The Prisoner's Dilemma

by Sean Stuart O'Connor

  ‘Mark him with your arm! Point now.’

  Zweig wrenched his jacket off. He stood on one leg as he pulled at first one and then the other of his boots. He glared at where Sophie was standing, looking anxiously into the sea.

  ‘Point at me in the water. Never let your arm drop!’

  With a fierce last look at her he turned and bellowed at the Master.

  ‘Figure eight!’

  Zweig then sprang up on the rail and hurled himself into the blackness of the cold waves. Sophie saw him surface and strike out powerfully towards where the boy had last been seen. She had no idea why she’d been told to point but she knew that if the boy’s life depended on it then she must do as she’d been told. As the ship pitched and rolled in the swell she’d see and then lose Zweig in the waves and she now saw why she and the sailor had been ordered to point – if they had not the two men would very quickly have been lost against the darkness of the background.

  ‘About!’ yelled the Master as he helped the helmsman push the wheel hard over to bring the ship’s head through the wind and back to the men in the water. Sophie, unused to the maneuver suddenly found that she had to run to the other side of the ship, her arm still outstretched. For long seconds it seemed as if she’d lose Zweig’s head in the blackness of the sea and a terrible temptation surged through her to drop her arm or point away. She was quite sure that if she did, she could be rid of him in an instant. But then she saw his head break surface and she knew that she had to see the boy saved.

  Zweig looked towards the ship, seeing where the two arms pointed and quickly estimating where Schnapps was. He struck out strongly once more and soon came alongside him. He swam behind the boy and cupped his head in his hands, just as his wild thrashing was coming to an exhausted end. Zweig then waved with his free hand to the watching helmsman.

  The ship passed them on its return and the Master swung the wheel again to bring its head into wind. Slowly it turned and came to a stop alongside the men as the sails flapped hectically, all sheets loose. The crew flung rope ladders over the side and sailors jumped down to manhandle the exhausted pair up on deck.

  Poor Schnapps couldn’t stand and his eyes rolled back as strong hands helped him below. But Zweig climbed over the rail and waved away the offer of a cloak, his clothes clinging to his colossal frame and his chest heaving as he struggled to recover his breath. In spite of her anger Sophie had to fight to hide the admiration that arose in her.

  Zweig stood panting for a few moments before he moved towards where he’d left his boots. As he passed he stopped by Sophie and turned to look into her face.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said simply.

  ‘For what? she spat back. ‘I did nothing.’

  Zweig smiled.

  ‘But you did. You chose to save me. You decided I shouldn’t die.’

  Sophie felt her colour flare.

  ‘No, I didn’t. I saved the boy,’ she replied flatly, and turned to return to her cabin.

  * * *

  Mona McLeish sat on a large stone outside her cottage as she washed clothes in a tin basin. James stood near her, looking out to sea. Since Alistair had died he didn’t like to leave his mother on her own and he frequently found excuses now not to go out with the Dunbeaton fishing fleet when it sailed.

  Three men rounded the cottage, two of them carrying a long and obviously heavy object, bound tightly in sailcloth. Mona looked up and with a mother’s instinct, knew that Alistair had come back to her. She ran towards them and flung herself at the wrapping, tearing it apart.

  ‘Oh, Ally, Ally,’ she sobbed to the bloated grey face, over and over again as the small group looked on, wringing their caps in their hands. James ran to join his mother. He seemed to be on the verge of collapse as he stroked his brother’s hair.

  ‘Ally, man, why did you go in there?’ was all he could cry. Any sign of guilt was buried too deep within his wailing for anyone to see.

  Chapter 6

  After a further three days the weather changed. For some time the Schwarzsturmvogel had beaten along with a strong northerly on its beam, taking them through the Skagerrak, beyond Kristiansand and past the southern tip of Norway. Then Zweig had altered course, set due west and began to fly across the open sea and towards the Scottish coast.

  But after a day of this the good wind they’d been enjoying had suddenly dropped completely and the Schwarzsturmvogel found itself in such still air that it could have been the equatorial doldrums. Now, in the late afternoon, Zweig and his sailing master stood on the aft deck looking out at the sea’s glassy calm and a surface so oily that the low winter sun reflected a cloudless sky. The sails hung limp from the yards and an uneasy lassitude descended on the men as they went about their duties. The more superstitious among them could be heard muttering their usual panicked predictions but even the stronger minded glanced frequently astern of their position, oppressed by the heavy atmosphere and only too well aware of their captain’s anxious manner.

  ‘There’s a bad blow coming, Hartmann,’ Zweig said in a low voice to his sailing master, ‘short and fierce, I have no doubt. Perhaps you would spare me the time to speak together in my cabin.’ The Master nodded and Zweig called out to a passing sailor.

  ‘You there, send word to the first mate that the Master and I shall take a glass below. And the rest of you,’ he shouted more loudly, ‘cease your whistling for a wind. You may have your wish before too long!’

  The two men clattered expertly down the stairwell to Zweig’s quarters. They removed their sea jackets and sat down, spreading charts out on the table. Not for the first time that day they reworked their position and then reworked it again. Of the latitude, there was little doubt: they had taken a good noon reading and the compass had held firm. But the longitude was still too uncertain. Zweig pointed at the line of the north Scottish coast as it weaved its ragged way on the chart, and he drew with his finger the path he believed the ship had taken.

  ‘We shall see our landfall soon if we pick up our wind again before too long,’ he said, almost to himself.

  He tapped the chart.

  ‘You know this port here, Hartmann? Wick? I believe we shall see its lights later this evening. No doubt you’ve been there yourself and you’d agree with me that we shall feel happier when we can pick up its sighting lines and come down the coast.’

  As he said this, his finger finished its meandering. It now stopped on a small inlet marked on the map about twenty miles south of Wick.

  ‘This is our landing place, Hartmann. I can tell you that now. You may have thought me strange for not giving you our journey’s end before but I’ve had my reasons for acting as I have. But we are close to it now and there will be a strong tide running soon and when this storm hits us we’ll be fighting a following sea. If the weather gods will it, we shall reach this inlet by the early hours of tomorrow.’

  There was a silence as Hartmann carefully studied the chart.

  ‘But there is nothing marked there, sir,’ he replied at last, ‘just the mouth of the river. There’s no village on the chart there or anywhere near it. Nothing. How are we to land our cargo?’

  ‘Have no worries on that, Master. It is a sheltered spot and I’ve been assured that we’ll be roped into a wharf that our clients will have made. I’ve no doubt there will be men enough to unload us.’

  Hartmann took a step backwards and gave Zweig a look that managed to combine a respectful concern with his natural obedience.

  ‘We have sailed together these ten years or more, sir,’ he said quietly, ‘and with much success. But will you not tell me why we are coming here?’ Hartmann hesitated for a moment and then added more nervously, ‘and what we carry?’

  ‘All in good time, Master. Know enough for the present. But have the men check those barrels again. I’ve heard you say yourself that the greater the calm the greater the storm. I’ve seen these signs before and that’s no ordinary storm that approaches. We shall be shaken like a mouse in a catspaw before long a
nd if those barrels aren’t secure we won’t be going home. Yes, double the bindings if we still have the time. But tell the men to employ no naked flames down there, just lanterns.’

  They returned on deck to where the hands were lashing down spars and checking the boats. Although a feather would still have dropped like a stone in the static air, Zweig shortened yet more sail and sent a further man aft to the wheel.

  As the daylight fell, Sophie came on deck. She had heard the shouted orders and sensed the tension above her, increasingly certain of the sense of latent crisis. She now stood by the stairwell canopy as the temperature plunged and darkness swallowed the ship. Around her she saw men glance up and nod to each other towards where a swirling, evil-looking black mass was growing ever larger behind them.

  Before it had dropped the wind had come from the north but the slight breeze that came to them now was from the east. It had begun to freshen when Kittzinger, one of the topmen that had been sent up to bring in yet more sail, threw an arm urgently off the starboard beam and yelled to the deck below.

  ‘Land! Land! A light there!’

  In an instant Zweig had a telescope up to his eye and had found the faint flicker.

  ‘This is bad, Hartmann,’ he said urgently, ‘that must be the Urquhain beacon at Dunbeaton Head. We are far closer in than we thought. This cursed tide and the swell have been pushing us all the time. We’ve been making no way – we’ve missed our course for Wick and drifted further south. How long do we have before that black hell is on us? We must bring our head up before it hits. There’s not a man amongst us that can’t see the danger here – if we’re blown down onto that lee shore we’ll find nothing but a graveyard of rocks.’

  Even as he said this the wind was increasing by the second and as the sails now filled the ship sprang forward in the churning sea like a crazed bull released from its pen. Two short minutes later, the full force of the gale was on them, shaking the ship with a terrifying savagery. Zweig had turned and was running aft to where two men struggled to hold the wheel when he saw Sophie standing at the rail. As he approached her, the ship gave a huge lurch and Zweig snatched at a handhold and spoke to her in a tone that left no room for discussion.

  ‘You must go below, Sophie. We are in for some bad weather here.’

  ‘Bad weather? I have seen the faces of your crew. They tell a different story. Bad weather is the least of what they expect. I am here to see the end of your mad adventures, Zweig. God may yet have a hand in your plans.’

  Zweig smiled and leant towards her, suddenly calmer and yet still utterly forceful.

  ‘There will be no end here, Sophie. You will wait in vain. Now go below, please. There will be much to occupy us. The men have enough to do without worrying about you.’

  Sophie began to bridle but the weight of Zweig’s personality brooked no argument. She turned and carefully retreated back down the bucking stairwell.

  * * *

  Lord Dunbeath sat at a round table in the window of the great dining salon. He was reading a small leather-covered book as Annie ladled soup into his bowl, seemingly oblivious to the storm that now screamed outside.

  ‘It’s a terrible night, my lord,’ Annie said, glancing up as lightning ripped across the sky, ‘did you not see it earlier? Not a breath of wind. Now this. By Saint Columba, I hope there are no fishing boats still out.’

  ‘I have the roof closed in the observatory,’ said Dunbeath flatly, turning over a page. ‘I shall open it later. There will be enough moonlight for me to take my readings and I’ll be working late. That’s enough now, Annie. You may go to your bed.’

  * * *

  The Schwarzsturmvogel shook like a cornered rat. Zweig had set and reset his sails three times in under an hour and yet the ship still refused to slow its sideways slew towards the cliffs and gullies of the Caithness coast. Deep in the pit of his stomach Zweig saw the signs only too clearly and he knew well that he would be taken to account for the shallow draft of his boat – much as this was an advantage in the approaches to Königsberg so it would send them skidding into the lee shore in this raging sea.

  The wind had been rising with each passing minute and it now screamed in the rigging with all the mad vengeance of a spiteful phantom. Around them, the sea was being whipped to a foam-flecked horror and an unremitting swirl of spindrift lashed the deck and weighed still further the sodden sails. Exhausted and half drowned, the men glanced frequently at the ever-closing distance between themselves and the terrifying rock-lined coast.

  Zweig called his sailing master over.

  ‘We’ll play another card, Hartmann,’ he yelled against the howl of the storm, dashing spray from his face. ‘We shall beat this inferno yet. Take in all the sails but then prepare to bend on every scrap of foresail we possess. Just foresail. When you have that ready, drop a canvas sea anchor from the bow on my order. That should bring the head round. Then spread everything you have for’ard. The staysail, the topmast staysail, the jib. Even the skyscraper and the stargazer if you can set them. Yes, I know, much of it will be carried away but we should be pointing up by then. Be ready to cut them away and bend on the for’ard storm-sails when her head’s up. Then let the anchor go. If we can just round that headland we may escape this yet.’

  The Master nodded and ran forward, bellowing orders as he went.

  ‘Schnapps,’ shouted Zweig, waving at the boy to come over to him, ‘go below and tell the cook to dowse his fire. Cold fare until this is over. And Schnapps …’ he looked down at the boy’s frightful colour and smiled as he shouted in his ear ‘…have no fear, youngster, we’ve been in worse spots than this.’ The child grinned and scampered to the stairwell. He slid down the handrails and ran into the galley to where the cook was lashing down his pots and plates with all the urgency of an octopus hiding its young.

  ‘Captain’s orders, Mr Cook. Dowse the galley fire, please.’

  Above them the topmast crew clung desperately to the yardarms as they fought to furl the sails. A few minutes later, all was away but with the sails now completely reefed the ship was picking up ever greater speed. It was now hurtling sideways towards a wide bay when a shout went up from the helmsman.

  ‘She’s not responding, sir! She won’t answer!’

  Zweig ignored the man’s cries and held up an arm. The foredeck crew waited for the signal, grimly holding on, lashed by the torrential waves that fell over them. Their anxious faces turned towards their captain.

  ‘Now!’ shouted Zweig, bringing his arm down. Hartmann and his crew reacted as one and with the sea anchor flung into the turmoil, the sails were spread, the flapping canvas howling as the sheets tightened. The ship shuddered, shaken by the sudden change of direction, and the stern swung round as the foresails filled. The Schwarzsturmvogel’s head now pointed up and the ship momentarily seemed to be making way. A great cheer went up from the crew above the scream of the wind, and the men looked back to where Zweig stood, his eyes squinting into the slashing gale, each of them certain that their fabled captain had found a way to safety.

  It was at that precise moment that the ship struck the first of the underwater rocks.

  The stern hit first and came to a standstill. Then the rest of the ship swung round, swept forward by the mountainous waves. Sideways on now, the whole vessel struck and rode high on the reef, up and up until, for long seconds, it seemed to rest there as if uncertain what to do. Then, with a terrible grinding shriek, it collapsed onto a further row of the evil black mass. As suddenly as it had hit, the ship came to a complete halt, now fallen towards the land yet still high out of the water.

  There was chaos on board. The impact had flung men to the deck and many slid towards the rail, snatching desperately at anything that came to hand. Some were swept clean through by the weight of the waves that pounded the static ship. The more fortunate clutched at ropes or posts. But, even in the midst of the mayhem, time seemed to stop and every man now looked up to where the masts shook forwards and then back again with a
violence that had only one end. They gave a great quiver once more, cracked, then wrenched and groaned as they sheared away under the impossible force of the ship’s sudden end. First one and then the other gave and in seconds both were in the foaming sea like so much loose lumber.

  Zweig was the first to recover. In an instant he was on his feet, his legs bent on the sloping deck. He took in their position with a sideways glance and began to run aft.

  Below deck was yet further catastrophe. The ship’s cook had a scuttlebutt of water lifted to drown the galley fire when the ship had struck. His balance completely lost, he’d been hurled off his feet into a crossbeam and he now he lay unconscious, red hot charcoal from the fire scattered around him. In seconds a smashed lantern flared up from its spilt oil and in another blink there were leaping flames, fanned by the screaming wind that made its way below decks. Before a minute was out, even the galley furniture was ablaze.

  * * *

  Dunbeath leant down to make a note and then returned to the eyepiece of the enormous telescope. He looked through it as clouds flew wildly across the image. He focused again to take a further reading. From behind him came a loud banging on the observatory door.

  ‘Come quickly! You must come, my lord.’ Annie was yelling frantically. ‘There’s a ship on the rocks. They’re coming down from Dunbeaton now with ropes. Will you no come and help?’

  ‘Go away woman,’ replied Dunbeath with a growl, ‘what’s it to me if they live or die?’

  ‘Sir, sir!’ Annie was shouting in her panic. ‘Please, you must come. There may be a chance for them yet.’ Desperate for him to take notice she threw caution to the wind. ‘What’s your work for, my lord, if it isn’t to save poor sailors’ lives?’

  ‘Go away,’ Dunbeath called back again, more quietly this time as he coolly put his eye to the brass lenspiece. Then he muttered to himself. ‘Save lives? That’s good. They have God to worry about that. I’m about winning the Longitude Prize.’

  * * *