"We'd be quicker under oars than this, sor," grumbled the Master's Mate, Joshua Smales.
"I dare say, Smales," nodded Harry absently as he filled in the details of a headland on his pad, "But I think it would be a long and hot pull."
"Still get us back to the ship a mite quicker I'm thinking." The big Master's Mate grinned. "And the doxies in Port Jackson, eh, lads?"
"I see." Harry smiled. "So the grog and the ladies is what you really crave is it, Mister Master's Mate? Not the great opportunity to discover new fishes, or see strange animals?" Some of the nearer men grinned appreciatively at this and the Master's Mate laughed.
"After two weeks in this tub? Baked in the sun and being eaten by them mosquito things? I thank 'e kindly, Mister Heron, but the grogshop and a good doxy will do for me for the minute," he responded.
"Both will very likely do for you completely in excess," grinned Harry. "But I take your meaning. Even my cot in the Gunroom is strangely appealing now."
This raised a laugh from the crew and the banter continued until Harry was roused from his sketching and notes by the coxswain who said, "Lieutenant Rae's boat is shipping her bow oars sir."
Harry looked up and saw the Lieutenant's barge had indeed shipped her four forward oars. "Someone else seems to be in a hurry, Smales," he said with a laugh. "Let us do the same if you please, clear away the oars and let us get to work. Relieve the rowers every half hour if you will."
"Aye, aye, sir." The big man's face broke into a broad grin, "Right you lazy buggers. Get them bow oars shipped and start us homeward!"
***
Noon found them still making steady progress under sail and four oars. Harry giving orders for water to be issued and food distributed at midday.
He studied the southern horizon carefully. The sky had a harsh colour, with an iron grey line along the horizon. The air tasted as if it had been baked in a furnace as the breeze puffed fitfully. It was well that he had ordered the men to eat when he did, for, barely an hour later the wind backed suddenly to the South-South-West and rose rapidly to a near gale. Initially this forced the boats to alter course away from the land and out into the ocean. But, as the wind continued to rise the Lieutenant signalled a change of course. Under reduced canvas the little flotilla struggled back towards the coast in the hope of finding shelter behind a headland or perhaps an inlet they could use. The sea, once calm and easy, was now a maelstrom of broken crests and flung spume driven by the shrieking wind which brought with it a biting cold and rain. Very soon the three boats were each sailing alone, struggling to stay afloat and to survive the fury of the storm. Less than two hours after it began Harry's launch was alone on the storm driven seas, the big gaff mainsail already reefed to its maximum and the foresail reduced to a minimum. Breaking crests threatened them from all sides as they struggled under mere scraps of canvas to keep the boat under control.
The rain, driven by the gale, slashed at Harry's face and penetrated his borrowed tarpaulin jacket. The precious rough charts and sketches had long since been stowed carefully in a leather satchel and then inserted into a small cask specially emptied to take them safely. The cutter plunged deep into the trough, and spray mingled with the rain to drive inboard. Above the groan of the rigging and the clatter as some loose blocks made sharp contact with the almost bare gaff he could hear the Master's Mate urging the men to greater efforts in bailing. He looked down and saw that the water had risen above the gratings at his feet. 'Damn', he thought, 'we'll have to get rid of that.' As the cutter heeled to another powerful gust, the water surged, carrying with it several loose items of gear and Harry yelled, "Smales! We shall have to reduce canvas. Get the mainsail down and rig a storm sail. And more hands to bail as soon as that's done."
"Aye, aye, sir." The big Master's Mate bawled at several of the men crouched around him and pushed, pulled and bullied them into position to lower the sail. "Easy now my bullies. We'll want to keep it so make sure you keep a hold of it."
From the tiller Harry watched as the men began to caste off the halyard in preparation and, using a trick the Spartan's Sailing Master had shown him, eased the bows into the wind. With the easing of the pressure in the sail he held her at an angle that allowed him to just maintain steerageway on the boat. They crested another great roller as the sail descended into the boat and Smales and the men flung themselves onto it, wrestling the cloth into submission while Harry eased the tiller and with just the small foresail still set, tried to keep the open cutter on a heading that allowed her to ride the breaking crests without shipping any more water than could be avoided. The motion of the boat seemed a little easier, but was still violent and the surging water in the bilges certainly didn't help.
How different, he reflected, from the weather of the outward voyage and the two weeks past! He focussed on the seas surging and breaking around them, trying to find a passage between the breaking crests and still hold a course toward what he hoped would be safety. Alone now, and the only 'officer', he had to remain calm and at least try to look self assured and confident for the sake of the men. He was soaked through and cold – and not a little afraid, but managed to smile as he helped one of the men regain a seat and start to bail.
Darkness came early with the storm wrack overhead and Harry relieved the men at the tiller as the darkness closed in.
"Stand by to come about," he called as the last light began to fade. When everyone was ready, he put the helm down and managed to swing the bow through the eye of the wind between crests. With the boat settled on the new tack he took stock as they began to rise to the next broken wave. The Master's Mate settled once more beside him, a reassuring presence and he said, "Since I cannot see the shore and it is pretty inhospitable in these conditions, we shall keep off until dawn and hope the weather moderates by then."
-
Chapter 22 — A Southerly Buster
Harry intended to stay well clear of the rocky islet. He knew it lurked off the headland they had been able to see occasionally as the boat soared and plunged in the steep seas as they closed the coast. Unable now to see either headland or islet, he had no wish to run into them in the dark.
"Good thinking, sir." The Master's Mate managed over the howl of the wind. "Shall I get the lad's to take more sail from her?"
"Please, Smales. Take in the foresail." Harry shouted back. The wind was now cold and the boat's motion increasingly violent, or so it seemed. Under just the storm trysail they had a better chance of staying afloat. And, Harry hoped, would be in a position from where they would be able to regain the land once the light returned. As is ever the impression, the wind seemed to increase, and the seas rise to greater heights in the darkness. Often only the flash of foam or the roar of a breaking crest would provide warning of what was to come before the cutter was engulfed in yet another burst of spray or torrent over the gunwales. The men bailed continuously.
Twice during the night they were nearly swamped by rogue seas rushing at them out of the darkness. Only the skill of the Master's Mate at the tiller saved them on the first and Harry's quick responses on the second. Harry was troubled by the fact that the present wind direction meant he would have to turn the boat across the seas to steer towards land when dawn came. There was no sign either of the other boats and he could only hope and pray that they were safe. As the night dragged on, Harry found himself reciting aloud the words of the seafarers psalm; "They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters; these men see the works of the Lord: and his wonders in the deep. For at his word the stormy wind ariseth: which lifteth up the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again to the deep: their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man: and are at their wit's end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble: he delivereth them out of their distress. For he maketh the storm to cease: so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad, because they are at rest: and so he bringeth them unto the haven where
they would be." He stopped, suddenly aware that the men nearest him were staring at him. He grinned, "It may just help, and it certainly describes our present difficulties," he was relieved when the men grinned in response and passed it on.
Somehow it did help and the embattled crew seemed to take on a less pessimistic attitude. Harry detected a new determination in their actions toward saving their little ship and its fragile cargo of mortals with a renewed strength. He uttered a silent prayer for deliverance, exhaustion slowly creeping into his aching limbs as he fought to control the cutter.
"Here, Pascoe." He beckoned one of the older men. "Take the tiller for a spell will you. I need to think on how to reshape our course."
"Aye, aye, sir." The man eased into the stern sheets on the leeward side leaving the weather side to Harry.
Dawn broke on a violent sea, the wind unabated and the rain cold. Taking the tiller again, Harry said, "Smales, see what can be done to rig a shelter forward. It may help to keep at least some water out." He paused to dash a solid burst of spray from his face and eyes, angry with himself for not thinking of this earlier, and added, "Then see what can be done to feed the men."
They crested another huge sea. "Sir," called a man by the windward shrouds. "Boat in sight to Starboard – they'm in trouble, sir. They's lorst their mast an' is jury rigged."
"Where away?" demanded Harry, and the man stood, clinging to the shrouds and pointed directly over their quarter. Harry swung to look. "Damn," he said. "Very well, we shall have to work our way towards them." He studied the seas carefully, and looked at the cover Smales and the hands had succeeded in securing over the forward end of the cutter. Already it was making a difference. The boat was no longer scooping water every time she plunged into a trough. He made up his mind. "Smales," he called. "We will have to lay ourselves on the other tack, and will need the foresail briefly." This would double the sail area with the tiny trysail – but it would be more than enough. Handing the tiller back to Pascoe, Harry took a bearing on the second boat and then studied the seas and the windblown spume giving a clear indication of direction.
As the tiny scrap of the foresail was hauled up and sheeted home, he said to the coxswain, "Put the helm down on my signal, Pascoe, and work us across to the other boat please."
"Aye, aye, sir," the man grinned at him. "This'll get lively I'm thinkin'."
"I suspect you're right." Harry grinned back, then called to the rest, "Stand by to come about." He watched their preparations, one eye on the seas surging around them, and, when he saw the opportunity to make the turn in relative safety, he shouted, "Now! Helm a-lee."
The cutter reared at the top of a crest, paused, then plunged again into the trough, her head swinging through the wind, the small storm sail slamming the booms across as she settled on her new heading. The motion changed as they began to take the seas at a new and more dangerous angle. The most immediate effect was to give the cutter an uncomfortable corkscrew motion as she rode the waves. But, as the time slipped slowly by and the other boat came gradually closer, it seemed to Harry that the wind was also easing down. The sea remained confused and rough, as if some monster beneath them were stirring it in some fiendish cauldron. An hour passed before the other cutter was in sight continuously.
"Dismasted, sor," called Smales. "Jury rigged usin' her oars lashed together. They've been lucky – look, she's lost a part of her gunwale!"
Harry saw, as the other cutter rolled over the crest of a wave, that a large part of her upper strake was indeed missing. He nodded, "She looks in bad case. But is it Mister Rae's boat or Mister Bowles?"
"Mister Bowles, sir," replied Smales. "That be the number one cutter."
Harry studied the boat, "So it is, but I must always look very close before I can tell them apart."
"Lord bless you sir," grinned Smales, "But there's a world o' difference." He studied Harry carefully. "Now then, sir, what would you we do once we get close to them?"
"Well, we'll have to see what can be done. Can we tow them do you think?"
"Tow them? Aye, we could do that, sir. It will be slow work, but it can be done," said the Master's Mate.
***
Half an hour later the two boats were close enough for Harry to call across to Midshipman Bowles, "What do you need?"
"Some decent weather," came the cheerful response. "And a tow when we can do so safely."
"We will make ready," called Harry. "The wind seems to be abating, but I suspect the sea will remain in this state for some hours yet."
"Aye, that it will. But we will have to deal with it, Harry, old man," called Tom Bowles with a laugh. "You fellows really were a sight for our sore eyes when you hove into view. Let me know when you are ready."
Twenty minutes later the two boats had succeeded in passing a line and Harry's cutter slowly took the strain. At least now they were heading towards the coast and Harry had every confidence that he could find the entrance to either Port Jackson or Botany Bay – if he could once find the coast.
They found the entrance to Port Jackson, sighting the shore a little north of it, and glimpsing Lieutenant Rae's barge far to the North as they did so. The two boats entered the great harbour slowly as the light began to fade and this time it was Harry who suggested that a little assistance from the oars would speed their arrival. As they made their way towards the anchored ship, their floating home, he felt a glow of pride. They had survived a violent storm in a small and open boat. They had returned with one of their number in tow and would soon be absorbed into the greater company of their ship once more. But somehow, for him, nothing would ever be quite the same again. He had held his first command and kept his people alive.
They had survived. He gave silent thanks in the words of the remembered prayer.
O most almighty and gracious God, thy mercy is over all thy works, but in a special manner hath been extended toward us, whom thou hast so powerfully and wonderfully defended …..
***
Harry would have been embarrassed to hear the boat crews recounting the story in their mess. But his friend Ferghal felt a glow of pride as he heard the Master's Mate tell his fellows, "Cool one that Mid. He'll do fer me!"
-
Chapter 23 — The Coral Barrier
The dramatic return of the survey party to the ship was overshadowed by two events that cost the ship another midshipman in the first and a seaman in the second. The first was the death of Mister Midshipman Pelham, who had the misfortune to be bitten by a snake while walking near the town. Harry was one of many who were deeply saddened by the news of Joseph Pelham's demise although he was one of the more senior members of the Gunroom and a quiet one at that.
"He did not bully or abuse his position," Harry reminded Kit as they discussed the sad event. "Unlike some we know. Why is it always the better among us who are struck down?"
"Part of the Divine ineffability my friend," retorted Kit, though he also sometimes wondered at this apparent selectivity. In Harry's absence the Gunroom had seen another death. Midshipman Trehearne had died after spending a full day hatless and jacketless in the rigging supervising the rerigging of the topsail halyards. He had seemed healthy on his descent, though badly sunburned and slightly fevered. He had begun complaining of a great thirst and a headache and was sent below by the surgeon after a great telling off.
"We found him in his hammock later. Unconscious and in a great fever," Kit told Harry. "Neither the usual tender ministrations of our Senior nor the Surgeon's more careful attention could rouse him. He was not perspiring and to the touch felt hot and dry. He died a little later."
"Was it a fever?" asked Harry. "A plague perhaps?"
"According to the Sawbones it was the result of working without protection in the sun and the heat. He had taken no drink during the day and when he did come down for our dinner he was sent aloft again by Eamon for some omission. He'd no chance to even taste his food or relieve his thirst." Kit glanced around carefully to see who might be in earshot. "The Capta
in was in a fury and I think if the opportunity serves will take some action over it."
"A pity it has to come to a death," Harry observed. Adding, "Though I hear that the surgeon has persuaded our Captain to cease all work aloft in the heat of the day."
"True," Kit replied with a grin, "And forbidden our senior from awarding any punishment on pain of immediate dismissal to await court martial." He nudged Harry in the ribs. "So we may be safe from his attentions for a while at least."
"Aye," said Harry, frowning. "But best not to put it to any great test."
***
Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure Page 19
