A Ship's Tale (46 page)

Lads were crowding round the foremast where Boris was organising the lowering of the giant half yardarm that had been lashed to the mast. Harris and I went to survey this, both making mental calculations.

“You know,” I said, “the whole yard is about sixty feet long, so half will be about thirty.” Harris was about to comment but I went on. “This bridge deck must be at least sixty feet long and there's space on each side of the upper part of the deckhouse.”

Harris remarked, “How are we to move both parts from the forepeak deck to here? There are winches and hatches all down the well deck, plus getting it over the bulkheads at each end. For that we need Boris—he's the genius with the rigging, pulleys, and braces. This is a stonking great thing and must be handled with the greatest caution.”

He was about to go over after him when I said, “Here, let me go while you have a look around here and clear anything moveable out of the way. I'll send up a couple of the boys to help you.” I wanted to have a quiet word with Boris out of everyone's hearing so we could talk in proper English, instead of trying to get it all done in his affected broken pidgin.

Taking Boris to one side, I asked him to hold operations for a minute, as Harris and I had a plan. As I presented our idea, his whole concentration went into the problem. He began to prowl up and down the deck, looking up at the yards, touching lines, and going over the capstans and Jarvis winches. When he returned, he said in plain English, “It can be done, but I will have to rig up extra pulleys and lines, and then attach the Jarvis braces, as they can really only take the weight of half the yardarm. It's going to be hard work. Everyone will have to listen carefully and follow my instructions. I will explain so everyone understands. For this I will show people I can understand good English, but knowing and speaking are difficult. I will tell everybody everything so good so nobody will have to pretend to be the interpreter of my bad speaking. Understanding and speaking are not the same,” he repeated, to make certain I understood.

“I think it best that you advise Harris of your plans to avoid any confusion that may arise,” I responded.

“Now you understand! Is good, yes?” he smiled.

“Yes, is good.” I answered.

Boris slapped my knee, “Your English is getting worse!” He laughed at me.

A thought struck me. “Speaking of languages, what does
mudak
mean?” He paused momentarily, looking about as if he wished no one to overhear a top-secret revelation.

“Is like calling someone gigantic arse,” he confided, and we both had a good laugh.

Leaving him to get on with setting up, I went back to Harris and found the bridge swept clean of everything not bolted down. I told him what Boris suggested, and he commented, “I've measured the length, and it's just sixty feet inside the rails. The gaps down the sides of the deckhouse are only five feet wide so it's going to be a squeeze. The pieces can't be allowed to swing the least bit. That steel must be well secured.” Boris came up just then and Harris repeated what he'd said. Boris waved a hand dismissively.

“No worry, plenty boys hold sides and I can move.”

This task seemed impossible, but by using some steel cable, Boris rigged a ropeway from the foremast to the mainmast at the level of the broken yard. Meanwhile a team of boys managed to clear away all the broken lines and stays. They stood waiting while the lashing was untied from the half-yard and attached firmly at its centre by a wire rope from the Jarvis brace. The load was then lifted to the wire ropeway and pulled gently by its rope tether over the top of the deck, until it came to the mainmast. There the second Jarvis winch was attached, and the half-yard was lowered slowly until it could be seized on by boys who started to guide it down one side of the deckhouse. It was hellish heavy. Then another and another, all the time keeping the load level and gently pushing it along at the end of the carrying rope from the Jarvis brace. A cheer went up as the first half gently hit the deck with a clanking of steel.

The second half-yard still in place on the mast was now unshackled. The steel was torn badly as it swung round slowly on the Jarvis brace. The half-yard began its aerial journey to be brought down. Half way, everyone stopped breathing as it billowed up and started to go wonky. Then it evened out and came safely to rest on the other side of the deckhouse. This may have sounded easy, but one slip and the huge weight could have smashed through a few decks and injured many! This could have been a real disaster from which we could not recover.

Harris said to Boris, “you outdid yourself this time, you crazy Russian,” and grasped his hand to shake it. Boris quickly snatched it away.

“Not in front of others!” he cried and shook the affected hand vigourously, blowing on it with an expression of terrible suffering on his face. The boys laughed and shook their own hands in imitation, the tension of the last two or three hours exploding out in a maniac few minutes of hysteria.

We were lucky to finish the job before night fell. Everyone trooped off for a well-earned meal and the chance for those off watch to sleep. Harris and I found ourselves at the wheel once more, but he said it seemed unnecessary to have two men on the wheel now.

“You should see your beauty and get your beauty sleep,” he said with a leering expression. I was only too happy to get off the deck. I looked up at the sky before I went, seeing the last of the boys flying down the shrouds after they'd finished setting the full display of sails. The wind was now holding steady and we were clipping along due west, bound for Land's End.

Chapter 27

RUNNING HER HOME

It was the end of a long and tiring day as I went below. The smell of warm food from the galley revived me and reminded me that I'd not seen my Katherine for some time. Not only had she prepared dinner, but there was also freshly baked bread. How she was able to manage all this was beyond me. Eating meals proved less difficult, as we could now use both hands at table instead of holding on with one to keep our seats.

I gave her a hug and took my food to the wardroom. There was a small group consisting of Harris, Boris, and Edward. Bowman arrived looking rested, and more like his old self. “Good evening, gentlemen, and I use the term loosely,” he said with a grin. “What further troubles are we to review this night?”

Harris and I exchanged relieved glances at his hearty manner.

“The yardarm has been lowered and stowed,” said Harris. Bowman told us he had been watching this from the bridge.

“My jaw dropped a few times, but I couldn't find appropriate words,” Bowman confided.

“Now there's something ye seldom hear…” Edward's words were cut short by a kick from Harris under the table.

Edward changed the subject, saying the radio started broadcasting a message on many frequencies, telling us to surrender. He thought it came from the MTB. Knowing that we were being warned to put into the nearest port or face further penalties made us feel that we'd really done something wrong.

The others were looking solemn, but not Bowman. “I think we'll have a little game with them later, but let's eat first,” he chuckled.

“I agree,” Harris boomed. “To hell with the bastards! Dinner's on the table, and we'll wait until we get to Dumbarton before we pay them any mind. We've let this take up too much of our thoughts and nothing can be done about it now!”

We all brightened at his comments. Although the odd law had been broken, none of us cared to pay the penalty. With Harris to lead us into battle, we could put it into our minds that at least we wouldn't have to pay so very much.

Once we'd eaten, Bowman led us to the chart room, where sure enough, the radio was still repeating itself. I pitied the poor operator having to sit there, saying the same things over and over again. Bowman took the handset and, without further ado, started to speak Scots Gaelic. He spoke the ancient words proudly, but at the same time kept grinning to himself. He paused for a moment and the speaker immediately came back with the same language. Bowman jumped as if someone had hit him on the head.

Clicking off the handset, Bowman shouted, “The bloody heathens know the language! Well, I've got two better than that,” and he handed the set to Edward. “Ned, read them the weather—in Irish Gaelic.”

Edward put on his best BBC voice, which I didn't even know he had, and started to hold forth in the lilting auld tongue of which I understood not a syllable. For aught I knew, he could have been reciting some horribly grisly story. Whatever the text, he was enjoying this immensely and sniggered quietly to himself.

After a bit Bowman said, “Well done Ned, now we'll really confuse them.” He then turned to Boris and asked him to tell them whatever he liked—in Russian.

“Speaking language?” he asked with a devilish look in his eye. Warming to his task, he rolled his R's extravagantly and made sweeping gestures to punctuate his oratory. Whatever he was saying, it was certainly expressive, and at the end of it he made a formal bow and added, “Doh svidanya,” grinning broadly.

He clicked off and there was silence except for faint yowlings and squawks. Before the same message started over again, a voice yelled, “
Now, Sparks, just what bloody wavelength are you on
?” in a voice to wake the dead. We all had a good laugh as we trooped back to the wardroom.

Bowman asked Boris what he'd said, and he laughed. “Is good borscht recipe. I tell them eat and be happy. Doh svidanya is Russian for goodbye!”

Once the laughter died down, I mentioned something that had been troubling me for a good while.

“We're now somewhere near Lizard Point, well to the south to keep out of the way of that treacherous coastline. As far as we know the MTB will resume its search tomorrow morning, since it's too late now to come and start looking. By tomorrow morning we'll be round Land's End and about four hundred miles away from Dover. Even if the MTB could do it, I don't think his engines would allow it. If they travelled at maximum speed, it would take her a good twelve hours to reach our present position and we'll have been long gone. The real sailors in Whitehall are going to work that out as well, and my guess is they'll have another MTB based at Plymouth, which they'll use instead of the one at Dover. With the storm over, all ships will be on the move, and in fact, they'll have already come out from wherever they sheltered. Once it's dark we could be anyone to a passing ship, except that we need a masthead light as well as port and starboard riding lights going.”

Harris swore under his breath and went out shouting, “Boris, Boris,” at the top of his voice.

I waited till he came back and then put my idea forward. I opened up a chart and spread it on the table.

“I know we'll be spotted sooner or later, so I'm suggesting we could bring the odds in our favour by not heading due north when we round Land's End.” I pointed to the chart. “Instead, let's take a course north-west aiming at the Irish coast somewhere between Cork and Wexford. With luck we should miss any ships on their way due south that will be crossing in a straight line between St. David's Head and Land's End. Ships from Glasgow, Belfast, Dublin, and Liverpool will all be using that route.”

Again pointing at the map, I ran my finger up along the Irish coast from Cork to Wicklow and paused there. “If we keep below the horizon of other ships along the coast, I should think we wouldn't be spotted until we get here,” and I tapped the map at Wicklow. There was a bit of silence, and then Edward stood and leant over the chart, pulling some crumpled notepapers from his pockets until he found the one he wanted. Taking out his reading glasses, he put them on, looked at his notes, and looked over the chart.

“We've just cleared Lizard Point, the graveyard for many a sailing vessel.” Edward said solemnly. He spent a few moments recounting some of the disasters that had happened there. “When we go round Land's End, we'll slowly turn due north up through St. George's Channel, my old sailing grounds of the Irish Sea. I'll grant that the chances of us being spotted are almost a certainty. We'll be passing very close to Land's End Light Station. If we're to be discovered, that'll be the place, even at night and with a masthead light. They'll report a ship that doesn't steer a straight course and someone is going to read that report before morning and guess why the ship didn't steer straight, like a steamer. We were very lucky reaching the end of the Channel. But I say let's head straight north as fast as the
Bonnie
will pull all night. This will be the most crucial part of our journey, and we'll need to sail as close to the wind as possible,” he cackled and looked at Harris, who just stared at me.

Again there was a silence until Bowman spoke up, “I suppose I'll be having to make the decision. I like both ideas, but I especially like the idea of getting to the end as quickly as possible.” He gave an odd smile and continued, “So I suggest a bit of a compromise.” Using a knife, he etched a line from north of the Scilly Isles, to midway between Rosslare and Fishguard, and then up between Dublin and Holyhead. “This way we'll be trying to stay out of sight, but not being too cautious.” He gave a laugh. “If we had some train timetables, we could probably stay out of sight of the Fishguard and Holyhead ferries too. I think we'll do this without riding lamps. If we get round unseen, so much the better, but be sure we post lookouts.”

“Right,” Harris agreed. “You've heard the captain. We should be having a fairly quiet night, so those off watch had better get some sleep while they can. Edward, you'll need to work out the course changes, so make them as quick as you can. Give them to Flynn who's about to take the wheel.”

I went up on deck while waiting for Edward's new courses. The clouds were scattered now, and there was a small crescent moon touching their edges with silver. Stars could be seen dimly and the wind was a strong breeze coming easterly. Boris had managed to rig us a masthead light and it was quite bright, though I couldn't imagine where he'd got the material to make a better reflector. Far off the starboard bow I could see a light twinkling low on the horizon. I reckoned this must be the Land's End light.

Edward had come out with his new course calculations and confirmed this. “Indeed it is lad, and you must keep it like that as you steer due west. Only when it's out of sight will you steer north, just as I've written it on the paper,” and off he went in his usual shambling walk.

I was glad he was still talking to me, as I'd gone over his head at the impromptu discussion. Still, Bowman had become quite the Solomon in that meeting, because Edward and I accepted the compromise without argument.

I went up to the wheel to relieve Robert. He and I always seemed to be missing each other, but we made a tentative date for early morning fishing for the bear. I told him about the latest developments on the pursuit front. He was about to make a point, when Harris came on deck and I showed him the course corrections.

Robert was anxious to make his point and carried on, “If I were with the Admiralty, I'd be trying to make out how I'd proceed if I did overtake this ship and board her. I could arrest everyone, or I could try to tow her. But for my money, if they finally do catch us up, they'll simply make threatening noises and effectively
escort
us to Dumbarton. But I'm no thinker, so I'll say good night to you both and go get some shut-eye,” and turning around, he went quickly below.

I started to laugh, as Harris rolled his eyes. “Flynn, didn't you and Uncle Billy already have that conversation with me, or do you two have a conspiracy of thoughts?”

“Yes, you know we did,” I said, “but Robert wasn't present. This confirms what I was thinking.”

Harris was quiet, leaning against the rail behind me. Steering was a joy now. The ship seemed to skip the waves effortlessly. The smack of the bow into the water brought a wave level with the rail to catch the moonlight.

Harris cleared his throat, “I expect you and Robert are right. I care very much about reaching Dumbarton. Bowman sees that as the final worthwhile achievement in his life and has worked for months to achieve this goal. What you're seeing now is the real Bowman. That heart of his is really playing him about, and again just now, he was wandering.” Harris's voice was shaking as he went on, “He's been like a father to me ever since I came to sea at the age of fourteen, about thirty years ago, and I don't know what it would be like if he weren't there to fight or cheer at the end of each day. I expect him to snap out of it as he usually does, but it's frightening to have it now going on longer than it ever has. He looked like himself during that chat, and a good compromise was made without fuss.”

He was silent and I had nothing to say that could have helped him. After a while he sighed and grumbled. “This won't get the baby bathed,” and off below he went.

For the first time I was alone on deck. It was exhilarating to feel the power of the wind and hold the course with the sails set close-hauled, as we headed out towards the Scilly Isles. I felt part of the ship, bending and turning to her every movement.

A voiced whispered softly behind me, “Flynn, you're almost dancing there.”

Katherine stepped up to my back and put her arms round my waist. We stood like that for a sweet while, absorbing the peace of the moment and the lack of stress, just thankful to be together. After a little, I explained about the course to follow and showed her the binnacle.

“What a perfect night,” she said softly. “This is something for us to remember always. I'm sure we'll never again have the opportunity to sail in a barque and hear the sound of the sea and wind as it is here. In a steamer, all you can hear is the engine and smell that horrible oil.”

I pressed her hands against me, trying not to break the spell. “From tomorrow until we dock, life is going to be hectic and I think unpleasant, so we need tonight to prepare ourselves. I keep thinking of our future and wishing I knew how it would be. It would be nice if I could find a job on an inter-island ferry in the north of Scotland, or find a neglected schooner that I could refit as a charter boat for fishing or holidays. We could work together. You could be the cook and I would be captain and crew. When we had no customers, we'd live on the boat.”

I was really just weaving dreams, but Katherine came round to face me and spoke up, “Not likely! This voyage has taught me what the sea can be, and I think I'll always be respectful of it, but I'm giving notice to everyone that I'll no longer keep this occupation upon reaching our destination.” She then smiled. “The idea of being free to move where and when we like, meeting new people and seeing new places is intriguing, but I'll be more than glad to be on dry land again. Later when we're a bit more settled, I'm sure it'll seem worlds better not to be venturing abroad again.” She paused with a little gasp of laughter.

“If I go on like this we'll be old before you know it!” and she threw out her arms. “It feels so good to make plans like this and think of a future that truly is possible. These last seven years have been filled with so much misery and hopelessness that this is like being an eighteen-year-old again.” She put her arms around me and kissed me hard enough to make the compass spin. I nearly lost the head and the sails started to flap, but since the dear old
Bonnie
Clyde
was also locked into our dream, she came back on course without effort.