The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

I saw the Minkies again just after the sun had risen. They were on the horizon, small, jagged points of black etched sharp against the western sky. And then, much later, I heard the sound of an aircraft’s engines. I had dragged Patch out on deck to get the warmth of the sun, but he was unconscious then. The aircraft went past us. I saw the shadow of it cross the water and I pulled myself up, searching the sky for it through bleared and gritty eyes. Then I saw it turning, banking out of the sun and coming back, very low over the water. I clutched the rail for support and waved a blanket at it as it zoomed over just above my head with its engines snarling. It flew off towards the Minkies and a long time afterwards, as I lay on the warmth of the deck in a semi-coma, I heard the putter of an engine and the sound of voices. It was the Peter Port lifeboat. They came alongside and life stirred again at the sound of friendly voices … strong hands helping me over the rail, a lit cigarette thrust into my mouth. They stripped us of our salt-stiff, sodden clothing, wrapped us in blankets, and then sleep came to me, the wonderful relaxed warmth of sleep. But I remember, just before I lost consciousness, a voice saying, ‘Want to take a last look at your ship?’ And a hand lifted me up. I shall always remember that last glimpse of what was left of her. She was stern-on to us, very low in the water so that the deckhouse, in which we had lived for two nights, looked like a chicken coop floating on the surface of the water. And then, in the trough of a swell, I saw the rust-streaked lettering of her stern — MARY DEARE — Southampton.

As far as I was concerned the story of the wreck of the Mary Deare ended there on the edge of the Minkies. But for Patch it was different. He was more directly involved and I was reminded of this as soon as I woke in the hospital at Peter Port. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had slept for more than twenty hours. I was immensely hungry, but all the nurse brought me was a small plate of steamed fish, and she told me there was somebody urgently waiting to see me. I thought perhaps it was Mike, but when the door opened it was a girl standing there.

‘Who is it?’ I asked. The blinds were drawn and the room all darkened.

‘It’s Janet Taggart.’ She came to the side of my bed and I recognised her then, though she looked very tired and there were dark hollows under her eyes. ‘I had to see you — as soon as you woke.’

I asked her how she had got here and she said, ‘It was in the papers. I came at once.’ And then she leaned down over me. ‘Listen, Mr Sands. Please listen to me. I’m only allowed to stay a moment.’ Her voice trembled with urgency. ‘I had to see you before you talked to anybody.’

She hesitated then, and I said, ‘Well, what is it?’ I found it difficult to concentrate. There were so many things I wanted to know and my mind was still blurred.

‘The police will be coming to take a statement from you soon.’ She paused again. She seemed to have difficulty in putting whatever it was she wanted to say into words. ‘Didn’t Gideon once save your life?’

‘Gideon?’ She meant Patch, of course. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I suppose he did.’ And then I asked her how he was. ‘Didn’t somebody tell me he had pneumonia?’ I had a vague memory of the doctor telling me that when he was examining my shoulder.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s very ill. But he passed the crisis last night. He’ll be all right now, I hope.’

‘Have you been with him all the time?’

‘Yes, I insisted. I had to — in case he talked.’ And then she went on quickly: ‘Mr Sands — that man Dellimare … You know what happened, don’t you?’

I nodded. So he’d told her that, too. ‘Nobody need ever know now,’ I murmured. I felt tired and very weak. ‘All the for’ard part of the ship broke up on that reef.’

‘Yes, I know. That’s why I had to see you before you made any statement. Don’t tell anybody about it, will you. Please. He’s suffered enough.’

I nodded. ‘No. I won’t tell anybody,’ I said. And then I added, ‘But there’s Mike. He knows.’

‘Mike Duncan? I’ve seen him. He hasn’t said anything yet — either to the Press or to the police. He said he’d do nothing about it until he’d seen you. He’ll do whatever you do.’

‘You’ve seen Mike?’ I pulled myself up in the bed. ‘How is he? Is he all right?’

‘Yes, he’s here in Peter Port.’ She was leaning down over me again. ‘Can I tell him you’re going to forget what Gideon told you? Can I tell him you want him to keep quiet about it, too?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course — there’s no point in saying anything about it now. It’s over — finished.’ And then I asked her how Mike had been picked up.