The Black Tide

‘Aye, but not my boat. The ILB, I think.’ I thanked him, glad I didn’t have to waste time trying to convince him of the urgency of it. ‘You’ll need oilskins,’ he said as we started down towards the lifeboat station, a single street light shining dimly and a cold breeze swirling the mist over the roofs of the cottages. Away to the southwest the Longships’ explosive fog signal banged twice and far away I could just hear the moaning of the Seven Stones’ diaphone. Rack’n we’ll take the inshore boat,’ he said. ‘Tha’ll be quicker.’ He had the key of the lifeboat house and after issuing Jimmy and myself with lifejackets, oilskins and seaboots, he motioned us to take the stern of the high speed rubber boat and the three of us

dragged it out and ran it down into the water. Visibility was virtually nil as we went out from under the stone breakwater on a compass bearing,

Andy crouched in the stern over the big outboard, Jimmy and I in the bows. I have only a vague recollection of the passage out, my mind concentrated on Karen, trying to visualize what she was doing, where she would have got to by now. Maybe Jimmy was right. Maybe she was just lost in the fog. But the double bang from the Longships light made it seem unlikely. Andy hadn’t thought she was lost. He’d put on his oilskins as soon as Rose had told him, prepared to go out after her alone. I could just see him, a dark shadow in the stern leaning forward away from the engine, a VHF handset to his ear.

Through The Tribbens it was only about a mile and a half from Sennen to Kettle’s Bottom, and before we had gone half that distance the five minute fog signal from the Longships was audible even above the roar of the outboard. Another ten minutes and Andy was throttling back, listening out on his walkie-talkie. ‘Tha’s one of the tugs. Rack’ns he’s seen a laight by the starn o’ that tanker. Farg cawms an’ goes, he says. He’s got a searchlight trained on ‘er an’ he’ll keep it so till we get than’

He opened up the throttle again and we bounced across what appeared to be a small tide rip. The tide would be ebbing now, pulling us down towards the rocks. There was movement in the fog, an iridescent glimmer of light. The light was there for a moment, then it was gone, the fog closed up again.

‘Getting close now,’ Andy shouted, leaning forward and passing me the big torch. ‘As soon as ‘ee see the wreck—’ He shouted a warning and swung the boat

lover in a hard turn. The slop of wavelets running over rocks slid by to port, just visible in the beam of the torch. The fog signal on the Longships cracked out, sharp and very clear, and in the same instant the landward-facing fixed red peered at us through thinning mist like some demented Cyclops, and to the right of it the shadowy shape of the stranded tanker showed black in silhouette against the brightening beam of a searchlight.

I don’t know how far away the wreck was — four, five hundred yards, three cables perhaps. But it was near enough for me to see that all the huge length of her was clear of the water, save for the stern, which was right against the rocks and sunk so low that the deck was awash. It was only a few seconds that we saw her clearly, then the fog closed in again. But it was still long enough for me to see a rubber boat snugged against the after rail and a figure moving along the sloping deck pinpointed by a flickering light. I shouted. But at that distance and with the engine running… what the hell did she think she was doing? It had to be her. Nobody else would be out to the wreck in a fog like this. I turned to Andy. ‘Did you get a bearing?’ I screamed at him.

He nodded. “Bout three-one-O. We’re in among the rocks.’ He had cut the engine right down, manoeuvring slowly. ‘Gi’ us some laight.’ I switched on the torch again, swinging the beam of it in a wide arc. Ripples everywhere, the white of little waves breaking as the tide ripped the shallows.

‘Was that a torch she had?’ Jimmy asked. But he

knew it wasn’t. There had been no beam and a faint, flickering light like that, it could only be that damned flame-thrower. The beam from the tug’s searchlight was growing, the fog like a luminous curtain getting brighter all the time. Then suddenly it was swept away completely and we had a clear view of the tanker again, a little nearer now, her decks deserted, no sign of anyone. Had I dreamed it, that figure with the ghostly flame? But then I saw her, coming out from the shadow of the superstructure, a small shape high up the sloping deck and holding out ahead of her that tiny flame of light.