A Ship's Tale (37 page)

Chapter 23

A HEAVY SEA APPROACHES

Edward had a brief word with Harris to acquaint him with the other ships' positions. Harris grimaced over Edward's calculations, and then turned to Robert and me. “As for you,” he said, “I've got just the job for you. This time I'll give you some of the boys to help. We need to get this done quickly.” He strode outside and pointed up to the sails.

My heart sank. I love sailing and I'll do whatever is needed, but I've never really got over the terrible nervous tension one gets when hanging one hundred and fifty feet in the air, bent over a yard with feet supported by a rope underneath. The rope moves as you move and cannot be said to give any support at all except spiritual. There you are being hit in the face by the canvas of a sail you're trying to furl, and even when you do furl it right down onto the yard, you then find you can't reach the gasket to tie the bundle down except by bending right over the top of the yard and furled sail, thus having to take your feet off the support of the rope. Then you must balance yourself on your midriff as you reach down for the gasket, and all the while the yard is swinging in an arc across the sky, coupled with a forward rotation to follow the pitch of the boat. I have to admit that I'll never get over that tight feeling from chest to scrotum.

“We've been grateful for those sails,” Harris said, “but now we must pay our dues. With this spotter plane around, we need to have canvas with less colour. Take some of the boys off watch and get them painting over the stripes.”

Harris went off on another of his inspection tours and one could hear various roars as he came round and found lines not coiled down properly, missing pins in the scuppers, or anything else that offended his critical eye.

Robert and I looked at one another and then up at the sails. “You have to admit they do look pretty gaudy,” I said. “How are we going to tackle this?” We stood there contemplating the situation.

“To look on the bright side,” Robert commented, “Brian only used them on the smaller topsails, the royals and topgallants, but that means they're farther up and the paint has farther to fall, and I don't agree that it will dry on the way down,” and he laughed.

Harris now came back and asked why we weren't at work yet. I told him we were still thinking of the best way to manage it.

“I think this will go much faster when you get aloft and rely on Boris's supervision in bringing those smaller sails to the deck where they can be painted one at a time. They can dry aloft but they'll be painted right here,” he said, pointing to the deck with a firm gesture. “Once they're down, we'll call all hands and do the job more quickly and less dangerously.”

After climbing the first mast, I awaited further orders from Boris. We were spread out preparing to lower the sails to the deck below. Gingerly we let them down, encountering only a few flaps of resistance before each came to rest on the deck below. The boys waited with paintbrushes and tins of paint in their hands. One of the boys piped up. “Captain Bowman probably wouldn't be pleased if a large blob of paint hits him on his bald patch, and I'd hate to say what would happen if Mr. Harris got hit anywhere.” There was a general chuckle at this.

With the ship on a steady course, this was a beautiful place to be. Everywhere the whitecaps glittered in the sun and the waves ran a dark blue-green to the horizon. Gulls hung motionless, almost landing on our shoulders as they stood in the air below the yardarms. The paint was drying rapidly, and very soon the signal was given to haul the sails back aloft. Once they were all properly secured to the yards, we moved to the next mast and repeated the same sequence. I was glad to be wearing Boris's harness, which gave me a feeling of security.

When the job was completed, I was glad to be back on deck looking up at the grey dirty mess now hanging from the yardarms. The brightness of the stripes had been considerably dimmed, certainly enough for the spotter to miss. I could feel the winds picking up from astern and wondered how soon we were in for another blow.

Shipboard activities were intensifying. I saw Bowman and Harris talking to our new helmsman-in-training, Larry. As I joined them, I heard Bowman ask, “How are we faring there, young man?”

“Fine sir. I'm holding the new course true,” he replied with obvious pride, “but Mr. Boris is keeping a close watch.” I couldn't see Boris anywhere so supposed he'd gone off for lunch, feeling sure that his pupil wouldn't need any real help, especially with the wind blowing steadily.

Bowman eyed the binnacle. “Fine, well done,” he said, patting the boy on the back. He peered upward at the sails but the larger mainsail may have blocked his view of the painted-over ones. Bowman had still not forgiven us for having used the striped canvas from the circus, but in the end he'd come to accept it as necessary in order that we'd have enough sails in place to catch as much wind as possible.

“It will still be an embarrassment, anyone looking at those sails,” he grumbled.

“Well,” Harris said, “they hold wind, don't they?”

“That's right,” Edward put in as he disappeared below.

I decided to keep quiet.

Bowman looked up once more with a puzzled air. It was obvious from his manner that Harris had not yet told him what he'd ordered. At first glance, the new paint job hadn't been obvious.

“Would ye look at that!” Bowman exclaimed. “What in blazes has been going on up there?”

“I gave orders to get rid of the colours because of the spotter plane,” Harris answered.

Just then Edward put his head back out of the hatchway and barked, “You'd better be after getting down here, there's a weather report to all ships.” We all three moved at once to go below.

The BBC didn't broadcast messages to all ships except when there was something serious anywhere in the vicinity of the British Isles. We got to the chart room in time to hear: “
We repeat this warning. To all ships at sea: areas Dover, Channel, Fastnet, Irish Sea, Shetland, Fair Isle, Cromarty, and North Sea. Warning of severe winds blowing from the south-west, west, and north-west amounting to gale force at times in all areas, approaching from the Atlantic. Isolated thunderstorms, squalls, and winds in excess of gale force nine are possible. These conditions are expected to continue for at least forty-eight hours. All ships are advised to take shelter wherever possible. We now return you to…
”

I remember thinking this is the big one where we must keep our wits about us. As for the boys, we needed to emphasise the importance of obeying Harris's and Boris's orders without delay. Having been in more than one gale out of the Atlantic—these sometimes achieve hurricane force—I knew that the helm was going to be our most important weapon against an angry sea. That, balanced against the force of the wind in the sails, was going to call on all of Boris's expertise. I'd always been amazed at the captain's and first mate's ability to read a storm and know when to reef and when to set sails and which to set. Sometimes they weren't quite successful and there would be a tremendous crack as a sail was split, but we usually kept well ahead of the breaking waves at our stern, even when running under nearly bare poles.

Harris said quietly, “One thing you have to say for the BBC, they never sound a bit excited, but everyone knows that when they issue a warning to all ships, that means there's bad weather about to hit. And this time it's for the whole of the British Isles all the way round. Flynn, fetch Boris and Robert. We need to get our duties sorted out.” With a grin and a wink, he added, “You'd better let the cook know as well.”

Once we were all in the chart room, Harris started detailing duties. This was no easy job because conditions change quickly during storms. We didn't want Bowman overly taxed but there he was, expecting to be assigned some shipboard duties. Harris made him responsible for spotting any potential difficulties we didn't see ourselves and not to be shy about calling them to our attention. Harris also told him to monitor the radio and keep a check on our position. It was nearly midday and Bowman could take a proper dead reckoning then. He was not terribly happy with these lesser duties, but I thought I saw a hint of relief that he hadn't been asked to take a turn at the wheel.

“Well,” he harrumphed, “if that's the way ye're going to treat yer captain, I'm off to my cabin to get a bit of rest before the blow starts.”

Harris turned to him. “Treat our captain? Uncle Billy, you're the one in charge! You have the most important duty of anyone and that's to make sure everything's done correctly, and if you see otherwise, to order one of us to take care of things. That's what the captain's most important duty is—dare I remind you? I only added monitoring the radio because none of us can it do while attending to duties on deck.”

“Aye,” Bowman said, “just as long as ye know who's running things. You don't make all the decisions but I suppose there's no harm done with you handing out the assignments, as long as I agree. Well, if you need me sooner, I'll be in my cabin.” He made his way off in that by-now habitual slow heavy step, disguised by his upright stance. I wondered if anyone noticed, as I did, the way he was now keeping his left hand in his coat pocket, scarcely using it. Perhaps it was just my imagination but I didn't really think so.

“So that leaves just us four,” said Harris. “We're going to be the helmsmen, and the general overall eyes and ears of the ship. We'll not be able to keep a proper lookout, but we need to make sure we aren't going to be pushed by contrary currents too close to the Cherbourg Peninsula. There are some nasty rocks thereabouts and there's no way of telling which way the wind will swing when the storm system starts. Just now the wind is south-easterly, so it looks as though it'll work its way south before westering and we'll have to come over on the other tack at some time. I was thinking of heading round the Peninsula and moving east-sou'east to keep out of sight of that bloody MTB as much as possible. But now, if we have at least forty-eight hours of weather, we must move west as far as we can before he gets here and then try to maintain our longitude as we course north during the storm. I'm sure we're going to have to reef in most of the sails and maybe set the jibs, but we'll see what the weather's really like.

“This is serious now, and we've all got to pull our weight. This is a good ship, but she's been badly neglected and we have to keep her head up at all times. Most importantly, we mustn't strain the masts with too much canvas. Boris, once the boys have finished painting, have them practise on the remaining topgallants and royals for speed of reefing in. Right now let's get a good meal inside us before we're condemned to cold meat and potatoes with warm tea—that's if we're lucky.”

Even though it was getting rougher, Katherine had prepared a nice stew and some freshly baked rolls with sausages so we dug in for a quick bite. Bowman returned and sat down with us again. The storm had him pacing like a tiger, a somewhat creaky one, trying to think of everything. He and storms were old acquaintances.

Robert was worried about the boys becoming faint-hearted and hesitant, and not putting their best into combating the on-coming storm. This only seemed to irritate Harris, so I stepped in.

“Never mind about maybes like that, we've much more important things to consider and I don't think that's one of them, so shut up and just leave it,” I suggested with some asperity.

“Eh?” Bowman grunted. “Ye're starting to sound like Harris, and that's not flattering.”

“I suppose I had a good teacher.” I retorted.

Harris made no comment but suggested that we go up and have another look round because no matter how many times we made sure of things, it always seemed there was more that needed doing. We'd finished our meal and now went quickly up to the main deck. Harris was still having premonitions that we'd missed something in our attempts to cover all necessary points before the storm hit.

As we moved out for one more check of the ship, Harris pointed a finger at Boris. “I want to talk to you,” he said in his most booming voice.

“Yes, yes,” Boris said, “but now I eat.”

Boris was stopped by Harris's heavy hand on his shoulder. “I don't think so,” he said. “If anything, I'm going to feed you to the bloody bear for his lunch. What do you say to that?”

Boris smiled, “Make him vegetarian?”

“Don't be cheeky! Let's go.” And off they went.

I said softly to Robert, “I'm curious about what's going to happen here, so I'm going to take a closer look.”

“That's up to you,” he said, “but I'm going to do a bit of inspecting of safety lines and secure hatchways, important things like that while you're off being nosey,” and he went off forward.

I went aft to number three hatch and got to the 'tween decks in time to see Boris and Harris going down into the main cargo hold carrying a lantern and a bucket. I quickly got myself in a position to observe, because I knew something that Harris didn't know and was about to find out.

As they were descending the companion, Boris started talking in a sing-song voice and waving a fish in the air. When Harris got to the bottom, he looked into the greyish dark of the hold where the bear's cage stood, while Boris lit another lantern. There was a low rumbling sound, seeming to come from no particular spot. Boris and Harris made their way quietly forward and then, without saying anything to Boris, Harris grabbed the tarpaulin with one hand and pulled it off the cage. His face grew blank and he looked at Boris.

“There's no bear in this cage.”

Boris just stared back at him. “Ah yes, no bear in cage, good.”

“So if he's not there…” Harris nearly jumped and spun in the air as Boris pointed off to one side where several bales had been ripped apart. Lying on the straw was the bear, looking much larger than he had when he was loose on deck.