The Loss of the Jane Vosper (2 page)

Though these considerations were passing through Hassell’s mind, he had not remained inactive. He had quickly rung for Slow Ahead – just enough speed to keep steerage-way on the ship – and had called to the helmsman to starboard thirty degrees, to bring the ship’s head to the sea. ‘Keep her to it,’ he had ordered as he whistled down the engine-room tube.

‘That you, Mac? What is it?’

The chief had evidently already reached the engine room, for it was he who answered.

‘I couldna say. It sounded in No. 2 hold. Everything’s right enough here.’

‘Then better get your people out in case they’re wanted.’ He swung round to Arlow. ‘I’ll take charge. Get below and see what it was. And send Crabbe here.’

Crabbe was the single wireless operator the
Jane
Vosper
carried. As Arlow ran down the bridge ladder he met him hastening to the wireless room.

‘Old man wants you on the bridge,’ he cried as he hurried on.

By this time the men of both watches were streaming from the fo’c’sle, driven out principally by the knowledge that anything wrong meant that all hands would be required, but also, in the threat of an unknown danger, because of that haunting fear of being drowned in a confined space which lies dormant in the mind of most seamen. Brought up into the wind, the
Jane
Vosper
had steadied somewhat. She was still pitching a good deal, but her rolling was easier.

Crabbe appeared beside the captain.

‘Get in touch with anything that’s near us,’ Hassell directed. ‘But no message as yet.’

As Crabbe hurried away, the second officer appeared, hurriedly buttoning his coat. Hassell immediately ordered him to check up their exact position and then to go down and help Arlow to find out what had happened.

Captain Hassell stood gripping the bridge rail with both hands, his mind tense and senses keenly alert. Gradually he grew more reassured. Nothing seemed to be wrong. The engines were carrying on steadily and rhythmically, the ship was steering correctly and riding easily, all apparently was as usual. The deck lights had been put on and he could see the hurrying figures of the men passing here and there. They were, he knew, sounding the wells, and if the ship proved to be dry they would follow that by a search in the various holds. Till he received Arlow’s report, there was nothing to be done.

Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the shock was repeated. There was the same jar and quiver of the deck planking and rail, followed immediately by the same dull, muffled detonation from below. Certainly an explosion! An explosion in the engine room or hold!

Hassell felt as if a huge hand had suddenly gripped his heart. Its beating seemed to fill the world and to be about to choke him. Then with a resolute effort he overcame his momentary paralysis and was once again his own alert and efficient self.

Tensely he watched and listened and felt the planks beneath his feet and the rail he still gripped. In all his experience he had never known anything like this.

But once again he couldn’t discover anything wrong. Still the gentle rhythm of the engines continued unbroken. Still the ship steered and rose and fell easily to the swells. To all outward appearance, everything remained as before.

Quickly he moved to the engine-room tube and spoke down. There also everything appeared to be right. Mactavish was in the stokehold investigating, but so far as the speaker – the second engineer, Peebles – was aware, all in his department was in order. ‘Here’s the chief, sir,’ he went on, and in a moment Mactavish’s voice sounded.

‘It’s in No. 2 hold, whatever it is,’ the engineer declared. ‘An explosion of some kind. But we’re right enough still.’

As Hassell took his mouth from the tube, his eye caught the flying figure of Second Officer Blair approaching the bridge. He flung himself up the ladder and reported: Fire in No. 2 hold, sir.’

Hassell nodded. Now that he knew what to do he was his own man. Coolly but decisively he gave his orders. The men to fire stations; pumps to be rigged, all to stand by to flood No. 2 hold. ‘And, Mr Blair,’ he went on, ‘I want you to get those boats swung out and make sure everything’s ready if we have to leave in a hurry. Then come back here and relieve me.’

It has been said that the
Jane
Vosper
was a ship of the three-island type, with five watertight bulkheads. These bulkheads were arranged as follows:

The first was close to the bows, separating the forepeak, which contained stores, certain tanks, etc, from No. 1 cargo hold. The second was placed between Nos. 1 and 2 cargo holds, just under the stumpy foremast with its group of derricks and attendant winches. The third bulkhead was between No. 2 cargo hold and the stokehold. Then came the bulk of what might be called the operative part of the ship; boilers, engines, bunkers, galley, officers’ living and sleeping quarters; the whole centre of the vessel. Behind this and separating it from No. 3 cargo hold was the fourth bulkhead, the last bulkhead being placed near the stern, between this No. 3 hold and the aft peak.

The part where the fire had broken out and where the explosions had evidently taken place was, therefore, just forward of the bridge, the hold beneath the after-half of the forward well-deck, between the bridge and the foremast. It was divided off from No. 1 hold and the stokehold respectively by solid steel partitions, so that with any reasonable luck it should be easy to prevent the fire from spreading.

As the ordered disorder proceeded of getting the fire-fighting appliances in operation, Chief Officer Arlow found time to run up on the bridge and make his report. The ship was dry. Whatever had gone wrong in No. 2 hold, her plates seemed to be undamaged.

‘Then have a look at this fire, and if it seems to have got a hold you may start to flood No. 2,’ Hassell decided, and he was about to add an order to keep a man testing the wells of adjoining holds when the words were struck from his lips.

There was a third explosion!

It felt and sounded just like the others, or perhaps even more muffled, as if deeper down in the ship’s bowels. Hassell and Arlow exchanged glances of horrified amazement. What could have happened? Something in the cargo, it seemed; but if so, what? And how many detonations might they expect? No ship’s hull would stand many repeated shocks such as these. What did it all mean? And would the trouble be confined to No. 2 hold?

Once again Hassell felt himself paralysed by the unexpectedness of the situation, but once again it was only for a moment.

‘Carry on,’ he said, ‘but before you begin to flood, sound those wells again and report what you find.’

Arlow hurried off and Hassell turned once again to the engine-room tube.

‘What about that one, Mac?’ he asked. ‘Still all right down there?’

‘Aye, so far as I can see,’ was the reply. ‘But yon was a bad one. I misdoubt me some of her plates are away. And now it sounds mighty like water running into her.’

‘Then get your pumps going and let me know if you see any water yourself,’ Hassell directed. He returned slowly to the rail of the bridge to await the result of the fresh sounding of the wells.

What under heaven could have taken place? Explosions in a ship’s cargo were by no means uncommon, but, and this was what was puzzling the captain so much, they only occurred with certain kinds of cargo. None of the dangerous substances in question were aboard the
Jane
Vosper
. He was positive there was nothing explosive or inflammable in any of the holds. No: once again he felt confronted with a situation entirely outside his previous experience.

One thing that seemed faintly reassuring was that the fire must be slight. So far Hassell had himself seen no indications of it whatever. Of course, with the head wind they were still meeting, smoke and smell would be blown aft before reaching bridge level. At the same time, if there were a serious conflagration, smoke would be pouring out in such volumes that he couldn’t fail to see it, if only by the light of the deck lamps. He decided he had been right to hold back the flooding of the hold till he was absolutely sure that no more serious damage had been done.

Then suddenly his grip of the rail tightened and he stared forward with tense expectancy. In the dark and with all that swell running it was hard to be sure, but – yes, he was sure. Only too unhappily sure. Her bow was lower in the water.

He felt the motion now. It was heavier; more sluggish. She was not rising so lightly to the seas. Rather was she inclined to bury her nose in them. Yes, though the sea was falling, there was more water coming on deck. There could be no doubt. She had been holed by that last explosion, and she was settling down.

If it were only No. 2 hold that was leaking, she should pull through. Not in a gale, of course, but in this sea that was already dying down into a heavy swell, she should float all right. Provided always that the bulkheads held, and that neither of the adjoining holds were flooded. But if No. 2 filled up, would the bulkheads hold?

Normally, no doubt, yes. But Hassell reminded himself unhappily that the circumstances were not normal. Three heavy explosions had taken place in that hold. Could this have happened without damaging the bulkheads?

If they, or any part of them, had been started by the shocks, they would never bear the weight of water. And if they gave way, the ship would sink like a stone. Nothing could save her.

A man suddenly appeared running up the bridge ladder. Hassell recognized one of the deckhands.

‘Chief officer reports five feet of water in No. 2 hold, sir.’

‘What about No. 1?’

‘No. 1’s dry, sir.’

‘Very good. Tell Mr Arlow to keep me advised how he gets on.’

This at least settled the question of the fire. Grimly Hassell realized that the hold was being flooded, and much more quickly than Arlow could have done it. But to the captain the fire was now an inconsequent trifle. He almost forgot its existence. The question had become one of their lives and the safety of the ship.

As he realized the position, the second officer ran up on to the bridge. ‘Boats out and ready, sir.’

‘Right. Take charge till I come back. I want all pumps got on to No. 2 hold, and have men placed at the wells in No. 1 and the forepeak. Speak down to Mr Mactavish. I’ll be with Crabbe.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Hassell passed round the port side of the wheel-house to the cabin corresponding to his own. His was at the starboard side and between the two was the chart room. In this port cabin Crabbe sat bending over his desk and wearing his earphones. He pushed them up as the captain entered.

‘The nearest ship is the
Barmore
of the British Latin States Line. She’s 90 miles south of us and coming to meet us – bound for London. The next is the South African liner
Scipio
, 150 miles nor’-east, and northward bound. There’s nothing else very close, but the
Para
of the Portuguese American Line is in Funchal Harbour with steam up.’

Hassell nodded. The
Scipio
was out of the question, but the
Barmore
would appear to suit very well. Hassell knew her as the crack vessel of his owner’s rivals. She was a 7000–ton boat, and he believed could do 12 knots at a pinch. With the knot or two the
Jane
Vosper
was making, the
Barmore
should be with them in about six and a half hours, say shortly before midday.

It shouldn’t cost his firm much, Hassell thought, to get the
Barmore
to hurry up a bit. Then if the bulkheads gave and they were able to get clear of the ship, they should be picked up all right.

On the other hand, Hassell wanted to bring his ship to port, and it might be better to try to get the
Para
to come out and stand by while they worked the 300 miles to Funchal.

Without speaking, Hassell turned on his heel and went into the chart room. There with the help of his charts he faced the position. It was a hell of a long way to Funchal, but it was a deal farther to any other port. Lisbon, Cadiz, Gibraltar, Casablanca; he considered them all. Funchal was by far the nearest. Moreover, it was on the line of his company’s boats. His cargo could be transshipped there with less disorganization of the service than elsewhere. Further, to go towards Funchal would be to meet the
Barmore
. In any other direction they mightn’t get help.

For two whole minutes Hassell weighed the matter. Then, his mind made up, he returned to the wireless room.

‘Tell the
Barmore
we’ve had an explosion and got No. 2 hold flooded, and ask her to come along as quickly as she can. Say we’re not in immediate danger, but that we should be if anything gave way.’

Crabbe said, ‘Right, sir,’ and began to call, while Hassell bent over the desk. He took a message form and wrote, slowly and with thought. Heading it with the code name and address of his firm, he went on:

‘SS
Jane
Vosper
L 36º 19' N 14° 44' W Stop. Regret to state have had series of unexplained explosions in No. 2 hold, which has been pierced and is flooded. Stop. Expect to be able to reach Funchal but have asked
Barmore
to look out for us. Stop. No immediate danger. Stop. Hassell.’

‘Send that to Funchal to be cabled home when you’ve finished with the
Barmore
,
’
he ordered, and turned to go back to the bridge.

As he looked out of the door of the wireless room, which, being on the port side of the ship, faced east, he saw that dawn was already breaking. The sky and horizon were lightening and he could dimly see the swells moving past, now almost smooth and free from white. Soon it would be daylight, and there would be one handicapping difficulty the less to meet.

But it was not on the sea and the horizon that his attention lingered. Turning from the consideration of their plans to the immediate present, he gave a gasp. The ship was tilted forward; unmistakably. God, but she was down by the head! A glance from the bridge horrified him. The forward end of the well-deck was down nearly level with the water, and the fo’c’sle was but little above it.

Hassell stared in dismay. Then he congratulated himself that the
Jane
Vosper
was not fully loaded. She was not down to her Plimsoll marks. This had been regrettable from the point of view of the profits of the voyage, though it made her steadier and easier to manage than if deeper in the water. But now this matter had become of importance. This very buoyancy might prove her salvation. Every extra inch of freeboard she had would stand to her in her present state.