out onto the beach we’re hit by the full blast of the wind, but it’s coming off the sea, so there’s no sand in it now. The moon breaks through a patch of cloud, revealing a terrible sight.
The sea is a furious black monster. Huge waves curl and thunder onto the beach. Some distance out, a wooden sailing ship is lying, listing over to one side. The waves are breaking against her and right over her. Her sails are down, torn and flapping uselessly. For a moment I can make out tiny black figures clinging to the sides, and then the moon darkens and only the outline of the ship remains.
I gasp and Hannah puts an arm around my shoulder.
‘It’s caught between the sandbanks,’ she says. ‘The most dangerous place of all. We must pray the lifeboats will be here soon.’
‘Lifeboats?’ I’m only confused for a moment. Of course they must have lifeboats here.
‘They use the biggest fishing boats,’ Hannah explains. ‘There’s one kept just up the beach from here and another at Højen.’
‘Højen?’ I ask.
‘It’s the part of Skagen that’s on this coast,’ Hannah explains.
We are not the only people on the beach. Men, women, and children are standing around us, eyes riveted on the ship in distress out there in the waves. More people are arriving all the time, like silent shadows. One shadow approaches me in the dark:
‘Marianne,’ he says, and offers his hand. It’s so dark that I recognize him by his voice only. It’s Peter. I wonder how he knew me. As I put my hand into his, he clasps both hands around mine for a few moments.
‘Du fryser,’ he tells me. You’re cold. ‘It’s good you’ve brought blankets.’ His voice is approving. ‘They will need them.’
He nods to the ship. I look out to sea again, in time to see a huge wave break over the prow. I can hear cries of distress even over the thunder of the surf. ‘Meanwhile, make sure you stay warm.’ Peter takes the blankets from my arms and shakes them out. They flap wildly, but he holds them fast, and wraps them around my shoulders. I’m glad it’s dark, so he can’t see my flush of pleasure. I can see his eyes shining in the moonlight as he looks at me, but his face is in shadow, and I can’t make out his expression.
‘How long until the lifeboat arrives?’ Hannah asks him.
‘It’s here now,’ he tells her.
Abruptly, Peter leaves my side. I turn around.
‘Look!’ I say to Hannah in astonishment.
Four … no … six strong horses are emerging from a gap in the dunes behind us. They snort and strain in their harness, pulling a huge wooden rowing boat that has been lashed to a wooden frame with wheels. Men in oilskins and sou’westers are helping to lead the horses, shouting their encouragement to them. Others are pushing from behind. I see Peter take a place at the side of the boat and throw his weight into pushing it the final stretch through the soft dunes and down onto the firm beach. The horses are whinnying and shying with fear at the sight and sound of the waves.
‘Those are Christensen’s horses,’ Hannah tells me. ‘He’s a brave lifeboat man. No storm is too fierce for him. But Kruse is the captain of the Skagen lifeboat. He and his crew have saved many lives. They will tonight, too, you wait and see.’
Christensen again. I feel an impulse to turn away and leave. I master it. He won’t see me in the dark.
‘Come on,’ says Hannah. ‘Let’s follow. But take care not to get in the way.’
The moon is out again now, illuminating the scene. There’s one man obviously in charge of directing the operation. ‘That’s Hr Kruse,’ Hannah explains. ‘And the man leading the horses is Hr Christensen.’
I screw up my eyes in the darkness and see that it’s Mikkel’s father.
‘I’ve met him already,’ I say, and move to stand slightly behind Hannah.
‘And you don’t like him?’ she asks.
‘No. I don’t. He terrifies me,’ I admit.
‘I know what you mean,’ Hannah agrees. ‘He’s a harsh man. Strict with others and strict with himself too. But I’ve never heard harm of him.’
Hannah’s eyes are on the lifeboat as she speaks. They are selecting the crew, choosing the strongest men.
I can make out Peter in the darkness, jostling to be chosen, but the crew of ten is complete now. He falls back, and Mikkel’s father himself takes the final place. I haven’t seen Mikkel tonight. I wonder if he is out there in the darkness somewhere, watching as I am. I like to think of him as my cousin, though I don’t dare tell him that we are related. It would involve explanations I don’t wish to give.
They launch the boat with some difficulty. No sooner is she in the water than the Højen boat is pulled up the beach to help. I look out to sea, eager for a glimpse of the boat. I spot her after a few minutes, by the lantern held aloft at her prow by the man on lookout. There’s another man at the stern, steering and calling instructions. The other eight are pulling strongly on the oars.
‘She’s made scarcely any progress. Why?’ I ask Hannah, pointing to the boat. I have to shout to be heard above the waves this close to the water.
‘She can’t stay on course,’ Hannah shouts back. ‘Look at how the wind and waves push her aside.’
She’s right. I can see her being swept this way and that in the swell.
‘The sandbanks make the waves break all the way out,’ Hannah explains. ‘The boat has to get through them all.’
It’s tiring shouting to each other, and we fall silent. We stand for what feels like hours, sometimes with our arms around each other for warmth. Sometimes we walk up and down to relieve our aching legs. But always we watch the lifeboats.
Suddenly Hannah cries, startling me, ‘Look! The lifeboats are turning back!’
‘Turning back?’ I cry in horror. ‘But they didn’t get to the ship.’
It seems the people on board the ship have realized it too. We can hear them screaming and crying over the roaring of the sea. It’s a sound to move the hardest of hearts.
Those who were left behind on the beach crowd around the boats as they are pulled in, plying the crew with snaps, the strong local drink, and warm clothing.
‘They’re exhausted,’ Hannah calls to me.
‘So what happens now?’ I ask.
‘They choose a fresh crew.’
What would it be like to be stranded out there in that raging sea, watching the lifeboats turning back?
‘They must be so afraid out there. I know I would be,’ I tell Hannah.
She nods, her face serious.
First the Højen boat is filled again. There seems to be no shortage of volunteers. I can see Søren’s eldest son, Jakob, but they don’t take him. He’s too young. There is no sign of Søren himself.
Now they are selecting the new crew for the Skagen boat. The last man they take is smaller and less broad than the others.
‘Is that Peter?’ I ask Hannah appalled.
She goes closer to the boat, and then returns.
‘Yes,’ is all she says, but she takes my hand.
I’m proud and terrified all at once. He’s too young to go out there into that danger. But he’s strong. That’s why they’ve taken him. I’ve seen him row his father’s boat.
They begin to push the boat out into the surf, only to be driven back by a wave that knocks several men off their feet. On the second attempt they launch her successfully, the crew jumping over the sides to take their places, the other men falling back to watch. She’s afloat now, the men pulling powerfully on their oars.
The boat is lifted up and back on the crest of a wave, the breaker curling around her. I hold my breath, wondering if she’ll be overturned, but then she plunges down the far side of the wave. We can see her stern for a moment and then she disappears from view, until the next wave lifts her.
I clutch the blankets tight around me and shiver with fear. I’m truly a part of the crowd on the beach no
w; we all have a friend or a relative out there. I care passionately for the safety of the boat, as they do. I glance around me in the darkness. Everyone’s eyes are on the boats. Some people are muttering prayers. I’m tensed, fists clenched, scarcely breathing.
After a while it becomes clear that both boats are making better progress than before. Perhaps the crews are stronger, or the storm is easing. One boat reaches the stricken ship. I can hear people around me shouting that they’ve got the lines across. A cheer goes up around us.
People on board are climbing the rigging to secure the line high up on the main mast. The lifeboats are heading in towards the beach again to bring the other end to the shore.
Peter’s boat is almost in when it happens.
A huge wave roars in to the shore. We watch, helpless, as it catches the lifeboat crosswise, flipping her over. The men tip out, like pennies from a purse, tumbling into the surf.
I hear myself scream, as if from miles away. The sound is echoed all around me as others cry out too.
‘Peter!’ I shout. I want to run down to the sea and plunge into the waves to find him. Hannah stops me, putting both her arms around me, holding me tight. For a moment I struggle, and then I give up. It would be madness. I can’t even swim.
One by one, the men swim ashore.
‘I can’t see Peter,’ I say desperately to Hannah.
‘No, he’s not in yet,’ she agrees, still holding me.
It’s hard to count the men as they come ashore: there are others wading out in the waves, helping the swimmers. They are still looking, waiting. They grab the empty boat as she’s swept towards the beach.
There’s a sudden bang and a flash of gunpowder that makes us both jump. I can just make out a rope snaking into the waves. ‘They’re firing the lines,’ Hannah explains. ‘Ropes for the men in the water to catch hold of.’ Another bang, and another rope shoots out into the water.
My heart is hammering in my chest and my mouth is dry with fear.
One man is pulled out of the water, limp and lifeless. Two men carry him ashore and quickly a group forms around him working to revive him. It’s not Peter. I still can’t see him.
I watch as they try to help the drowned man breathe again. They are pumping the water from his lungs, blowing air into him, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. His family is gathered round. As he remains motionless on the beach, despite everyone’s best efforts, the women begin to cry, quietly at first and then louder. A despairing wail that lifts above the sound of the wind. The men stand at a distance, their faces set and sombre.
‘Is he dead?’ I ask Hannah.
She just nods.
I stare at the body horrified. How would I feel if Peter’s lifeless body were brought to the beach? As though a part of me had died. What a moment to realize that I love him, when he’s lost out there in that monstrous sea. I scan the waves distractedly for some sign of him.
Despite the tragedy, the rescue continues.
Mikkel’s father seems to be everywhere, Lars Kruse too, shouting orders and instructions, their energy driving the other men.
A shout goes up from the water’s edge, and several men snatch one more person from the waves. As they heave him out of the water, we all see the rope around his waist.
‘The line!’ I hear people shout. ‘He has the line to the ship!’
It’s Peter’s waist the ropes are secured to.
‘He’s safe, Marianne, he’s safe,’ Hannah cries.
I feel myself go limp with relief. I’m shaking so that I can hardly stand. My face is wet and I realize I’m crying. At last Hannah lets me go. I stumble towards Peter, pushing past others to reach him. He’s standing supported by another man, coughing and gasping for breath.
‘You’re safe,’ I say stupidly, putting a hand on the wet oilskin of his sleeve. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe.’ He turns to me, looking surprised. He’s still breathing heavily, sea water streaming down his face and clothes. Then he smiles and covers my hand with his. It’s wet and cold. He’s about to speak when an older woman rushes up, scolding and fussing. She wraps a blanket around Peter and hurries him away. We are parted, but as he is led away, Peter pauses and looks back at me once more.
‘That’s his mother,’ Hannah tells me. I hadn’t noticed her appear beside me. I watch them walk away until the darkness swallows them.
The men on the beach have driven posts into the sand while the lifeboats did their work. Now they secure the line from the ship to them, creating a kind of pulley, which they use to drag people over the sea from the ship. One by one they arrive, swinging in a sort of basket suspended from the rope, soaking wet from the waves that have drenched them, and shivering with cold.
‘At last we have work to do,’ Hannah tells me. ‘Come and help get them out of their wet clothes.’
We both help, handing out the blankets we have brought, tying the discarded clothes in bundles to be dried. The crew is Norwegian, and they have passengers on board, including women and children. They are offered food, hot ale, and snaps and in pairs and small groups they are led back to people’s houses in Skagen, to whoever has room to take them in.
A mother and her daughter are hauled to the beach together along the line. They are clinging to each other. As soon as they reach the beach, the mother collapses. Several women help revive her, wrapping her in a blanket, and chafing her hands.
Her daughter stands, shivering and alone, watching her mother fearfully. Her eyes are wide with shock. She can’t be more than nine or ten years old. I wrap my last blanket around her, shivering myself now in the storm. I touch the girl’s hand and it’s like ice. Instinctively I put my arms around her, holding the blanket close, shielding her from the worst of the wind with my body. She’s rigid at first, then she suddenly goes limp. Putting her head on my shoulder she begins to cry. Great sobs shake her whole body, making her gasp for breath.
‘It’s all right now, you’re both safe,’ I say, stroking her wet hair.
She understands neither English nor Danish, but gradually her sobs quieten, until only her shuddering breathing betrays her distress.
We stand together as her mother recovers, watching other people being brought safely from the boat. When a woman I know by sight comes to take the girl and her mother to her house, it is hard to let her go.
‘You’re going to go with this lady now,’ I try to explain. ‘To get warm, and have some food.’
But the girl clings to me, her chilled hands clutching mine, until her mother herself comes to draw her away.
I look for Hannah in the crowd, and feel comforted when, as soon as she sees me, she takes my hand. Dawn is breaking slowly behind us, lighting up the shape of the ship, lying at a crazy angle out in the swell.
Without warning we hear a great crack, and a long-drawn-out sound of splintering wood. We watch, horrified, as the mast to which the line is secured slowly topples into the sea. The rope goes slack at once, plunging the person who was halfway along it down into the waves.
We can hear terrified screams from the ship. It is not only the mast that has snapped. Strained beyond endurance by the pounding of the waves, the whole ship is breaking up. I can see waves crashing right over her now. People are being swept off the decks into the sea. I feel sick with horror.
‘After all that hard work, people are still going to drown out there, aren’t they?’ I cry. ‘I can’t bear it.’ I can feel tears running down my face.
‘Yes,’ says Hannah sadly. I realize that for her, this scene isn’t new. She’s seen it before. Perhaps many times.
Fresh crews are running to man the lifeboats again, ready to try and pick up survivors. I see Christensen himself climbing into the boat to go out again. His voice is hoarse now as he calls for others to go with him.
A third, much smaller boat is being launched. I see it is Søren and his fishing crew.
‘Look, Søren is helping at last,’ I say, pleased about that at least. ‘His boat looks rather small to pick up survi
vors, though.’
The light is growing, despite the storm clouds, and we can see the lifeboats pause from time to time to pull people out of the water.
I hear an angry exclamation from Hannah. I follow the direction she is looking in and see a shameful sight. A survivor is clinging to the side of the third boat, trying to climb in. Instead of helping him, we both see clearly how Søren uses his oar to push the man away from the boat and back into the sea.
‘What are they doing?’ I yell, looking at Hannah. ‘Why are they going out there if not to save the people?’ My stomach twists at the sight of the desperate man.
‘It’s not people they want to save,’ Hannah tells me bitterly. ‘It’s clothes, food, wine, and any valuables they can steal.’ She looks around us. ‘I wish the commissioner for wrecks had seen that,’ she says. ‘They’d be in such trouble.’ Most people’s eyes seem to be on the lifeboats. One or two others have seen what we saw though. I can hear some angry mutters around us. I wonder how Søren and his friends will dare come back.
‘What a family I live with.’ Little better than wreckers, I want to say, but I don’t know the words for it in Danish. They may be poor, but there will surely be time to loot the ship once its crew and passengers are safe.
One lifeboat returns. They have a survivor, a young man who shivers and shakes as they help him out of the boat. They also have three bodies, which they lay respectfully out on the sand. They are limp, their hair bedraggled and their faces drained of colour.
‘Poor things,’ says Hannah pityingly. ‘They were healthy young men a few hours ago.’
I shudder and turn away.
‘The bodies that are washed up after a few days are much worse,’ Hannah tells me grimly.
I’m exhausted and cold. My legs and back are aching from so many hours standing. I’m just wondering about going home, when we notice a movement out to sea. The ship is shifting, and slowly, slowly, she sinks beneath the waves until only her stern and her unbroken masts are showing.
I scan the sea for a glimpse of Søren’s boat.
Between Two Seas Page 9
