with their spotlights probing like long white fingers. One of them
staggered over the wildly plunging crests to take off the crew of the
stricken lifeboat, and they left the cracked hull to drift away and
sink.
Three boats/ whispered the Captain, for thirty rafts. He knew that
there were insufficient shepherds for his flock - and yet he had to send
them out, for even above the wind, he thought he could hear the booming
artillery barrage of high surf breaking on a rocky shore. Cape Alarm
was waiting hungrily for his ship.
Send the rafts away/ he said quietly, and then again under his breath,
And God have mercy on us all. Come on, Number 16, called Samantha. Here
we are, Number 16. She gathered them to her, the eighteen passengers
who made up the complement of her allotted life-raft.
Here we are - all together now. No stragglers. They were gathered at
the heavy mahogany doors that opened on to the open forward deck.
Be ready! she told them. When we get the word, we have to move fast.
With the broadsiding seas sweeping the deck and cascading down over the
lee, it would be impossible to embark from landing-nets into a raft
bobbing alongside.
The rafts were being inflated on the open deck, the passengers hustled
across to them and into the canopied interior between waves and then the
laden rafts were lifted over the side by the clattering winches and
dropped into the quieter waters afforded by the tall bulk of the ship.
Immediately, one of the lifeboats picked up the tow and took each raft
out to form the pitiful little convoy.
Right! the Third Officer burst in through the mahogany doors and held
them wide. Quickly! he shouted. all together. Let's go, gang! sang
out Samantha, and there was an awkward rush out on to the wet and
slippery deck. It was only thirty paces to where the raft crouched like
a monstrous yellow bull-frog gaping its ugly dark mouth, but the wind
struck like an axe and Samantha heard them cry out in dismay. Some of
them faltered in the sudden merciless cold.
Come on/ Samantha shouted, pushing those ahead of her, half-supporting
Mrs. Goldberg's plump body that suddenly felt as heavy and uncooperative
as a full sack of wheat. Keep going. Let me have her/ shouted the
Third Officer, and he grabbed Mrs. Goldberg's other arm. Between them
they tumbled her through the entrance of the raft.
Good on you, love/ the officer grinned at Samantha briefly. His smile
was attractive and warm, very masculine and likeable, his name was Ken
and he was five years her senior. They would probably have become
lovers fairly soon, Samantha knew, for he had pursued her furiously
since she stepped aboard in New York. Although she knew she did not
love him, yet he had succeeded in arousing her and she was slowly
succumbing to his obvious charms and her own passionate nature. She had
made the decision to have him, and had been merely savouring it up until
then.
Now, with a pang, she realized that the moment might never come.
I'll help you with the others. She raised her voice above the
hysterical shriek of the wind.
Get in/ he shouted back, and swung her brusquely towards the raft. She
crept into the crowded interior and looked back at the brightly lit deck
that glistened in the arc lamps.
Ken had started back to where one of the women had slipped and fallen.
She sprawled helplessly on the wet deck, while her husband stooped over
her, trying to lift her back to her feet.
Ken reached them and lifted the woman easily; the three of them were the
only ones out on the open deck now, and the two men supported the woman
between them, staggering against the heavy sullen roll of the
waterlogged hull.
Samantha saw the wave come aboard and she shrieked a warning. Go back,
Ken! For God's sake go back! But he seemed not to hear her. The wave
came aboard; over the windward rail like some huge black slippery
sea-monster, it came with a deep silent rush.
Ken! I she screamed, and he looked over his shoulder an instant before
it reached them. Its crest was higher than his head. They could reach
clatter of the donkeywinch and the raft lifted swiftly off the deck,
with a swoopmg tug in her guts. The operator could not let the rushing
power of the wave crash into the helpless raft, throwing it against the
superstructure or tearing it's belly out on the ship's railing, for the
frail plastic skin would rupture and it would collapse immediately.
Samantha hurled herself to the entrance and peered down. She saw the
sea take the three figures in a black glittering rush. It cut them
down, and swept them away.
For a moment, she saw Ken clinging to the railing while the waters
poured over him, burying his head in a tumbling fall of white and
furious water. He disappeared and when the ship rolled sullenly back,
shaking herself clear of the water, her decks were empty of any human
shape.
With the next roll of the ship, the winch-operator high up in his
glassed cabin swung the dangling raft outboard and lowered it swiftly
and dexterously to the surface of the sea where one of the lifeboats
circled anxiously, ready to take them in tow.
Samantha closed and secured the plastic door-cover, then she groped her
way through the press of packed and terrified bodies until she found Mrs.
Goldberg.
Are you crying, dear? the elderly woman quavered, clinging to her
desperately.
No/ said Samantha, and placed one arm around her shoulders. No, I'm not
crying. And with her free hand, she wiped away the icy tears that
streamed down her cheeks.
The Trog lifted his headset and looked at Nick through the reeking
clouds of cigar smoke.
Their radio operator has screwed down the key of his set. He's sending
a single unbroken homing beam. Nick knew what that meant - they had
abandoned Golden Adventurer. He nodded once but remained silent.
He had wedged himself into the doorway from the bridge.
The restless impatience that consumed him would not allow him to sit or
be still for more than a few moments at a time. He was slowly facing up
to the reality of disaster.
The dice had fallen against him and his gamble had been with very
survival. It was absolutely certain that Golden Adventurer would go
aground and be beaten into a total wreck by this storm. He could expect
a charter from Christy Marine to assist La Mouette in ferrying the
survivors back to Cape Town, but the fee would be a small fraction of
the Esso tow fee that he had forsaken for this wild and desperate dash
south.
The gamble had failed and he was a broken man. Of course, it would take
months still for the effects of his folly to become apparent, but the
repayments of his loans and the construction bills for the other tug
still building would slowly throttle and bring him down.
We might still reach her before she goes aground/ said David Allen
sturdily, and nobody
else on the bridge spoke.
I mean there could be a backlash of the current close inshore which
could hold her off long enough to give us a chance - His voice trailed
off as Nick looked across at him and frowned.
We are still ten hours away from her, and for Reilly to make the
decision to abandon ship, she must have been very close indeed. Reilly
is a good man. Nick had personally selected him to command the Golden
Adventurer. He was a destroyer captain on the North Atlantic run, the
youngest in the navy, and then he was ten years with P & O. They pick
only the best -'He stopped talking abruptly.
He was becoming garrulous. He crossed to the radarscope and adjusted it
for maximum range and illumination before looking down into the
eye-piece. There was much fuzz and sea clutter, but on the extreme
southern edge of the circular screen there showed the solid luminous
glow of the cliffs and peaks of Cape Alarm. In good weather they were a
mere five hours steaming away, but now they had left the shelter of that
giant iceberg and were staggering and plunging wildly through the angry
night. She could have taken more speed, for Warlock was built for big
seas, but always there was the deadly menace of ice, and Nick had to
hold her at this cautionary speed, which meant ten hours more before
they were in sight of Golden Adventurer - if she was still afloat.
Behind him, the Trog's voice crackled rustily with excitement. 'I'm
getting voice - it's only strength one, weak and intermittent. One of
the lifeboats is sending on a battery-powered transmitter. He held his
earphones pressed to his head with both hands as he listened.
They are towing a batch of life-rafts with all survivors aboard to
Shackleton Bay. But they've lost a life-raft/ he said, It's broken away
from their tow-line, and they haven't got enough boats to search for it.
They are asking La Mouette to keep a watch for it. Is La Mouette
acknowledging? The Trog shook his head. She's probably still out of
range of this transmission. Very well. Nick turned back into the
bridge. He had still not broken radio silence, and could feel his
officers disapproval, silent but strong. Again he felt the need for
human contact, for the warmth and comfort of human conversation and
friendly encouragement. He didn't yet have the strength to bear his
failure alone.
He stopped beside David Allen and said, I have been studying the
Admiralty sailing directions for Cape Alarm, David/ and pretended not to
notice that the use of his Christian name had brought a startled look
and quick colour to the mate's features. He went on evenly, the shore
is very steep-to and she is exposed to this westerly weather, but there
are beaches of pebble and the glass is 90 mg UP sharply again. Yes, sir/
David nodded enthusiastically. I have been watching it. Instead of
hoping for a cross-current to hold her off, I suggest you offer a prayer
that she goes up on one of those beaches and that the weather moderates
before she is beaten to pieces. There is still a chance we can put
ground tackle on her before she starts breaking up. I'll say ten Hail
Marys, sir/ grinned David. Clearly he was overwhelmed by this sudden
friendliness from his silent and forbidding Captain. -And say another
ten that we hold our lead on La Mouette/ said Nick, and smiled. It was
one of the few times that David Allen had seen him smile, and he was
Amazed at the change it made to the stern features. They lightened with
a charm and warmth and he had not before noticed the clear green of Nick
Berg's eyes and how white and even were his teeth.
Steady as she goes/ said Nick. Call me if anything changes/and he
turned away to his cabin.
Steady as she goes, it is, sir/ said David Allen with a new friendliness
in his voice.
The strange and marvelous lights of the Aurora Australis quivered and
flickered in running streams of red and green fire along the horizon,
and formed an incredible backdrop for the death agonies of a great ship.
Captain Reilly looked back through the small portholes of the leading
lifeboat and watched her going to her fate. It seemed to him she had
never been so tall and beautiful as in these terrible last moments. He
had loved many ships, as if each had been a wonderful living creature,
but he had loved no other ship more than Golden Adventurer, and he felt
something of himself dying with her.
He saw her change her action. The sea was feeling the land now, the
steep bank of Cape Alarm, and the ship seemed to panic at the new
onslaught of wave and wind, as though she knew what fate awaited her
there.
She was rolling through thirty degrees, showing the dull red streak of
her belly paint as she came up short at the limit of each huge
penduluming arc. There was a headland, tall black cliffs dropping sheer
into the turbulent waters and it seemed that Golden Adventurer must go
full on to them, but in the last impossible moments she slipped by,
borne on the backlash of the current, avoiding the cliffs and swinging
her bows on into the shallow bay beyond where she was hidden from
Captain Reilly's view.
He stood for many minutes more, staring back across the leaping
wave-tops and in the strange unnatural light of the heavens his face was
greenish grey and heavily furrowed with the marks of grief.
Then he sighed once, very deeply, and turned away, devoting all his
attention to guiding his pathetic limping little convoy to the safety of
Shackleton Bay.
Almost immediately it was apparent that the fates had relented, and
given them a favourable inshore current to carry them up on to the
coast. The lifeboats were strung out over a distance of three miles,
each of them with its string of bloated and clumsy rafts lumbering along
in its wake. Captain Reilly had two-way VHF radio contact with each of
them, and despite the brutal cold, they were all in good shape and
making steady and unexpectedly rapid progress. Three or four hours
would be sufficient, he began to hope. They had lost so much life
already, and he could not be certain that there would be no further
losses until he had the whole party ashore and encamped.
Perhaps the tragic run of bad luck had changed at- last, he thought, and
he picked up the small VHT radio. Perhaps the French tug was in range
at last and he began to call her.
La Mouette, do you read me? Come in, The lifeboat was low down on the
water of the little set was feeble in the vastness yet he kept on
calling.
They had accustomed themselves to the extravagant action of the disabled
liner, her majestic roll and pitch, as regular as a gigantic metronome.
They had adjusted to the cold of the unheated interior of the great
ship, and the discomfort of her crowded and unsanitary conditions.
They had steeled themselves and tried to prepare themselves mentally for
further danger and greater hardship but not one of the survivors in
life-raft Number 16 had imagined anything like this. Even Samantha, the
youngest, probably physically
the toughest and certainly the one most
prepared by her training and her knowledge and love of the sea, had not
imagined what it would be like in the raft.
It was utterly dark, not the faintest glimmer of light penetrated the
insulated domed canopy, once its entrance was secured against the sea
and the wind.
Samantha, realized almost immediately how the darkness would crush their
morale and, more dangerously, would induce disorientation and vertigo,
so she ordered two of them at a time to switch on the tiny locator bulbs
and ice, on their life-jackets. it gave just a glimmering of light,
enough to let them see each others faces and take a little comfort in
the proximity of other humans.
Then she arranged their seating, making them form a circle around the
sides with all their legs pointing inwards, to give the raft better
balance and to ensure that each of them had space to stretch out.
Now that Ken had gone, she had naturally taken command, and, as
naturally, the others had turned to her for guidance and comfort. It
was Samantha who had gone out through the opening into the brutal
exposure of the night to take aboard and secure the tow-rope from the
lifeboat.
She had come in again half-frozen, shaking in a palsy of cold, with her
hands and face numbed. it had taken nearly half an hour of hard massage
before feeling returned and she was certain that she had avoided
frost-bite.
Then the tow began, and if the movement of the light raft had been wild
before, it now became a nightmare of uncoordinated movement. Each whim
of sea and wind was transmitted directly to the huddling circle of
survivors, and each time the raft pulled away or sheered off, the
tow-rope brought it up with a violent lurch and jerk.
The wave crests whipped up by the wind and feeling the press of the land
were up to twenty feet high, and the raft swooped over them and dropped
heavily into the troughs.
She did not have the lateral stability of a keel, so she spun on her
axis until the tow-rope jerked her up and she spun the other way. The
first of them to start vomiting was Mrs. Goldberg and it spurted in a
warm jet down the side of Samantha's anorak.
The canopy was almost airtight, except for the small ventilation holes
near the apex of the roof, and immediately the sweetish acrid stench of