A Ship's Tale (38 page)

“Bloody hell!” Harris said breathlessly. He took one step backward. “You really did let him out again!”

Boris was very calm. “After him on deck and out of cage, not good to go back in cage, too small. Now cage is broken and no good anyway.”

Boris said something in Russian and walked over to the bear carrying the bucket of fish. It seemed that he wasn't really interested in the fish. Instead he raised his nose and smelled the air. Suddenly he rose to his feet and came forward from the straw, giving a low moaning and rumbling sound. Harris stood fast while the bear slowly approached him. As the bear did so, I could see Harris tensing himself. Seeing those long claws, Harris put his hands behind his back just in case the old fellow wanted to shake hands, but he needn't have worried. Once the bear got wind of Harris, his personality altered completely. He lost all sign of wariness and came to a stop with the flat top of his head resting against the big man's leg.

Boris was excited, “Scratch head, scratch ears!”

Harris didn't really need any urging as he reached over and stroked the bear's head. It was obvious that the bear remembered him. Harris looked about the hold and spied a little stool. He drew it up, and sat down. The bear was very docile, and allowed Harris to scratch his ears and his coat. He raised his nose appreciatively, smelling Harris again.

“Why, this bear is quite tame,” Harris said.

Boris nodded in agreement. “But not touch feet,” he cautioned.

Harris looked closely and saw where the hobbles had rubbed the bear's hide raw around its ankles. “I see,” he muttered, his brow furrowing.

Boris reached over and picked up a small tub. “I make this to put on feet.”

Harris looked in and smelt it. “Ugh, what on earth is this stuff?” he asked. “Smells absolutely terrible! Was this made to use on the Germans?”

“Oh, very good medicine,” Boris replied. “Salve of sorts.” In his thick Russian accent, the word salve sounded like something completely foreign to any known language here on earth. “I learned from grandmother in Russia.”

“Yes well, has the bear let you put it on him?” Harris asked.

“Well yes,” Boris said slowly grinning. “Sometimes lets and sometimes not.”

“Oh Lord. Well, I don't—since you've taken on the care and feeding, it'll be your job, along with everything else you have to do, and we damn sure aren't going to put about and take him back again. But right now I have work to do!” Harris exclaimed.

“No, no, now you make friendly with bear,” Boris insisted.

“Why's that?” Harris asked impatiently.

“He make good friend with you, same he make good friend with me, and then he knows he welcome. Now I must eat.” Before Harris could stop him, Boris was out of the hold and passed me without a word.

I left Harris to his private reunion, a bit embarrassed at having spied. I went back on deck and called down, “Everything all right down there?”

Harris bellowed back from below, “That all depends on what you mean by all right. I'm fine. He's fine, but I can't join you just now.”

“Well then, that's fine too. I daresay we'll find trouble enough to stay in until you return,” I taunted.

“Always a comfort, Flynn,” Harris responded.

And so I left him to get reacquainted and went off to do some inspecting of my own, starting with the galley. Katherine was a little overwhelmed with everyone coming in for food at once. We'd hardly been able to keep to a normal watch rotation and we seniors had been eating at any time we had the chance. I told her the latest with Harris and the bear while I had a mug of tea. I also wanted to emphasise properly the dangers of the coming storm.

“I'm afraid there's a really big blow on its way in from the Atlantic,” I said earnestly. “The BBC made an all-ships broadcast, which only happens when the weather is going to be very dirty. I can't guarantee my getting back down here, so when your helpers are called away and you can feel the ship starting to jump a bit, put out the fire and try to save as much hot water as you can. This time it's going to be bad for least two days, so we'll be looking at cold food and cold drink most of the time.” I tried not to look gloomy at the prospect.

“I'll see if there's some way we can get warm water,” she mused, looking around the galley, “without setting us on fire!”

“Just please be careful first about yourself,” I said. “With the ship pitching and rolling worse than you've had it so far, you don't want to be moving about with pots full of hot water. We won't die if we don't have a hot drink. But the other concern,” I went on, “is fire. Old salts are always worried about a galley fire. Still, I'm sure you'll manage without any advice from me.”

“My, my,” Katherine murmured as she leaned against me with her arm about my waist, “I'm sure I'll need your advice most of the time, but when you're not here, I'm certain I can make up my own mind.” I put my arms around her and she gave me a playful push as we wrestled briefly, laughing.

Suddenly a voice boomed behind us. “Here now, none of that stuff on my ship, if you don't mind.” We turned to find Harris grinning benignly down on us. “Still, it's nice to see young love so happy, but there are times and there are times, and you only have another ten minutes while I eat a bit more.” He ladled out a bowl of stew and potatoes. With a cheery, “remember, only ten minutes more, and I'll see you on the poop deck,” off he went to the wardroom.

“I've never seen him act so sentimental before,” marvelled Katherine. “That bear must have meant quite a lot to himself when he was younger.” Then we paid more attention to other matters for our allotted ten minutes.

Harris appeared on the poop later, wiping his mouth with a belch. “Now,” he said, “we've got to get from end to end of this ship without interruption, making sure everything is battened down. While you're about it, make sure the emergency steering wheels aft the poop are in order, just in case the cables to the main wheel go.”

I'd never looked in the aft poop and was surprised to find an enclosed steering platform with a double wheel like the one forward and an additional place for the binnacle just for emergencies.

Harris and I moved slowly forward, looking for anything that was loose or could come loose. As we went, I became aware of an odd buzzing noise coming from no particular direction. It was like a bee near one's ear.

“Do you hear that?” I asked Harris.

Before he could answer, there came a shout from aloft. “A plane, a plane to port!”

“Damn and blast it!” Harris shouted as we ran for the port rail. Scanning the sky, we finally made out the plane. It was a small single-engine, far to our stern. It was flying on a course diagonally away from us and moving north-east. We watched it for some time in silence as it flew farther away until the sound died off completely. Harris looked after it thoughtfully, “With any luck, he's flying back to base to refuel and didn't see us. Facing this way, he'd be looking into the sun.” At this time of year the sun was already quite low in the sky over our starboard bow as we ploughed west.

“He must have been farther east when he came down on his outward leg. We've been lucky!” said Harris.

There were a few boys still standing about when Harris boomed, “All right, back to work. He's on his way home to England to refuel and we won't see him again if we're lucky. Come on, the storm's coming, and he isn't!”

We moved slowly forward until we got to number one hatchway, which was still open. Harris leaned in and called down. “Halloo, brown bear. We're going to have to close you up now, but we'll bring some food down later.” As he stood up, he saw me looking on and grimaced. “Yes well, I know he can't understand, but it's just the sound of my voice, to show I know he's being put in the dark.” At that, he closed the hatchway down, hammering in the wedges all round.

We seemed fated not to complete an inspection, because the next moment we heard Larry calling from the helm, “Mr. Harris, Mr. Flynn, Edward says we're just getting that submarine again on the radio.” I hoped this would give us good news as the storm loomed on the horizon.

Edward was talking when we got to the radio. “Now that's the news we need. Are you sure the MTB's already turned east?”

Johnson's voice crackled from the speaker, “
Roger that. We've got her on radar and she's headed in our direction, over
.”

Edward turned. “Harris has just come in so I'll pass you over to himself,” he grunted.

Harris took the handset. “Hello, Captain. It sounds like good news. We were hoping the MTB might get distracted by your plan. What sort of message did you give her, over?”

“
I think the fact that he had us on his radar for some time really persuaded him. It takes time to recharge batteries on the surface and thank God we still haven't gotten the effects of a storm that's due, so the sea wasn't choppy. As we got near full charge, I sent the message and within minutes we submerged. I've got some budding actors on board and one of them does a good imitation of an Englishman. The message he read laid it on good and strong for them. It reads: MTB 310, go back to base. Will not obey your orders to give in. Chase us, but you'll never overtake us. We'll never surrender our ship. Whatever you may have been told, you have been pursuing us for no reason. We do not recognise your authority in this matter. None of our crew is here against his will. Break off the pursuit and return to base while you are still able
.”

Johnson continued, “
I brought the crew into it for a bit of light relief, using the old radio. There's no need to buy trouble, since it's my experience that it usually comes for free! I'll say one thing for sure, there's a captain aboard that MTB who's very upset right about now! The main thing is they have changed course, over
.”

Harris was happy. “Now they'll be back in Dover tonight while we tackle the storm just like any other piece of work. If the storm lasts three days, then we'll be out of sight by the time they take a chance coming out again and we hope to be very far away. Thank you very much, and please excuse us as we must carry on working to get everything shipshape!” We signed off with promises to keep in touch in the future.

Harris said, “We're entirely too lucky, so don't forget to say your prayers. We'll need everything going for us to get through this storm, so let's get to it.” And he barged out of the chart room with me close behind.

Outside we could feel the change in the weather. The wind was starting to veer round and gust, lifting the tops of the waves and sending spray over the ship. We were heading into a rack of heavy black clouds, lined with bright yellow sunlight shafting out across the deck. We finally got through the inspection, and I personally checked the safety net under the bowsprit, as we'd be setting the jibs soon. By then Harris had gone up into the rigging and I reluctantly followed, checking every ratline in the shrouds. There was going to be a lot of activity during the next two days.

Once we were back on deck there were the fo'c's'le quarters to check, but I left that for Harris and went below to check the officers' cabins. It was now getting time for our call from Richard, so I got back to the chart room where Bowman and Edward were listening to the latest BBC report. They were now forecasting the storm to be the duration of the next forty-eight hours, possibly longer. No matter how experienced the crew or seaworthy the ship, gale force storms strike fear into the hearts of everyone on board, and Bowman and Edward were no exception. Instead of bickering, after this report they went outside onto the bridge deck, talking quietly and very gravely. Then the radio started its caterwauling and crackling, meaning that someone was calling in on our wavelength and a new voice came over: “
Calling Harris, calling Harris. Are you receiving me, over
.”

I shouted to one of the boys to go find Harris as I picked up the handset. “I'm speaking for Harris. Please identify yourself, over.”

“
Is that Flynn? Dick from near Gravesend told me it might be you answering. My name is John Boyd and I'm more than happy to help you in your project. Nil basti carborundum is my motto: never let the bastards wear you down! Anyway, here's Richard with the latest
.”

“Thanks, John,” I called. “It's nice to know we've got friends. Hi, Richard, how are things with you this fine day?”

“
Funny you should choose that comment, because the forecast says the opposite, so I expect you to be talking while hanging on to a stanchion or shroud, whatever that may be
.” Richard sounded in good spirits.

“I don't want to break your happy mood,” I said, “but the storm is coming, so you'd better batten down all hatches at home and check your house insurance.”

“
As bad as that, eh
?” Richard now sounded sombre.

“Yes,” I said, “and probably worse. I'm looking out at the ugliest lot of clouds you've ever seen, coming in from the west. The wind is backing and picking up force every minute, but we're ready for it. The boys have become sailors overnight it seems, and are at home on the rigging as they would be riding a bicycle—of course, that would be a bicycle on a tight-rope! Two or three of them are thinking of the sea as a career, but I'll wait to see what they say after the storm has blown over.”

“
Now that you mention them the public reaction to the story so far is generally the best of luck to you, but there are some doubts about the boys. Some are from genuinely concerned people. Some comments are from those trying to deflect attention from their own shortcomings, like the department that gave O'Connell money all these years without checking on him. At the moment he's been booted out of his comfortable position, and is on suspension pending investigation by the government authorities as well as the police.