Geoffrey Jenkins - Southtrap

Now it was the dawn of the fifth day. I was at my station. I had staggered below to try and get some rest. Linn had taken me under the penguin-skin rug and pillowed my head on hers against Captain Starlight's saddle. Sometimes I had not known whether those capsuled moments of bliss and warmth were dreams or not, until some savage lurch of the ship would jerk me awake while Linn held me in her arms. Then I would kiss her, drag myself away, and stagger back to face the remorseless enemy on the quarterdeck.

Now it was the dawn of the fifth day. I was at my station. Jets of icy spray whipped into my face, scouring it down to the blood like sunburn. The bloodshot faces of the three men at the wheel were haggard in the binnacle's light. Bent was there, trying to penetrate the blackness and catch a glimpse of the goosewinged sail. A sail to steer her by, I thought light-headedly — then I realized something was amiss. It wasn't the deck under me, growing deader and deader. It wasn't the wind. Something was happening, my stunned mind registered.

The sound which had run through the ship for days like an undertaker's hammer had gone silent.

The pumps had stopped.

I pulled myself together. Before I could put my mind to this new problem, a figure loomed up alongside me. He was gasping and his face was ghastly with fatigue.

'The water — it's beaten us, sir! Pumps are no longer drawing. Must be fouled up. She's had it.'

He stood swaying, passing the responsibility for the dying ship on to my aching shoulders.

I asked as steadily as I could, 'How much water is in her?'

'It's right up to the waxworks deck, sir.'

I'll come below.'

I felt my way. The swinging lantern seemed dimmer than before. But its light was strong enough to show me enough. The water was ankle-deep. Linn was there, dressed in weather-proofing and boots. She had the hood drawn over her hair so that her face was in deep shadow. She had the penguin-skin rug looped about her shoulders against the cold. Ashes from the fire sloshed about. The chopped partitions and air of desolation made it feel as if Botany Bay had already passed beyond man's recall.

I put my arm round her and said to the man, 'Get for'ard. There's nothing we can do here any more.' My sluggish mind was already made up. Botany Bay stood one last chance, the slenderest of chances. 'Get half a dozen axes. I want the fittest men up on deck. Have them man the weather deadeye lanyards.'

The man stared at me uncomprehendingly. 'Quick,' I said, as if that word had any meaning any more. 'Quick as you all can.'

He went.

Linn said, This is the finish, isn't it, John?'

I couldn't see into the depths of her eyes in the smoky light.

'It could be, Linn.'

'I want you to know I love you, my darling.'

'These days have been a voyage to ourselves, my love. You've given me everything I've ever wanted.'

I took her close in my arms. Immediately I felt the hard outline of the transmitter under her parka.

I smiled wryly and shook my head. 'It was a good idea, Linn darling. It could have worked except…'

'For the Southern Ocean?'

The water round our ankles sloshed alarmingly. I kissed her and said, 'I don't know whether there'll be room in the motor-launch for us all. The other boats are all stove in. I may have to stay.'

'If I stay also, there'll be room for one more man in the launch,' she replied. 'That's the way I want it, my darling.'

'Then keep very close to me, Linn.'

We went on deck. Wegger and Bravold were there, both with Scorpions. They seemed more ridiculous than ever. Ullmann was at the wheel.

'She won't last another hour,' I told Wegger. 'We can try the motor-launch. But it won't take everybody.'

'Where is Prince Edward Island from here?' he demanded.

'You must be bloody mad to ask a question like that at a time like this.'

'I haven't thrown in the sponge,' he said thickly. 'I'll make it yet. What course?'

I laughed contemptuously. 'Try east. Just due east. You may finish up in Australia.'

I turned my back on him and picked up the megaphone. I couldn't make out the crew but I knew they must be huddled somewhere up for'ard.

'One of you get below,' I ordered. 'Put a drum of oil in the for'ard lavatory so that it spills out the hawse-hole. Understood?'

'He's gone, sir,' called back a voice from the darkness.

'Stand by to wear ship,' I said. 'Men, I'm going to try and bring her head to the sea. If we can stream a sea-anchor, we might still make it. The snip's stone dead. She mayn't come round. It's just an outside chance. If she hangs in stays, chop the fore and mainmast lanyards free and send the masts overside. Clear?'

'Clear, sir,' came the muffled reply.

I paused for a moment, hoping for a smoother patch to risk the fateful manoeuvre, which is difficult enough in a storm in any sailing-ship, let alone one which is sinking under your feet.

I saw a blue, phosphorescent glow — it seemed almost tangible — to starboard, the weather side.

'Hands to wear ship!'

I do not know whether anyone got as far as his station.

The wind switched direction without warning as if it had cannoned off a solid object.

Simultaneously with a frenzied shout, 'All aback forward!' I heard a crash overhead as the single sail blew from its bolt-ropes. The wheel gave a tremendous kick out of Ullmann's hands, and the ship broached to. There was another shattering crash and the foremast went overboard! followed by the main topgallant mast. Blocks, yards, rigging came showering down on deck. Botany Bay went over on her beam ends.

There was only one order now.

'Abandon ship!' I shouted. 'All hands to abandon ship!'

Out of the darkness of the bow came a hysterical scream.

'Ship right ahead!'

I, too, saw the outline of the ship. It was the same bluish phosphorescent colour I had noted before the masts went.

It was a ship, oddly foreshortened, taller than Botany Bay along its tall cutwater.

I recognized it as I saw it.

It was a ship — and a rock. A rock shaped like a ship. Ship Rock.

Ship Rock is one of the deadly outliers of Prince Edward Island.

Botany Bay's fallen tophamper smashed and thumped against the hull. It was a better sea anchor than anything which I could have devised. It dragged the vessel's head round.

But it was too late.

It could not drag her clear of Ship Rock.

She lay beam-on for a long moment cowering away from the massive black basalt stack which rose above her. A whole ocean broke over the rail. I saw one damaged lifeboat lifted bodily and smashed to splinters on the deck.

The rope I'd used to fasten myself to the shrouds I threw round Linn so that we were lashed together.

Then Botany Bay struck.

The port beam and quarter took the blow. There was a rending, sickening crash as her timbers disintegrated.

The sea, rebounding on the return from the streaming black cliff which rose up like a skyscraper, burst over the full length of the ship.

One moment I was standing with Linn on the poop, the next I found myself against a cathead in the bow. The rope had snicked fast about it; Linn was with me still.

I pulled myself to my knees, grabbed her, and pointed. 'The jib-boom! Up! Quick! Before the next wave!'

The spar was still intact above the maelstrom sweeping aft along the main deck and poop. I half-dragged, half-hauled Linn with me until I felt the footropes under my boots. I caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure doubled up between the outer bobstay and footrope stirrups — whether he was alive or dead I could not tell.

Botany Bay was thrown again against the cliff, this time stern-first. The bowsprit jerked at the impact as if in agony. I saw a group of men round the motor-launch as the main deck lifted up. They seemed to be cutting it free of its skids. Then, above the general din, came the sound of shots.