Alan Evans - Thunder at Dawn

Garrick’s face streamed water but he licked his lips. “She’s the Mary Ellen , sir.”

Smith lowered the hand from his eyes and peered at Garrick, eyes strained, or wincing. “The Mary Ellen ? Our collier? That Mary Ellen ?”

“Yes, sir.” And Garrick lowered his voice. “We — we’re only a couple of hours or so out from Malaguay but we’ll barely have coal to go on to Guaya, sir. At fifteen knots —”

“ I know !” Smith snarled it at him. He peered at the Mary Ellen not wanting to believe it was her and ground out, “What the hell is she doing here? I told Thackeray I wanted her at Malaguay not —” Then he clamped his mouth shut. It would do no good to bewail the fact as it would do no good for him to plead excuses when they broke him for leaving Thunder powerless and helpless. The collier was here before him and sinking, that was the fact. And she carried a crew of frightened men who would be hoping now. He pounded softly on the rail with his fist. Aitkyne looked from him to Garrick and there was sympathy in their exchange of glances. Smith’s fist was still, the knuckles white. Then he stared through Aitkyne and said huskily, “So you know this coast. Show me the chart.”

They went into the chartroom and stayed there long minutes. When they emerged Smith clung to the stanchion again and scowled stone-faced at the Mary Ellen as they closed her.

Then at last he came alive. “Slow ahead. Make to her: Stand by for a line. I will tow you.” He swung on the gaping Garrick. “Make ready to tow her.”

They could not believe it. Garrick looked at the shore and the sea then saw his thoughts mirrored in Aitkyne’s stare: It was impossible!

It was dark now, the Mary Ellen a tossing black bulk. There were lights on her bridge and there were lights on Thunder’s deck now and men milling aft where they worked frenziedly to rouse out the big towing hawser. From the Mary Ellen a signal-lamp faltered through a reply.

Knight read: “She says: Ship is sinking. Will you take off crew?”

Smith had read the signal himself and his answer was ready. “Reply: Negative. Stand by for my line.”

There was a shifting behind him on the bridge, a restive ripple that ran through the men there. He was aware of it, ignored it, eyes fast on the Mary Ellen . The lamp blinked again, still stumbling but faster now with a desperation about it. He watched and read it: Boats gone. Urgently request —

He did not wait for the rest of it. He could see for himself that her boats were smashed. She had taken a beating as she lay powerless under the storm. “Make: Negative. Stand by for line.”

Again that shifting, that ripple.

Garrick knew their eyes were on him, that if anyone should speak to the Captain it should be he but he was learning about this Captain, had learned a deal today as the Maria exploded and sank. He hesitated.

Smith sensed that hesitation as he had been aware of the shifting. “Everything ready aft, Mr. Garrick?”

“Yes, sir.”

The use of boats was out of the question in this sea. Ideally he should hold Thunder safely clear of the collier and drift a line down to her fastened to a cask. But time was against all of them. He said, “I want a man to throw a line from the stem. What about that big leading hand of yours —’’ he turned on Manton, “Buckley? Is he good?”

“V-very good, sir.”

Smith turned back to Garrick. “We’ll want fenders over the stern and this must be done handsomely. Better go aft yourself and see to it.”

So Garrick took himself aft and his uneasy conscience with him.

Smith ordered, “Port four points.”

“Four points of port wheel on, sir.”

“Midships.” Thunder steadied on the new course that would take her alongside of the collier. There was a light in the bows of the Mary Ellen now and figures moved on her fo’c’sle, crouched as the seas burst over them in spray. He could see the cable of the anchor she had tried to use to save herself. He snapped, “Starboard a point!” He would have liked the hawser made fast aboard the Mary Ellen to a length of her anchor cable. The towing hawser was wire, immensely strong but with little elasticity except that given by the curve in its length. The anchor cable was far heavier and would steepen that curve and give more spring, more elasticity to the tow to prevent it breaking. But there was no time for that operation. It was up to him not to break the tow. He edged Thunder closer as she drew abreast of the collier and crept past her. Thunder rolled and pitched and the Mary Ellen soared and fell and wallowed.

Smith was out on the starboard wing of the bridge now, eyes on the collier, gauging Thunder’s crawling progress against the collier’s dead rolling, narrowing on the strip of water that separated them. He was aware of the pale blur of faces on the bridge of the Mary Ellen and of one man who had to be her master, his mouth opening and closing and fists lifted and shaking at Smith.

Smith tore his eyes from the man and back to the task in hand. He shouted against the wind, “Port four points!” And: “Midships!” And: “Ease on port engine!” Thunder’s bow swung around to point seawards and her stern swung to pass across the bow of the Mary Ellen . “Close. Close !”

From behind him Aitkyne’s voice came strangled, “Christ Almighty! She —”

But Smith knew she wouldn’t strike. The figures on the collier’s fo’c’sle scrambled away from the sudden towering steel cliff of Thunder’s stern hanging over them but that cliff eased away from them as the weighted line was hurled. It landed right across the men on the fo’c’sle and they tailed on to it and dragged it in. Both ships were driven towards the shore now, the Mary Ellen by the storm, Thunder because Smith held her close on the collier as if that thread-like line dragged her. The sea was setting Thunder down quicker than the collier because it exerted more pressure on Thunder’s vastly bigger hull and she wasn’t dragging anchors. Smith had to keep just enough way on her to balance that pressure. “Slow ahead together! … Ease on port engine! … together! …”

A messenger cable of grass rope was bent to the line and drawn over to the collier because the line would not take the strain of hauling in the weight of the wire towing hawser. A donkey engine, the auxiliary engine to power her windlass, hammered faintly on the collier and hauled in the messenger cable and then the towing hawser that was bent to it. And all the time came the stream of orders to engines and helm as Smith juggled with them and the pressures of wind and sea on Thunder’s twelve-thousand-ton bulk and the three-thousand tons of the Mary Ellen . A mistake could throw Thunder astern on to the collier — or send her lunging away to yank the tow from the collier before it was secured and leave the whole painful business to be done again. Outside of the dancing, swinging lights on the cruiser’s stern and the collier’s fo’c’sle the night was a howling darkness.

But they could see the shore and it was close, the breaking surf marked by a line of phosphorescence.

A lamp blinked morse from the collier’s fo’c’sle. The donkey-engine was silent. In confirmation of the signal Aitkyne called, “First Lieutenant reports ‘Tow secured’, sir.”

“Very good!” Smith did not take his eyes off the tow. “Slow ahead together. Cox’n! Watch for the strain coming on!” Because the Mary Ellen’s weight would act like a huge sea-anchor dragged astern of Thunder . “Ease on port engine … Slow ahead together.”