A Ravel of Waters

'Back all yards on Numbers One and Two masts: Trim Numbers Three, Four, Five and Sixthree-zero degrees off the wind. Make all sail to the top-gallants – no royals. Stern thruster – full ahead port; bow thruster -. full ahead starboard!'

The purpose of my orders was to box Jetwind's head hard round to face in exactly the opposite direction to which she now lay, bow to the west wind. I would employ the backed sails to swing her bows, while the other sails, in normal position, gave her momentum forwards and sideways. Add to this ten tons of solid shove from the two thrusters and Jetwind would pivot on her heels like a dancer.

She came alive as Tideman's hands played the toggles and push-buttons. Kay was at my side with her calculations.

I snapped into the biich-box mike, 'Captain here! Black out the ship. No lights to be shown. Emergency illumination only.'

Tideman's racing fingers followed my commands. Next moment the bridge was dark except for the binnacle and green-yellow glow of the console dials. I added, 'Black out the sidelights.'

Tideman hesitated fractionally. The law of the sea required a sailing ship under way to carry red and green sidelights, but unlike a steamship no white mast-head lights. This put me legally in the wrong in relation to the Almirante Storni. 'Out!' I repeated.

Jetwind swung round like a racehorse being manoeuvred into its starting-box with only one idea in its head – to streak the hell down the course. The speed of the ship's pivot-turn was electrifying.

'Cut the bow and stern thrusters!' I ordered. 'What depth of water under her?' I asked Tideman.

He checked the fathomer. 'Nine-eight metres, making nine-nine.'

That meant deep enough, but Jetwind had a deep hull, whose grip on the water could be supplemented by two drop-keels, one in the bows and the other in the stern. These could be raised and lowered at will. Nowhere was the anchorage deep enough to use them to advantage. To allow for Jetwind's natural depth I would, in any event, have to follow an irregular course to The Narrows. A slight deviation would ground the ship on the muddy, sticky harbour bottom. 'Wind angle?' I asked. 'Two-seven-zero, true.' So far, so good.

'Steer six-zero,' I told Jim Yell at the wheel. 'Handsomely, as she comes.' To Tideman, 'Brace all yards as she steadies.'

The ship was in the final stage of completing her turn, the great yards above swinging with it. The thrust of over 9000 square metres of aerodynamic dacron was like shove-in-the-back acceleration.

It wasn't the sudden acceleration but a commotion which directed my attention behind me. It was Grohman. He had hastily thrown on his clothes – his shirt was not yet buttoned. His previous neat, rather sinister Spanish grandee air had given way to a savage intensity reminiscent of a stooping giant condor. His head and nose were thrust forward like the Andean bird of prey; his eyes above his stuhbled cheeks seemed to burn.

He came at me with his sleeves rolled roughly to the elbows, like a fencer about to lunge. 'Did I hear – Hands to make sail?’

It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. There was even more arrogance in it than he had displayed at Comodoro Rivadavia.

'You're not on watch,'.! responded roughly. 'And I'm the captain of this ship!'

He behaved as if he hadn't heard. 'You're taking the ship out!' 'You're damn right. Straight to the Cape.' 'You can't sail without clearance!' 'Says who?' 'It's illegal! The inquest!'

My attention was on the compass needle. 'Steady as she goes,' I told Jim Yell. 'Hold her like that!' In manoeuvring the ship, I missed the feel of the wind on the nape of my neck; I wanted instinctively to tell Yell to keep his eye on the weather leech of the foresail in order to steer by the wind. Instead, I had to interpret a complex series of read-outs before acting. More accurate, perhaps, but much less human.

My blood was up. Jetwind had a wonderful racing feel -there is nothing to match a ship which responds like that, except perhaps planing full-bore down a Southern Ocean super-wave.

My attention snapped back to Grohman. I told him briefly, 'This is my responsibility. ‘

I saw the cords in his throat knot. Anger blazed in his eyes, then died as he said contemptuously, 'The Almirante Storni is waiting outside. You won't get past her.'

'She is not outside,' I replied. 'She is on her way in. You can have a closer look at her very soon – as we go by.'

For a moment he looked taken aback and then he laughed derisively.

'All this up-and-away action is very dashing – like a movie,' he sneered. 'It is also very unrealistic, Captain Rainier. The Almirante Storni will intercept you, now or later. It is an empty gesture.' He added with a touch of pomposity, 'I wish to publicly dissociate myself from the illegality of your escape.'

'Fine,' I retorted. 'You've said it publicly. Do you also wish to be relieved of your duties publicly?'