A Ravel of Waters

I tried to laugh off her praise. 'It's just one of those things one learns at sea.'

But she wouldn't have it and pointed to the speed reading. 'She's making twenty-one knots already!'

Jetwind did better during the day. At times she nudged twenty-three knots, surfing, I suspect, a little on some of the biggest rollers. She remained dry and safe, tearing along as the wind reached Force 12, or nearly seventy knots. The earlier sickening cork-screwing was gone now that the fore-course held her bows high.

There was no sun. The twilight greyness of the storm was illuminated in a curious unreal way by the sea's surface which the harrowing of the gale had seared white. If there was growler ice about, we would never have spotted it in that streaming whiteness before it ripped open Jetwind's hull. I didn't think about ice; I kept her going; and in the next twelve hours Jetwind had put 480 kilometres between herself and the last land. Ahead lay nothing but Gough. And Trolltunga.

Chapter 20

I knew I was in love with Kay when I saw her death-fall from the mainyard next day. That morning death struck three times aboard Jetwind. I was on watch; it was about seven bells, 7.30 a.m.

Our speed had fallen slightly during the night, but she was still logging a splendid eighteen knots. The storm had eased but the ocean remained an awesome sight. In the grey first half light the crests seemed steeper than before. Jetwind was putting her shoulder into them and every time her bows went down mountains of water swamped her long, unbroken main-deck. It was the sort of situation I had foreseen when I had criticized the deck's lack of 'breakwaters' to Thomsen.

I had just spoken to Jim Yell, the bo'sun, on the intercom. Jim's quarters were aft, under the poop. The bo'sun in a sailing ship occupies a-different status from a bo'sun aboard a steam ship. Jim had almost officer standing. Since Grohman's suspension and 'house arrest' a much greater burden had been put on him. I intended to use the half-hour before the relieving watch came on duty to inspect the after-peak which housed the auxiliary engine nacelle, the stern dropkeel, and the steering gear.

I arranged to meet Jim in the crew's mess3 also aft near his own quarters. I passed Arno's office on my way and told him where I was going. He eased the head-phone clear of his blond hair and nodded. It was the last I saw him alive.

Kay and I almost collided as I started down the companion-way from the bridge to the main-deck. She had watched her moment with the seas coming aboard and had sprinted along the deck from her cabin in the stern. The icy cold air – contrasting with the air-conditioned interior -had brought colour to her cheeks. She was wearing sneakers and a green and white tracksuit with a loose top. It did nothing for her figure; I was not to know then its importance in the forthcoming drama.

'Isn't it enough to sprint a hundred and fifty metres along a deck without running up and down the mast as well?' I joked.

She held on to the handrail and looked up at me. I should never have let her go.

'Exercise is a sacred cow with me,' she smiled. 'If it's not milked every day, it becomes sloppy.'

'There seems to be a strictly feminine undertone to this conversation.'

She laughed and was about to reply but then exclaimed urgently, 'Watch out, Peter! Here it comes!'

The water did not reach the top of the companion-way where we were but swirled along the deck. It was cold, green, hostile. The big deck ports clanged as it flooded overboard. 'This is my moment,' I said, and started down. I managed the deck without the life-lines. An additional precaution was safety nets. I barely had time to dodge up the quarter-deck companion-way before the next roller swept the decks. I glanced aloft before making my way inside. There was ice on the burnished yards above.

Jim's cabin was the fourth down the passage. As I passed, his phone rang. I answered in his absence.

The scream of terror was Arno's. The shot was someone else's. 'Arno! Arno!'

I dropped the silent instrument and ran for Jim Yell. He was standing smoking and talking to a seaman eating breakfast. 'Jim!'

He spun round as I burst in. I jerked my thumb in the direction of the bridge. We both erupted on to the main-deck.

The nearest companion-way to our objective was on the starboard side of the bridge. But that was the weather side, the side which was shipping hundreds of tons of water. It created a waist-deep, freezing barrier. We hung on to the life-lines. There was an interminable delay while we waited for the sea to drain

'It's Arno!' I explained hastily to Jim. 'He gave a scream. There was a shot…'. 'Now – run!' shouted Jim.

We had reached No. 3 mast when Jim grabbed me and pointed aloft.