A Ravel of Waters

'I had a first-rate skipper in Mortensen. If any skipper was capable of demonstrating Jetwind's mettle, it was him. I'd given him strict orders not to open her up until he got on the Montevideo-Cape leg. The ship was also in the process of shaking down, although she had only minor teething troubles – nothing to worry about. Mortensen said she handled sweetly, a real thoroughbred. He was happy with her.' 'Was?' I asked. Thomsen could not control his agitation. 'Mortensen is dead. Everything has gone wrong since.' 'What happened?'

Thomsen lit another Perilly, but threw it away before he had taken more than one deep gulp of smoke.

'Jetwind's attempt on the record caught the public imagination – the media's likewise. Every pressman, radio commentator, TV camera eye, was upon her, I had arranged a grandstand finish here in Cape Town. In anticipation of it, I flew out a dozen of the world's top shipowners to meet the herald of the new age of sail. And now, here they are – waiting! One of them, Sir James Hathaway, is travelling with the ship. He is a sail enthusiast. If he backs me, the others will follow like sheep. Sir James wanted to see for himself how Jetwind handled at sea. Now…!'

'I guess ship-owners are more conservative even than sailors when it comes to accepting innovations,' I said. 'I know how I felt when I was first confronted with the Venetian Rig.'

'Mortensen got away to a flying start from Montevideo…' Thomsen went on.

'I saw it on TV,' said Don. 'She looked splendid coming out of the River Plate.'

'Looked!' exploded Thomsen. 'She could have looked any way she liked, so long as she had performed!' 'What happened then?' I asked.

'Mortensen was killed, that's what! He chose his wind carefully for the start and the expected ongoing weather for the Cape. Jetwind took off like a bomb. In three days she logged a thousand miles. Then he was killed.' 'How?'

'I couldn't – haven't – got any details from anyone about how it actually happened. Jetwind has one of the finest communications systems afloat. With Mortensen, all I had to do was to pick up a phone anywhere and I could speak to him. All I can make out is that Mortensen was killed in some kind of an accident involving the sail furling gear.'

'But from what you've told us, any competent officer should have been able to press the right tit and sail her.'

He spun round and glared at me, and I saw how really touchy he was.

'I wasn't trying to be funny,' I added. 'You obviously had good back-up men under Mortensen. What was to prevent them taking over and bringing the ship on to the Cape?'

He replied in a kind of snarl. 'I hand-picked every goddam one of them. Including the first officer, Anton Grohman.' 'Grohman? His name rings a bell.'

'He made the headlines during the last round the world yacht race. One of the boats was sinking off Brazil. He was nearby, and rescued the crew in his schooner.'

'Now I remember. From what I recall, Grohman did a terrific job.'

'He did. Then,' Thomsen added grimly. 'I met him in Germany while Jetwind was being built. He wanted a job. He had all the qualifications, and excellent references. I'd already hired Mortensen as captain but I had no doubts about Grohman's abilities. Until…' He threw back the last of his drink. 'Until when?' I asked.

'Until Grohman reported Mortensen's death, and I instructed him to take command of Jetwind and carry on to the Cape. The next thing I heard was that Jetwind was heading for the Falklands.' 'You must be joking!' 'Captain Rainier, I wish to heaven I was!'

'Any sailor worth his salt would know that such a diversion was plain mad.'. I found myself sharing Thomsen's anger. 'The Falklands!' I repeated in disbelief. 'If Jetwind was a thousand miles off the South American coast on course for the Cape, Grohman must have swung clean into the teeth of the prevailing winds and currents to head for the Falklands. He must have been crazy!' Thomsen said bitterly, 'That's what Grohman did.'

'I would have given any skipper who did that the chop -pronto’ I said.

Thomsen went on. 'The day Mortensen was killed Jetwind was running with a fresh southwesterly abeam -one of her best points of sailing. She was logging a steady sixteen knots in a rising sea. Weather Routing reported a big low astern of her, with the promise of a big blow – enough wind to take Grohman fast to Gough, which is halfway to the Cape. I know what conditions were because I spoke to Mortensen a few hours before his death. The prospect of a sustained storm thrilled Mortensen; he was piling on sail. He hoped to achieve Jetwind's theoretical maximum of twenty-two knots before it was over. Then…'

Thomsen collided with a table as he strode unseeingly about the room. What he went on to say made his face leaner, tougher, and he himself taller than he really was.