Geoffrey Jenkins - Scend of the Sea

'You still haven't told me what you intend to do.'

'If the wind freshens, as I think it will, we'll be off the Bashee by mid-morning. While the weather is fair, I’ll get Touleier as near to Waratah's last known position as I can. Then — we'll ride out the gale. See what happens. We can't do more, we simply don't know more. It's really trailing one's coat in a sailer. We'll have to play the game off the cuff, perhaps even heave to, if the weather becomes too bad.'

Touleier drove for the Bashee.

Jubela called me at first light and I went to wake Tafline to be with me at the radio. I still dared not make a signal. I decided that I would try and intercept what Port Elizabeth was saying to other shipping. If it was bad, the port met. office would be warning the coast. From there, too, had come the C-in-C's 'clear-out' order.

I stood for a long while, simply looking down on her asleep in all her loveliness, not daring to bring her to the day of tight tensions which I knew must follow. For I had taken a look round from the cockpit, and the signs were in the sea and sky. The wind had backed northerly and freshened; the tiny fluffs of cirrus cloud seemed high enough to want to compete with the last fading stars. There was no ominous bank on the south-western horizon yet, the purple sky-bloom which wrote the death of Waratah, Gemsbok and the Buccaneer. I was uneasy, taut, yet eager for the encounter, but I am glad now that I waited that breathing-space of minutes while my breath fell into step with hers, which the creaking of the yacht failed to disturb.

After I had woken her, she joined me at the radio in the main cabin. On the South American race it had given trouble. When Touleier had been hard pressed, there was a seepage somewhere which affected its performance. I am no radio expert, and all I could do then was to try and keep it as dry as possible. The experts who had overhauled it had reinstalled it in the same place, with some extra waterproofing. It still seemed vulnerable to me, however, being close to the overhead skylight. Nevertheless, it seemed to work well enough now.

1 probed the wavelengths. Nothing.

I handed over the tuning dial to her slender fingers. Previously, the instrument had seemed to respond better to her delicate touch than to mine.

She held up a warning hand.

Port Elizabeth Met. to Ocean Fuel.

'Supertanker!' I whispered.

0600 GMT. Pressure 1000 mb, falling. Wind, light northerly to north-westerly, freshening. Sea, moderate northeasterly.

She swung round to me, questioning. 'Yesl' I said. A Waratah gale was on the way. 'Listen!' she said.

Port Elizabeth came in again after the Ocean Fuel's acknowledgment.

South-westerly gale off southern Cape coast, fifty to fifty-five knots. All lined up here for gale. Advise you to make for nearest port.

She came up to the cockpit and stayed with me until ten o'clock. We were off the Bashee.

Jubela joined me and she went below. He and I unbent and stowed all sails, including the big mainsail, in the for'ard sail locker. We double-lashed all running gear on the lean, uncluttered deck in order to allow the seas free passage. We checked the self-draining cockpit and the buoyancy tanks. We also frapped the tall mast, Jubela agreeing with me that had it been jointed, we would have been well advised to send down the upper half.

We broke out the small heavy canvas jib in order to keep steerage way. We brought to the ready, as an emergency stand-by, a still smaller, tougher trysail. In the soft weather of the moment the larger storm sail was scarcely enough to make the yacht ghost along, but it was all we needed as we marked time.

When we had done, I found Tafline below. She had made packets of emergency sandwiches, and wrapped and labelled them individually as meals for the coming days. In a full blow, the galley stove could not be used. She had also filled big vacuum flasks with hot coffee and soup against the emergency.

It was not until later, however, that I found out that her main concern had been to go once again through all the Waratah documents, double-wrap them in waterproofing, and re-stow them out of reach of any possible flooding in the galley's special head-high, metal-lined locker.

She was finished by the time the lunch-hour shipping forecast came-thoughtful, tense, saying little.

There is a gale warning. Strong south-westerly winds between Port Elizabeth and East London will reach forty-five to fifty-five knots later. All shipping is advised to make for port. We repeat, there is a gale warning …

'No order from the C-in-C this time,' she remarked.

'It'll come,' I replied grimly. ‘It's the final stage. They want to be quite sure, before putting out an order of such gravity.'

The sea still kept its face bland, but the wind became uneasy, gusting fitfully from the north-east. I let Tafline steer the gliding yacht in order to pass the time.

We said little, except once when she asked, 'Are we over the Waratah now, do you think, Ian?'

'We certainly are right in the area where she disappeared.'

She cut in quickly. 'What will you do when you find her?'

I was about to answer when my eye caught something on the far horizon.

'Look!'

The line between the blue of the sea and the purple of the storm was scarcely distinguishable. It merged, it fused, trying to conceal its evil in the water it was so soon to corrupt.

She gave a slight shiver, turned to me as if she intended to say something, and then started below.

'I'll bring up all the oilskins.'

The barometer started to rise. Soon the uneasy wind would settle into its true channel — the south-west.

The first punch the storm threw at Touleier unmasked its lethal intent.

I had put the yacht on the port tack, heading away from the land in the late afternoon. The wind was veering into its storm quarter, but still remained moderate. The sea began to rise, but I was unhappy about the Agulhas Current. It was so strong as to affect the steering: I was glad I had discarded the self-steering device. It required human brains and skill to offset what was starting to happen to the sea and wind. I was anxious, too, about Touleier's position. In theory, I knew that at first she would be driven southwards by the current, but once the gale got under way in earnest, she would be blown back upon her course. By tacking out to sea until it worsened, and then tacking landwards again, I reckoned she would be roughly in the Waratah target area when the storm reached its climax, which would probably be next morning.

I explained all this to her.

'There's a point beyond which one cannot go with a ship,' I said. 'Walvis Bay was on the limit. If it gets too bad I'll heave to.'

She smiled a little and said, 'Brinkmanship? A Fairlie judgement against a gale?'

I nodded, but inwardly I did not share her faith in myself. I carefully counter-checked every point I could think of. It would need everything Jubela and I could muster to keep her afloat. I went cold when I thought consciously about that giant wave which had hit Walvis Bay.

With a clap like a rifle-shot the storm jib exploded outwards in an iron-hard concave and blew to ribbons. In a second, it seemed, squares, rectangles and triangles of ripped sail insinuated themselves into the running blocks of the upper rigging. A ten-foot strip, still clinging by one tenuous cringle to an unyielding length of nylon rope, streamed out and flapped savagely against the mast. Then even the tough grommet could take the strain no longer, and the sail wrapped itself round the spreader and upper shrouds. The forestay thrummed like a double-bass.

iThe squall had struck ahead of the main army of the storm, now ominous and purple-black to starboard. There had been no herald of its coming.