Алистер Маклин: Dead Halt

The third crewman had secured himself to the stanchion with a rope and had managed to clamber back aboard the pitching vessel. Now he appeared above Reid and began slowly to haul in the Jacob’s ladder, dragging Reid from the grip of the churning seas. Once on deck Reid slumped back against the deckhouse and wiped the hair out of his eyes. Blood poured down his face from the gash on his forehead but he was numbed by the cold and felt no pain. He scrambled to his feet and staggered back into the wheelhouse, grabbing the helm again and looking around desperately for the lighthouse beacon. It was nowhere in sight. He checked the ship’s head again. The schooner was heading in a southeasterly direction. He was totally disoriented and didn’t know where he was anymore so how the hell could he hope to work out a course to steer? He wiped the blood from his eyes and looked around as the crewman entered the wheelhouse. The crewman shook his head as if in answer to the question Reid was about to ask him. Now there were only the two of them. The lighthouse beacon suddenly washed across the Ventura ’s bow again, this time no more than a few hundred feet away from them. Reid swung the wheel violently as he tried to bring the schooner around in a desperate attempt to avoid the rocks. But he knew he was now at the mercy of the seas.

Seconds later the Ventura shuddered as the hull was sheared open on the rocks. Reid yelled abandon ship but another enormous wave dashed the schooner once more against the rocks. The crewman screamed as he lost his balance and disappeared over the side. Reid watched helplessly as another wave crashed over the man and he was gone. The Ventura was already listing badly and Reid knew it would only be a matter of minutes before she broke up and sank. Gripping the guard rail tightly in both hands, he made his way toward the lifeboat. Again the lighthouse beacon lit up the schooner. Reid estimated that it was now only a hundred yards away. He had to try and reach it in the lifeboat. His feet were suddenly knocked from under him as the Ventura ’s bow slipped beneath the waves. As he struggled to regain his footing another wave smashed down onto the doomed schooner, tearing the hull in two beneath the waterline and catapulting him into the water. He fought his way to the surface but barely had time to draw breath before the next wave tossed him angrily against the hull, knocking the wind out of him.

The lighthouse beacon scythed across the water, momentarily illuminating one of the Ventura ’s life buoys which was floating within a few feet of him. He made a desperate grab for it.

The beacon’s next rotation picked up the empty life buoy as it was swept out to sea …

The hurricane had caught the residents of Nantucket Island completely by surprise. Fortunately there had been only minimal damage to buildings as it skimmed the edge of the island before finally blowing itself out somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. But had the hurricane changed course the damage could have been far worse. And now the islanders were demanding an explanation from the meteorologists on the mainland as to why they had only forecast a storm warning.

But while their parents harangued the authorities that morning, the children were more interested in combing the beaches and coves in search of anything that might have been washed ashore. Ten-year-old Richard Stegmeyer had called his two best friends, Andrew Mulgrew and Tony Styles, the moment he woke up, and told them to come over to his house straight away so that they could get to Surfside Beach ahead of their schoolmates. After a hurried breakfast his mother had told him that he was to take his seven-year-old sister, Sally, with him. He had been horrified at the idea but no amount of persuasion would change her mind. If he wanted to go to Surfside Beach then he would have to take Sally with him. So when Andrew and Tony arrived the four of them set out on their bicycles for the beach. Sally had lagged behind from the start but Richard knew better than to ride off without her. He had been grounded in the past for not looking after her properly.

They didn’t make for the main beach. That would already have been scoured by others. No, like most kids of their age, they had their own area where they could go when the main beach was packed with noisy tourists. They left their bicycles in a clump of trees and hurried down excitedly onto the sand. Andrew immediately made for an outcrop of rocks a hundred yards away and Richard had to stop himself from chasing after him. His mother had given him strict instructions not to go on the rocks. Normally he’d have disobeyed her but Sally would be sure to tell. Tony gave him a quizzical look then shrugged and ran after Andrew. Richard was staring disconsolately after his friends when a small hand suddenly tugged at his T-shirt.

“What’s that?” Sally asked, pointing to something which lay on the sand beyond the rocks.

Richard started toward the object and as he got closer realized that it was a life buoy. He dropped to his knees in the wet sand and turned it over. The words “Ventura–Milford” were written around it in black letters. He knew Milford was a small fishing port on the Connecticut coastline about a hundred miles south of Nantucket Island. He shouted to Andrew and Tony and when their heads appeared above a rock he brandished the life buoy triumphantly above his head. They scrambled over the rocks, jumped onto the sand, and ran over to where he stood.

“Where did you find it?” Tony asked breathlessly.

“Right here,” Richard replied, grinning.

“I saw it first,” Sally added defiantly but the boys ignored her.

“Do you think it was caught in the storm last night?” Tony asked, looking out to sea.

Richard shrugged. “We could phone the Milford harbor master later this morning when my parents are at work. He could tell us about the Ventura .”

“Yeah, neat idea,” Tony said, nodding his head.

Sally suddenly tugged again at the back of Richard’s T-shirt. He brushed her hand away but she continued to pull at him insistently.

“What?” he asked sharply.

“What’s that over there?” she asked.

Something was bobbing in the shallows close to the rocks. Tony glanced excitedly at Andrew then, kicking off his sandals, he ran toward the water. Andrew also kicked off his shoes and sprinted after him.

“You stay here,” Richard said to Sally as he slipped off his plimsolls.

“Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous down there,” Richard replied, tossing the plimsolls onto the sand.

“But you’re going down there.”

“I’m older than you,” Richard retorted. “Now stay here. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come down.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, just stay there,” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran down to the water. “What is it?” he asked excitedly.

“A crate,” Tony replied through gritted teeth as he and Andrew struggled to pull it toward the beach. “Jesus, it’s heavy.”

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Andrew chided, flashing Richard an angry look.

The three boys managed to get a grip on the wooden crate and after some difficulty finally dragged it up onto the beach.

“Now what?” Tony asked, slumping exhaustedly onto the sand.

“We open it of course,” Andrew retorted.

“Yeah,” Richard agreed.

“How?” Tony asked.

“There must be something we can use,” Andrew replied, scanning the beach around them.

“Use your penknife,” Tony said.

“It wouldn’t be strong enough,” Richard retorted. “The blade would snap. You two go and look amongst the rocks. There’s sure to be something there. I’ll wait here.”

“Can I come down now?” Sally called out after the other two had headed off toward the rocks.