He went to the bridge and looked down at the dazed faces of his crew. “Mutiny—eh?” he said. Then in a wilder voice, “Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out in sharing that which you have pill’d from me I Which of you trembles not that looks on me?” His tone suddenly became steadier. “The first man that takes a step forward—I’ll shoot him.” They were dumb with fright, cowed. It was the madness of the man as much as the gun in his hand that held them back. They were afraid of him.
Hendrik plucked him by the sleeve and pointed to the Trikkala. “They’re training that gun of theirs on us, Cap’n Halsey. Do ye think it wise to risk being blown oot o’ the water?”
“So long as Vardy is alive they won’t shoot,” Halsey retorted sharply. “Anyway,” he added in a lower tone, “we’ve got to risk it.”
“We could wait till nightfall and board them under cover of darkness,” the mate reminded him.
Halsey gave a sneering laugh. “With a mutinous crew like this. The first time Vardy hailed us did the damage. And now Rankin’s shot, they’re scared. If I thought there was any other way, Mr. Hendrik, believe me I’d take it. Jukes, slip the noose over his head and stand him at the top of the bridge ladder. Get hold of the rope, man.”
The hemp was rough and wet with sea water. I passed my tongue across my swollen lips. The blood tasted salt in my mouth. There was only one chance now. The crew wouldn’t do anything. They were unarmed and he had them at his mercy. “Captain Halsey,” I said. “I’ll do as you want. Give me the loudhailer.”
He hesitated. His black eyes fixed on me as though he would read what was in my mind. But apparently I looked sufficiently dejected, for he held the mike out to me and switched on so that I could hear the crackle of the loudhailer’s amplifier on the mast above my head. “Bert!” I hailed. I could see him sitting on the elevation seat of the three-inch with Jenny on the traversing side. The muzzle of it pointed straight at us. “These are orders,” I went on. “Open fire immediately.”
The mike was jerked out of my hand. The noose closed like a rough vice round my neck and I gasped for breath. At the same time somebody’s fist crashed into my face. I saw nothing then. I was blinded by pain and gasping for breath. Dimly I heard Halsey on the loudhailer saying, “Stop. The instant you fire, Vardy will be killed. Listen carefully! I shall steam clear of you now and I will give you a further quarter of an hour to vacate the Trikkala. If you are not clear of the ship by then, Vardy will be hanged. Is that clear, Trikkala?”
Then Bert’s voice came floating across the water, distorted by the megaphone he held to his lips. “I got yer, Cap’n ’Alsey. But I’m warning yer, the instant Vardy’s feet leave the ground, I’ll blow yer a’t the water. And don’t yer try steamin’ a’t o’ range or I’ll open fire.” And then in a louder voice, “Men of the Tempest—the man standin’ on the bridge there is a ’omicidal maniac. If you ain’t got the guts ter rush ’im, ’ell murder you same as he done——”
“Full ahead both,” ordered Halsey.
Hendrik leaped to the telegraph and clanged it sharply twice. “Full ahead, it is, sir,” he reported.
The bridge trembled as the screws bit into the water. Bert had seen the water frothing at her stern. “Stop those engines,” he called.
There was a murmur from the crew. I heard the American, Jessop, call out, “For God’s sake stop, Cap’n.”
“Get ready to use your gun, Mr. Hendrik,” Halsey ordered. And then to the crew, “Keep back, all of you.”
In that instant, there was an explosion and the whole scene seemed to disintegrate into a great up-thrust of water, flame and debris. I was flung against the bridge rail, slipped and fell. The first thing I remember seeing was the funnel toppling crazily against the sky. Hendrik, lying with his back across the wheel, saw it coming. I remember his mouth opening, but I could hear nothing. My ear-drums were dead. In a soundless world I saw the funnel fall leisurely forward, smash the edge of the bridge and finish up with the steam whistle embedded in the mate’s stomach whilst he writhed and twisted.
Then the bridge slowly collapsed, the wind-breaker folded outwards and we were pitched amongst the crew.
When I staggered to my feet I found the rope was no longer round my neck. The tug had a great hole driven in her amidships. Flames were licking out of the centre of it. Muffled sounds penetrated my numbed ears. There were screams and shouts and a sudden roar of escaping steam. Somebody cut my hands free. I saw the American take Halsey’s pistol from him as the Captain staggered to his feet. Hendrik’s body lay motionless in a pool of blood. Jukes was stumbling about blindly with his hands to his eyes. Evans stood dazed and unarmed.
Jessop seemed getting some order amongst the men. They scrambled aft and got the two boats lowered. Somebody took my arm and hustled me into one of them. As we pulled away from the tug’s side I saw flames leaping through the gaping rent in her side. Smoke poured from the black hole where the funnel had been. I remember looking up and seeing Halsey come running aft. He was pleading to be allowed to come in the boat. But Jessop just laughed. “Go tell your worries to the crew of the Trikkala,” he called. And then he turned to the men at the oars. “Ain’t you fellers got any sense—pull, damn you! When the flames reach that dynamite, she’s gonna blow up—an’ I ain’t aimin’ to be in the vicinity. Come on—fellers—pull!” he urged.
I saw Jukes and Evans were among those straining at the oars. Back on the tug Halsey was hacking feverishly at the ropes that secured the raft. He freed it and then found he couldn’t lift the thing. He seemed frenzied with terror. He looked round wildly and then seized a bucket and began trying to put out the fire with it.
I turned to Jessop. “Was there much dynamite on the tug?” I asked him.
“Why, sure,” he said. “Enough to blow up the Empire State Building. Guess old man Halsey intended to leave no trace of the Trikkala.”
“You knew that when you refused to take Halsey in the boat?” I asked.
“See here, Mister,” he said. “I got you away, didn’t I? Well, there wasn’t any more room in the boat—that’s my story, see. Let Halsey have a taste of his own medicine.”
The rusty side of the Trikkala towered above us. Bert’s voice called down: “You orl right, Jim?”
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Comin’ da’n.” A rope ladder hit the water beside the boat. I swung myself on to it and scrambled up. My legs were weak and my face felt swollen and huge. Bert helped me over the rail. Those red, flaking deck plates seemed like home. “Jim!” Jenny was in my arms, laughing and sobbing all in the same breath.
I touched her hair. I couldn’t believe it was only just over an hour that I’d been on board the Tempest. “Darling! Thank God! I thought I’d never see you again.” I felt suddenly relaxed and exhausted.
“Your poor face. Come below and I’ll fix it.”
“No,” I said. “No—there are things to do.” I turned to Bert. “Watch these men as they come up,” I told him. “Keep them covered with your rifle and fall them in on the deck. I want a word with them.”
“Okay, mate.” One by one the men from the two boats climbed over the rail. Several of them had weapons taken from Halsey and his gang. Bert disarmed them and lined them up against the rail. “That’s the lot, guvner,” he reported. Then he went to the rail and leaned over, looking aft. “Blimey!” he cried. “Look at the tug—wind’s fannin” them flames a fair treat.”
We all crowded to the rails, staring at the tug. She was like a fire ship. The wind had spread the flames aft so that she was like a blazing torch. And in the midst of that inferno Halsey was straining frenziedly to thrust the raft overboard. He had got it upended against the bulwarks and his figure stood out clear and black against flames as he struggled to thrust it overboard. With what must have been a superhuman effort he got the end of it under his shoulder, straightened his body and the raft slid with a splash into the water. And in that instant there was a series of short explosions from deep inside
the tug. Then suddenly the whole vessel opened out like some trick firework and with a shattering roar flung fire and debris high into the air. Slowly the debris fell back into the water. All that remained of the Tempest was the bows and stern. These collapsed inwards and then very slowly slid beneath the waves. Nothing remained then but a dark cloud of vapour that held for a moment in the shape of a smoke ring and then was dispersed into long trailing wisps by the wind.
“Well, that’s the end of ’Alsey,” Bert said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Can’t say I’m goin’ ter miss ’im.” He turned his attention to the crew of the Tempest. “Nah then, get fell in,” he said. “Come along, you,” he snapped at Jukes who was looking scared, “ain’t no use muttering prayers for Is soul.”
When they were lined up, I went over to the American. “I take it you’re acting as spokesman for the rest?” I said.
“I guess so,” he replied.
I nodded. “Right. I hope you’ll appreciate my position. I’m short-handed and there’s bullion on this ship. You’ll be assigned to a mess-room and locked in, that is until we’re in the shipping lanes. Two men will be allowed out at a time for exercise. So long as you give no trouble, I’ll see that when we reach port you have a chance to get ashore and disappear if you want to. In any case, I’ll support your plea of innocence at any inquiry. Jukes and Evans, you’ll be put in irons. Who is the wireless operator?” Jessop pointed out a small man with crafty eyes and a shock of curly, fair hair. “You’ll report to the radio-room and get to work right away on repairing the equipment. I want to contact a shore station as soon as possible.” I turned to Bert. “Right, take ’em away. Put ’em in the crew’s quarters.” Then to Jenny, “What’s the engine situation.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “We were too worried to bother about the engines.”
“Well, let’s go up to the bridge and get Mac on the blower,” I said. “He should have steam up by now and I want to get out of this place while the going is good.”
It was a welcome sound to hear Mac’s voice coming up faintly from the bowels of the ship. “What’s the engine position, Mac?” I asked.
“Ye can get going noo, Mr. Vardy,” he said. “But ye’ll have to be content wi’ half speed. A’ll mebbe have the other engine going by to-morrow morning.”
“Okay, Mac,” I said. “Good work. But with only one engine, I’ll need full ahead through the gap.”
“Weel, ye can have it, Mr. Vardy,” he said. “But dinna blame me if the whole engine-room falls oot through the bottom of her. She’s no jist oot of the yards, ye ken. Ye canna afford to take liberties wi’ a ship in this condition.”
“As long as I can have full steam through the gap,” I told him, “that’s all I ask.”
Five minutes later Bert came up on to the bridge. He had Zelinski with him. They were both so festooned around with weapons that they looked like a couple of brigands. “Well, I got ’em all locked up—usin’ the crew’s mess-room as a calaboose. Jukes an’ Evans—the ripe pair o’ rotters—I gave ’em a cabin to themselves. Fa’nd some handcuffs an’ clapped those on their wrists ter keep ’em quiet. That foxy little sparks I locked in the wireless-room an’ told ’im ter get to work.”
“Good. Now you and Zelinski get the anchor up. You can slip the after hawser. We’re getting out of here right away.”
“Suits me,” Bert grinned. “I ’ad aba’t enough of Maddon’s Rock.” He and Zelinski clattered down the bridge ladder and hurried aft. A curtain of rain swept over us, blotting out all sight of the beach where the Trikkala had lain. I looked aft towards the gap in the reef. The surf broke across it in thundering cascades. Then my view became blurred by the driving rain. The reef was blotted out, so was the patch of oil and floating driftwood that marked Halsey’s grave.
“I wish we could get the radio going,” Jenny said. “If there’s another storm coming up, I’m not sure we oughtn’t to stay here. The Trikkala won’t stand much of a beating in her present condition.”
“We daren’t risk it,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here whilst the going’s good. If a storm blew up and the wind backed round to the east again we’d be piled up on that beach—and that would be the end.”
“All right,” she said. “But don’t forget we’ve no boats.”
“I won’t,” I replied, as I went into the wheelhouse and got some oilskins. As I came out, Bert and Zelinski passed below the bridge on their way for’ard. “Okay,” Bert called up to me. “We slipped the ’awser.”
“Hang on till this squall is over,” I told him.
A few minutes later the rain suddenly ceased and the gap was visible again, a stretch of foaming white against leaden background of sea and sky. I signalled to Bert and an instant later the rusty anchor chain began clattering inboard, pulling the Trikkala slowly towards the beach. Suddenly the donkey-engine raced. The ship ceased to move. I went to the starb’d wing of the bridge and looked forward along the side. I caught a glimpse of the broken end of the chain thrashing loosely in the break of a wave. The chain was rotten with rust. It had just snapped. It did not matter now. We shouldn’t need that anchor again until we got to England. But it worried me. The rest of the Trikkala was probably as rotten as that chain. For all we knew the engines might do just what Mac had said—fall out through the bottom of the ship. I glanced at Jenny. She was looking at me and I could see that the same thoughts were in her mind too. Well, the gap would tell us. If we got through those seas safely with that one engine at full ahead, the probability was that the Trikkala would make it … If we got through that gap! My stomach was a void of fear as I stretched out my hand to the brass handle of the engine-room telegraph. Then I had grasped it, rung it twice and set it to full astern on the port engine.
A tremor ran through the ship. I felt the bridge vibrate under my feet. I waited, scarcely daring to breathe. Suppose the shaft of the port propeller was cracked. If it broke, it might rip through the rusty bottom of the ship. Or the bearings on the turbines might be rusty. The engine might seize up. The vibration seemed to increase. I could see flakes of rust breaking away from the side of the bridge and on the deck red, rotten iron seemed to be peeling off her.
But slowly, almost imperceptibly the Trikkala began to back away from Maddon’s Rock towards that patch of oil where the Tempest had gone down. The vibrations died as the ship got under way. I put the wheel over and gradually the bows came round. When she had swung almost broadside to the beach, I signalled Stop on the telegraph. The vibrations ceased altogether. We were gliding astern, softly, quietly, with a feather of smoke from the funnel and that comforting aliveness of a ship with its engines running.
When we had lost sufficient way for the risk to be reasonable, I ordered Slow Ahead on the port engine. But even at Slow Ahead the ship seemed to be shaking its rusty plates apart. She trembled from stem to stern as that single screw bit the water and tried to force her ahead. At last our sternway was checked and we began to glide slowly ahead. I spun the wheel hard over to port and ordered Half Ahead. The long line of the reefs swung across our bows as we turned in a wide arc and headed for the gap.
Viewed from the bridge of a 5,000 ton freighter that gap didn’t look quite so bad. We were no longer looking up at the waves, but down at them. Nevertheless, it was a pretty awe-inspiring sight. A ship in good condition could make it all right, for the wind having recently gone completely round, the waves had less weight probably than when we came through in the Eilean Mor. Nevertheless, that wall of surf cascading across the gap was a good ten feet of solid, raging water. With only one engine and a hull as rotten as cardboard, it looked almost suicidal.
Jenny was standing close by me. She did not say anything. She just kept looking straight ahead. But I saw her knuckles white as she gripped the bridge rail with both hands. “Better have your life jacket handy,” I said. “And you might get mine.” I yelled down to Bert. “You and Zelinski, get your life jackets. And stand by to let the Tempest’s men out if we get
into difficulties.”
He nodded. Then I picked up the voice-pipe and whistled down to Mac. “Give her Full Ahead now,” I ordered. “And, Mac—stand by the voice-pipe. If we don’t make it, you’ll have to look slippy getting out of the engine-room.”
“Och, yell make it, Mr. Vardy,” he said. For once he was optimistic.
The vibration increased. The rust danced on the rotten deck plates. The ship slowly gathered speed like an old steeplechaser taking a last fling at Becher’s Brook. The roar of the surf grew until it was no longer possible to speak. The vibration of the Trikkala’s engine ceased to be a sound and became only a pins and needles sensation on the soles of my feet. I hugged the southern side of the entrance as close as I dared, gripping the wheel tight in my hand, for I knew the instant the surf hit our bows the whole ship would begin to swing across the gap. Then anything might happen—the steering gear might break, the propeller shaft might snap, the whole of our bows might break away.
It was impossible to time our arrival in the gap. But we were lucky. Our bows thrust into the boiling surf just behind the break of a wave. They swung slightly, but I was able to hold the ship on her course. Away on the port bow I saw the boiling foam fling itself high into the air as it met the backwash of the previous wave. Beyond the pinnacle, with its black rock pedestal cascading water, the next wave built up. Even from the bridge it seemed like a frightful mountain ridge, piling up and foaming at its crest like a thundering avalanche. Then it broke, flung itself over the pedestal and crashed against the ship’s side with a roar that was unearthly. A blinding sheet of spray rose high above the starb’d rail. The Trikkala started like a thrashed horse, the bows swung away to port, the deck heeled over—and then the broken spray fell in solid water on our decks as though endeavouring to beat us down into the sea. For a moment I could see nothing. I was clinging to the wheel, struggling to put it over to starb’d in an endeavour to hold the ship on her course.
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