The Blue Ice

I opened the cabin door. There was a light on in the saloon. At the foot of the companionway, I paused. I could hear voices raised in altercation. I turned and peered through the crack of the half-open door. Jorgensen and Dahler faced each other across the saloon table.

'So del er det De tenker a gjore, hva?' Jorgensen's voice was low pitched and violent. The ship heaved and he clutched the centre support. Behind him Jill's cabin door opened. She was fully clothed. Presumably their argument had woken her. 'De far ikke anledning,' Jorgensen continued, still speaking in Norwegian. 'Sa fort vi kommer til Bergen skal jeg fa Dem arrestert.'

'Arrested?' Jill cried, and he spun round. 'Why will you have him arrested? What has he done?'

'Sold secrets to the enemy during the war,' Jorgensen answered.

'I don't believe it,' she replied hotly.

I threw open the saloon door. 'On deck, please, Mr Jorgensen,' I called. 'We're going to shorten sail.' I didn't wait for his answer, but hurried up the companionway. Out on deck the night was a howling wilderness of water. I dived for the weather rail and scrambled aft to the dim shapes gathered in the cockpit. The wind would soon be reaching gale force. I could sense the growing weight of it as gust after gust buffeted me. 'Dick!' I shouted, 'time you shortened sail. That yankee's far too much for her.'

'I was just going to,' he answered. His voice betrayed his anxiety. He knew he'd left it later than he should. Jorgensen came out on deck, followed by Jill. Then Dahler emerged. I cursed the cripple for coming up. But I hadn't time to worry about it. If he got swept overboard it would be his own fault. Curtis was at the wheel. 'Keep her running before the wind,' I ordered him. 'Dick. You and Carter out on the bowsprit. Jorgensen. You work with me.'

We scrambled for'ard. The ship was pitching violently. Dick and Carter stepped over the bows on to the bowsprit strands and worked their way out. Jill eased off the sheets and, as the yankee emptied itself of wind and began to flap, Jorgensen and I let the sail down with a run. Dick and Carter out on the bowsprit gathered it in and passed it aft to us. We set the ordinary jib and then began to get the main tops'l in. With a following wind and the main booms swung right out we were still carrying far too much canvas. The wind was driving us into the sea. You could feel it.

In the light of the spotlight I had switched on in the rigging for'ard we manned the halyard and sheet of the tops'l. But she jammed as we ran her down. The weight of the wind was pressing the sail against the gaff of the mainsail and the canvas had caught. As we worked to free it, I felt the wind shift and saw the clew of the mainsail lift as the wind got behind it. 'Curtis,' I shouted. 'Port your helm or you'll gybe her. Wind's shifting.' But he'd already seen the danger and swung the wheel over. 'Don't worry about course,' I told him. 'Just keep her running before the wind.'

'Okay,' he called back.

That's the danger with a following wind, especially at night. The main boom is swung right out. If the wind changes or you get off course without noticing it and a sudden gust swings in behind your canvas, then your boom comes across with a rush, sweeping the ship, and fetching up with a crash on the other tack that's enough to rip the mast out of her. That's gybing the way it shouldn't be done.

We tried setting the tops'l again. But she wouldn't budge. We needed more weight to clear her. 'Curtis,' I called. 'Hand over the wheel to Jill. And come for'ard.' With his extra weight we managed to clear the jam at the expense of the canvas. With a ripping sound the sail came down with a run. 'Hold it,' I yelled. 'Jorgensen. Take the jackyard as it comes down, will you.' He went a little further aft and, standing on the main hatch, reached up for the yard. 'Right,' I called. 'Lower away.'

The sail came down then, a flapping, billowing bunch of canvas that lashed at us as we gathered it in. And in that moment I sensed rather than saw the swing of the boat. I pulled the canvas aside just in time to see the wind get behind the leach of the mainsail. The great pile of canvas filled from the other side. The boom began to swing inboard. 'Gybe-ho!' I screamed. Jorgensen! Down! Get down!'