slapped the water with each new gust of wind. Waves, higher than he had
ever seen before, swept over the decks. Water streamed over him from
cracks in the deck.
Then Bervick saw that they were being driven toward the shore. The ship
was out of control. No one could control her now.
Wind, almost visible in its strength, struck at the ship. One of the
booms became loose. Horrified, Bervick watched it swing back and forth.
Quite easily the boom knocked the signal light off the top of the
wheelhouse.
For a moment Bervick considered what his chances were of reaching the
wheelhouse in this wind. He dismissed the thought.
There was nothing he could do. If they hit the rocks there was little
chance of any of them living. A person might last five minutes in the
cold water. But the wind and waves would dash one to pieces faster than
that.
He wondered what Evans was doing: probably trying to get control of
the ship. When the wind was over a hundred miles an hour there was not
much anyone could do but wait. That was what Evans would do. Stop the
engines and wait.
The wind became more powerful every minute. The big wind was at its
height. Great streams of wind-driven water battered the ship.
A large wave hit across their bow. Bervick stumbled and fell off the
ladder. He rolled helplessly in the dark. There was a sudden snapping
sound, louder than the wind. Then there was a crash. Bervick knew what
had happened: the mast had been broken off. In the dark focs’le the dog
began to whine.
* * * * *
The mast was gone.
Evans had seen it splinter as the wind-rushed waves went over the ship.
The man on watch crouched near the wheel. He was trying to hold it, to
stop it from spinning. Martin lay unconscious on the deck. As the ship
rolled, his limp body skidded back and forth.
Only eight minutes had passed since the williwaw struck. To Evans it
seemed as if the wind had been shouting in his ears for hours.
His mind was working quickly, though. He tried to figure what would
be the best way to go aground if he got control of the ship. The best
thing would be to hit at an angle.
He looked at the approaching shore. Ten minutes, perhaps a little
longer: that was all the time he had and the wind was not stopping.
On the rocks the giant waves swirled and tumbled. A white mist rose
from the shore, a mist of sea spray hiding the mountains behind the
rocks. His stomach fluttered when he saw these rocks, black and sharp,
formed in a volcanic time.
He wished Bervick was with him. He even wished that Martin was
conscious. His mind raced to many things. He thought of a number of
things. They came to him in quick succession, without reason.
Evans wondered if the fire was out in the galley range. If the electric
generator was still working. What the ship’s dog, whom he hated, was
doing. Whether Duval still had his bandage on his finger and if not
what the possibilities of blood poisoning were. He wondered what blood
poisoning was like. His mother had died in childbirth; he thought of
that.
The deckhand caught at the wheel and held it a moment. Then he had to
let go. They could not even lash it secure. The ropes would break.
But the fact that the deckhand had managed to stop the wheel, even for
a moment, gave Evans some hope.
Outside the sea was mountainous. Gray waves pushing steeply skyward,
made valleys so deep that he could not see sky through the windows.
Evans hopped across the deck and grabbed the wheel. With all his
strength he struggled to hold it still. The deckhand helped him hold
the wheel. With both of them straining they managed to control the ship.
Ahead of them the shore of Kulak came closer. A long reef of rock
curved out into the sea. Inside this curve the sea was quieter. They
were running toward the end of the reef. They would strike it on their
port bow.
Evans decided quickly to get inside the reef. It was the only thing to
do.
“Hard to port,” yelled Evans. The man helped push the wheel inch by
inch to the left. Evans slipped but did not fall as a wave struck
them. The deck was wet from the water which streamed in under the
bulkheads.
Bits of rigging from the now vanished booms clattered on the wheelhouse
windows. Luckily the windows had not been broken.
A gust of wind threw the ship into a wave. Both Evans and the deckhand
were torn loose from the wheel.
Evans was thrown into the chart table. He gasped. He could not breathe
for several moments.
When he had got his breath back, Evans went to the window. Controlling
the wheel was out of the question now. But they were inside the reef
and that was good.
Evans held tightly to the railing. He watched the shore as they
approached it.
Two tall rocks seemed to rush at him. Evans ducked quickly below the
windows. They crashed into the rocks.
The noise was the worst thing. Breaking glass, as several windows
broke. The almost human groan of the ship as the hull scraped on the
rocks. The wind whistling into the wheelhouse and the thundering of
water on the shore.
And then there was comparative quiet.
The wind still whistled and the sea was loud but the ship had stopped
all motion.
Evans walked across the angled deck, and he was surprised at what
he saw. The ship had been wedged between two rocks on the reef. The
starboard side was somewhat lower than the port. The sea was deflected
by one of the rocks and waves no longer rolled over the deck.
Martin, pale, his nose bleeding, walked unsteadily over to where Evans
stood.
“We hit,” he said.
“We hit,” said Evans.
“How long I been out?”
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Wait till the storm stops.”
Evans looked about him. The ship was securely wedged between the rocks.
There did not seem to be much chance of being shaken loose. Evans
shivered. He realized that he was very cold and that the wind was
blowing through the two broken starboard windows.
He went into his cabin and put on his parka. His cabin, he noticed, was
a tangled heap of clothes and papers and furniture.
He went back into the wheelhouse. “You stay here,” he said to the
deckhand. “Don’t do anything. I’ll be below for a while.”
The galley was much the way he had expected it to be. Broken dishes on
the deck and food and ashes littering the table and benches. Smitty sat
silently amid the wreckage. He did not speak as Evans passed him.
The salon was in better shape: there had been fewer movable articles
here. Still, chairs were scattered around in unlikely places and books
were heaped on the deck.
Major Barkison sat limply on one of the benches. There were blue
bruises on his face. He was flexing his hand carefully as though it
hurt him.
Chaplain O’Mahoney sat very stiffly behind the table. His dark hair was
in his eyes and sweat trickled down his face. He managed to smile as
Evans entered.
Hodges, looking no worse for the storm, was peering out one of the
portholes.
“Everyone all right?” Evans asked.
“I believe so,” said the Chaplain. “We three aren’t very damaged.”
“Is it going to sink?” asked the Major, looking up.
“This ship? No, we’re not going to sink. Not today anyway.”
“What happened?” asked Hodges. “What did we hit?”
“We’re stuck between two rocks inside a reef. We’ve been lucky.”
“When are you going to get us out of here?” The Major was frightened.
They were all frightened but the Major showed it more than the others.
“Just as soon as the wind lets up.”
“Is that long?” asked Hodges.
“I don’t know. There’s a first aid kit in the galley locker.” Evans
went down the companionway and into the engine room.
Everything looked normal here. The two assistant engineers were
checking their numerous gauges and the Chief was oiling a piece of
machinery.
“What the hell did you hit?” asked the Chief. He did not seem bothered
by what had happened and this annoyed Evans.
“We hit a rock, that’s what we hit. How are the engines?”
“I think they’re all right. The propellers aren’t touching bottom and
you can thank God that they aren’t.”
“Will she be able to go astern?”
“I don’t see why not. Is that what were going to do?”
“Yes.”
“When do you want to push off?”
“When the wind stops.”
“We’ll have it ready.”
Evans met Bervick in the salon. Bervick was wet from his dash across
the open deck.
“What’s the focs’le doing?” asked Evans. “Leaking?”
“No, we was lucky. We’re hung up just under the bow. We’ve lost our
guardrail and that’s about all.”
“Good.” Evans looked through the after door. The sea crashed all around
them, the white sea spray formed a cloud about them.
“Should be over soon,” remarked Bervick. “I think it’ll be over soon.”
“Yes, it should be over,” said Evans and he turned and walked back
toward the wheelhouse.
iii
Bervick walked on the forward deck.
Since sundown the wind had almost died away. Water rippled about them
and the ship creaked as she moved back and forth between the two rocks.
There was only a sharp stump where the mast had been. A few bits of
rigging were scattered on the deck; for the most part the deck was
clean of all debris.
One of the ventilators was gone and someone had covered up the hole
where it had been with a piece of canvas. The other ventilator was
slightly bent; otherwise, it was in good shape.
To his left rose the mountains of Kulak. They were like all the
other mountains in the islands. The closer one was to them the more
impressive they were.
He walked to the railing and leaned over and touched the hard wet rock
that shielded them from the last gusts of the wind.
Martin came slowly toward him. He walked unsurely. The knocking he had
taken had weakened him.
“Here we are,” he said.
Bervick nodded. “We got real messed up. It’s the drydock for us if we
get back.”
“Hope we’re sent to Seward. I like Seward.”
“Nice town for Alaska. Maybe we’ll get sent down to Seattle.”
“My luck’s not that good.” Martin leaned over the railing and ran his
hand over the shattered guardrail. “You think we’ll get off these rocks
all right?”
“I think so. Maybe we knocked a hole in the bottom. If that happened we
got no chance.”
“Maybe we didn’t get a hole.”
“That’s the right idea.”
They walked on the deck, looking for damage.
The cover to the anchor winch had blown away; the winch itself was not
damaged.
“Let’s go up top,” said Martin. “Evans wants us to check the lifeboats.”
The top of the wheelhouse was much battered. One of the two lifeboats
was splintered and useless. Martin laughed.
“Those things aren’t any use anyway, not up here they aren’t.”
“Sometimes you can get away.”
“In a lifeboat like that?”
“Sure, it’s been done.”
“I wouldn’t like to do that.”
“Neither would I,” Bervick tested the broken hull of the lifeboat with
his hand. The wood creaked under the pressure.
“Let’s go below,” said Martin. “That’s no good any more.”
“I guess you’re right.”
They crossed the bridge and went into the wheelhouse. Evans was at the
chart table. “What did you find?” he asked.
“One lifeboat knocked up and one ventilator on the forward deck gone,”
said Bervick.
“I saw the ventilator go,” said Evans. “You say the lifeboat’s out of
commission?”
“That’s right.”
“Shipyard for us,” said Evans and that was all. He turned back to his
charts. Evans put on an act sometimes, thought Bervick.
“We’re going below, Skipper,” said Bervick and he and Martin left the
wheelhouse.
Duval was in the salon. His coveralls were smeared with grease and he
looked gaunt. He was sitting at the table, alone.
“When’re we leaving this place?” he asked.
“Pretty soon,” answered Bervick. “How’re your engines?”
“I guess they’ll be all right. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Bervick looked at the Chief’s grease-stained coveralls. “You have some
trouble?”
“One of the pumps stopped working. I think we got it fixed. The boys
are testing it now.”
“You look beat,” commented Martin.
“You would be too. How did Evans manage to get us on the rocks, I
wonder?”
“He didn’t,” said Bervick. “Just fool’s luck that we got out of this
thing this well.”
“You mean so far,” said the Chief sourly.
Bervick looked at him with dislike. Usually when they were working
together there was no enmity but now, even on the rocks, he could not
keep from disliking Duval.
“What’s happened to the passengers?” asked Martin.
“Damned if I know. They’ve probably gone out on deck or hit their
sacks. That Major certainly got excited.”
“They all seemed excited,” remarked Bervick.
“I suppose you weren’t.” The Chief stood up and sighed deeply. “I think
I’ll talk to Evans and see what’s going to happen.” He had started to
leave when Evans came into the salon.
“When we going?” asked the Chief.
“Right away. Say, Martin, you take some men and go on deck and stand by
while we go astern.”
Martin left the salon. “Are you going to be able to handle the engines
all right?” asked Evans, turning to the Chief.
“I think so. What’re you going to do, go half speed astern?”
“Full speed, I think. Depends how tight we are. Come on, Bervick.”
Someone had tacked pieces of canvas over the broken windows in the
wheelhouse. “Handle the telegraph for me,” said Evans.
“O.K.” Bervick looked out the window and saw Martin with several
deckhands. They were standing on the bow, waiting. Lieutenant Hodges
was also on the forward deck.
Evans maneuvered the wheel for several moments. “Ring Stand By,” he
said at last. Bervick set the markers on Stand By. The Chief rang back
quickly.
“Slow Astern,” said Evans.
Bervick rang the engine room again. The regular throbbing of the
engines began. The ship creaked and shifted slightly.
“Half Speed Astern,” said Evans, his hands clutching the wheel tightly.
Bervick rang for Half Speed. The ship trembled. There was a ripping
sound as they began to move from between the rocks. “There goes the
guardrail,” said Bervick.
“Full Speed Astern,” said Evans.
Bervick set the markers on Full Speed. “Here we go,” he said.
The ship, with much groaning as pieces of wood were torn from the bow,
moved away from the rocks.
Evans swung the wheel hard to port. There was a suspended instant and
then the bow splashed off the rocks. The ship rolled uncertainly for a
moment. Then they were free.
“Cut the engines,” said Evans.
The ship drifted away from shore.
“So far so good,” said Evans. “Give her Slow Ahead.” As the ship moved
ahead Evans swung the bow out to sea.
“Now we can wait,” he said.
“For the leaks to start?”
“For the leaks.”
“Maybe I ought to go see the Chief, see how the pumps are working,”
suggested Bervick.
“Sure, go below.”
The engine room was hot. Fumes from the engines made the air almost
unbreathable. Duval was watching the gauges. His assistants stood
beside the engines.
“Evans wants to know if the pumps are working.”
“Tell him I think so. Got good pressure.”
“I guess the engines weren’t bothered at all.”
“You can be glad of that.”
Bervick went up to the salon. Martin was looking out the porthole at
the island shore.
“We made it,” said Bervick.
“Yes, we got off the rocks. I was afraid for a while we weren’t going
to be able to. We were really jammed in there. Took the whole guardrail
off.”
“Did you look in the focs’le to see if there were any leaks?”
“No. You think we should?”
“Yes. You take the focs’le and I’ll go down in the hold.”
On deck the wind was brisk but not strong. The air was clearer but the
sky was still overcast. With night coming the weather might yet be good.
Bervick slipped the covering off one end of the hatch. Carefully he
went down the narrow ladder. The hold was dark and damp and smelled of
salt and wood. When he got to the bottom he turned on a light.
There were several crates of machinery on the deck of the hold.
They had not been given much cargo to carry on this trip. Pieces of
tarpaulin and lengths of line were strewn over the deck. Ammunition
for the ship’s gun rolled about the hold. They had dismantled most of
their gun and had stored the pieces. No one ever saw the Japanese in
these waters.
Bervick examined the damp bulkheads carefully. They seemed to be sound.
He walked over the deck and could not find any sign of a leak.
He turned off the light and climbed out of the hold. Martin was
standing by the railing.
“Find anything?” Bervick asked.
Martin shook his head. “Everything fine. You find anything?”
“No.” They went aft to the salon. Martin went above to tell Evans about
their inspection.
Major Barkison was in the salon when Bervick entered. He was nervous;
his fingers played constantly with his belt buckle.
“Do you think it’s over for good?” he asked.
“I expect so. The heart of the storm’s gone by us.”
“I hope so. That was really dreadful, the rocks and all that wind. Does
this happen often?”
“Occasionally it happens.”
“It was awful. We’ll get back all right now, though. Won’t we?”
“I hope so. Evans is good, he knows his business. I wouldn’t be too
worried.”
“No, I suppose it’s all over.” The Major shuddered. “That wind, I’ve
never seen anything like it. It was terrible, all that wind.” The Major
sat down heavily.
Evans came into the salon. He seemed cheerful. He was smiling.
“Martin tells me there aren’t any leaks.”
Bervick nodded, “That’s right.”
“We’ll get there then. I’m hungry. Is Smitty around?”
“I think he’s below. I’ll get him.”
“Fine.”
“I gather,” said the Major slowly, “that the storm is over.”
“Well, it looks like it. Never can tell, of course. We may have some
more but the worst is over.”
Major Barkison was relieved. “You know,” he said, “I must admire the
way you’ve handled this. I’m going to recommend you for a citation.”
Evans laughed, “Send me back to the States, that’s what I want.”
“I’m serious,” said the Major. “You’ve done a remarkable job and we are
all, naturally, most grateful.”
There was an embarrassed silence. Bervick looked at Evans and saw that
Evans was at a loss to say anything. Evans did not know how to say the
right things.
“I’ll get Smitty up,” said Bervick.
“Fine,” said Evans. “Go get him up. I’m hungry.”
Bervick found Smitty in his bunk. “Come on and get up,” he said. “We
want some chow.”
Smitty swore loudly, “I seen everything now,” he said and he got out of
his bunk.
Bervick went back to the salon.
_Chapter Six_
i
They had steak for supper. Smitty, in a mood of thanksgiving, had
cooked an unusually good meal. He served it himself, almost cheerfully.
“Such a nice quiet evening,” exclaimed the Chaplain.
“It’s a real relief,” said the Major. “A real relief. I thought for a
while that ... well, that that was it, if you know what I mean.”
“It was pretty close,” said Evans, smiling. His passengers looked much
better. The Chaplain especially seemed happy.
“Yes,” said the Major, “I think we’ve been lucky. Of course, we have
Mr Evans here to thank. If it hadn’t been for his ... his efforts, I
suppose, we’d be dead now.”
“That’s right,” said the Chaplain, looking fondly at Evans. “You really
did a remarkable job.”
“Pass the sugar,” said Duval and he took the sugar when it was passed
to him and put several spoonsful of it in his coffee. Evans could see
that he did not like to hear his Skipper praised.
“By the way,” said Evans, “I think we should really compliment the
Chief. He sure did a good job. If his engine room hadn’t been operating
I don’t know where we’d be.”
“That’s right,” said the Major, “we mustn’t forget Mr Duval.”
“We’ve been extremely fortunate,” said the Chaplain. “Not of course
that we all weren’t quite ready to ... to meet our Maker, as it were.”
“I wasn’t,” said Hodges abruptly. The others laughed.
“Tell me, Mr Evans,” said the Major, “when do you expect to get to
Arunga?”
“Tomorrow sometime, afternoon, I guess. Depends on what kind of time we
make.”
“Excellent.”
“By the way,” said the Chief, “that ventilator, the one over the
starboard engine; water and everything else’s been coming down it. You
get someone to fix it?”
Evans nodded; he looked at Bervick, “You want to take care of that?”
“Sure.”
Evans sat down on one of the long benches that lined the bulkheads.
Martin was in the wheelhouse. They were on course and the barometer was
rising.
He shut his eyes and relaxed. The rocking of the ship was gentle and
persistent. He had had an operation once and he had been given ether.
There were terrible dreams.... All through the dreams there had been
a ticking, a heartbeat rhythm, and a floating sensation much like the
sea. He began to recall the dream. He was happy, and when he was happy
he enjoyed torturing himself in a subtle fashion. He pretended that
he was under the ether again, that the rocking of the ship was the
dream. He recalled objects that looked like straws set in a dark green
background. Lights shone from the tops of the straws and deep deep
voices speaking in a negro manner came out of the tips of the straws.
He began to sink into the vastness of the ether dream. There was a
struggle and then a sense of being alone, of being overcome. The deep
voices kept throbbing in his ears. Then there was quiet.
* * * * *
“Did you have a nice nap?” asked the Chaplain.
Evans opened his eyes and tried to look alert. “Just dozing.” He sat
up. The Chaplain and he were the only ones in the salon. He looked at
his watch: it was after ten.
“I cannot,” said the Chaplain, “get over the great change in the
weather.”
“In the williwaw season weather does funny things.”
“I had what you might call a revelation of sorts, if you know what I
mean, during the storm.”
“Is that right?” Evans wondered who was on watch. It was supposed to
be his watch until midnight. Bervick had probably taken over while he
slept.
“I had a sort of vision, well not quite a vision, no, not a vision, a
presentiment, yes, that’s what I had, a presentiment of something.”
“Did you?” Evans was not sure that he knew what a presentiment was.
“This vision, presentiment I should say, was about the ship.”
“Well, what was it?”
“Nothing much at all. It’s really quite vague to me now. It was only
that we’d all get out of this, that no one would be hurt on the trip,
that’s all. That’s why I suppose one would call it a presentiment. It
was just a feeling of course. A kind of instinct.”
“Is that right? I’ve had them too.” Evans wondered if the ventilator
was still leaking.
“Have you really? I know there’s a sort of intuition, a sort of sixth
sense I would suppose you’d call it.”
“Sure, that’s what I’d call it.” Evans wondered if there was anything
to religion. Probably not, at least he himself had gotten along without
it. He tried to recall if he’d ever been inside a church. He could not
remember. In the back of his mind there was a feeling of great space
and peacefulness which might have been the memory of a childhood visit
to a church. He had seen some movies, though, that had church interiors
in them. Churches where gray-haired men in long black robes stood in
what appeared to be upright coffins and talked interminably about large
resonant things. He had learned about religion from the movies and from
the Chaplains he had met.
The Chaplain, his sixth sense at work, guessed what he was thinking.
“You are not particularly, ah, religious, are you, Mr Evans.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” said Evans, who would have said just that
if he had not disliked being thought different from other people.
“Oh no, I can tell that you’re a ... a pagan.” The Chaplain chuckled to
show that this epithet was not serious.
“I hope not.” Evans was not too sure what “pagan” meant either. He
wished that people would use simple familiar words. That was the main
thing he disliked in Martin: the long words that sounded as if they
meant something very important.
“Well, there are many, many people like you in the world,” said
Chaplain O’Mahoney sadly, aware suddenly of the immensity of sin, the
smallness of virtue.
“I guess there are.” Evans wondered if Martin had recorded the rising
barometer readings regularly.
“Did you ever feel lost?” asked the Chaplain in an almost
conspiratorial tone.
“What? Well, I don’t know.”
“I mean did you ever feel lonely?”
“Certainly, haven’t you?”
The Chaplain was a little startled; then he answered quickly, “No,
never. You see I have something to fall back on.”
“I suppose you do,” said Evans and he tried to sound thoughtful and
sincere but he managed only to sound bored.
The Chaplain laughed. “I’m being unfair, talking to you like this when
your mind’s on the ship and ... and things.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I’m very interested. I once wanted to be a
preacher.” Evans added this for the sake of conversation.
“Indeed, and why didn’t you become one?”