Geoffrey Jenkins - Scend of the Sea

Touleier lay over on her side until the lee deck and cockpit were awash.

Pinned like that and with almost no way on her, anything could happen. And the storm itself was upon us.

'Jubela! Quick! That storm jib! Quick, man, quick!'

Urgently I thrust the helm into Tafline's hands. 'Just try and hold her steady until the jib draws. It'll take both Jubela and me to set vthe other storm jib. One of us will be back as soon as we can.'

She was strained, doubtful about her ability to steer in such an emergency. Jubela and I crawled forward along the steeply-angled deck while patchworks of torn, blown trysail snapped and yapped against the mast. I was glad that we had had the foresight to unbend and stow the mainsail; with it, Touleier would have been on her beam ends by now. 'Got it!'

Jubela threw me a nod. The smaller, tougher sail was snugged home and began to draw. I slithered to the cockpit and took the wheel from Tafiine. The yacht came upright and shied like a startled horse under the drag of the small sail, even, Jubela threw himself flat up for'ard, watched anxiously for a moment or two, and then gave the thumbs-up sign. Water cascaded off the deck. Touleier picked up speed rapidly and shook herself clear.

I threw all my attention into watching the yacht, the sea, and the sky. That squall had made it clear, even in this early stage, that no quarter would be given. Touleier gave a quick, duck-like shake. The contempt in it for my fears broke our tension for a moment. We both grinned. But Waratah was never far from our minds.

She gestured at the sea. 'All those arguments by the experts seem so futile when you come face to face with the reality.'

'They went for the ship, I go for the sea,' I said, knowing well what was on her mind.

'And the gale,' she added.

I liked the feel of the tight little craft under me and the confident way she behaved. The wind began to increase with every gust.

Then — it roared into the south-west.

Its onslaught was different from my previous encounter, but again there was the clear distinction between the advancing storm and the darkening land. Touleier had the rising sea abeam and started to put her rail under regularly.

We found it hard to talk to each other because of the wind. But I leaned down to her ears, gesturing at the waves.

'Waratah wasn't heading into a beam sea like we are doing. She was meeting it head-on. That lessened her problems a great deal.'

She nodded, looked astern.

Bashee light.

Touleier's portents were identical to Walvis Bay's.

An hour later, the wind notched up gale force. I estimated its speed at between forty and fifty knots. Icy rain sluiced along the deck. It was pitch dark, and a tremendous cross-sea was building up against the main current. I was a little startled at the way Touleier lay over at the crests under the impact of each savage gust, and the rag of sail slatted and roared. But it held. Soon — if the manoeuvre were to be carried out at all — I must put her on the opposite tack. I sent Tafline below, using the weather forecast which was due as an excuse. Jubela and I roped ourselves tightly to the cockpit in case it was swamped. I watched my moment.

Suddenly Touleier took a deep lee lurch and at the same time she was struck by one of those hilly, sharp-topped pyramids of sea, unlike anything I have ever seen before or since. In a moment she was half-way on her side. I felt the wheel start to lose its positiveness. Water poured over us until I was knee-deep. Jubela was hurled against me, but he clawed himself away in order to give me freedom with the wheel. I tried it to starboard, hoping to bring her head more into the wind. Then I felt the storm jib bite as she rose to the crest, and tons of water were thrown along the unobstructed decks. Seizing the moment, I put the wheel hard over and Jubela, following my actions, let fly the sheet and then trimmed it for the new tack.

Touleier was round!

Sea surged and gurgled from the self-draining cockpit. Tafline came up from the cabin and looked about her, startled. It was impossible to see her eyes in the dim compass light. Her voice was strained.

'The radio, Ian, it started all right, then something happened … she seemed to go right under! ‘

I cupped my hands against her ears. 'She's all right now. If it becomes much worse, I'll heave to.'

The lee deck was completely under water, but Touleier was lively and handling magnificently.

'I'll bring you something hot,' she called back.

The wind whipped back her sou'wester over her shoulders as she turned to go below. Ballooning out behind, for a moment it made her unsteady on her feet, the thrust was so powerful. Then she ducked out of sight.

I kept Touleier under the rag of sail for the next couple of hours. By ten o'clock the wind had risen to a whole gale-sixty knots! Its roar was appalling and it was locked in violent combat with the Agulhas Current. It threw up sharp, deadly pyramids of water which spent themselves by falling bodily on the yacht's deck. Tafline reported the skylight over the radio broken, and Jubela crawled forward and secured a square of tarpaulin over it. If they had warned shipping away from the coast, we certainly had no chance of hearing it. I was soaked. She brought us relays of hot soup and coffee. At times the clash of the current and gale under her rudder made the yacht almost unmanageable. I had not the slightest idea of her position. While the wind had still been usable Touleier had, I knew, beaten some miles to the south of the Bashee, but it was certain that she had been driven back since. I decided to heave to.

I went below to tell her of my decision, leaving the wheel to Jubela.

On deck, my ears had been numbed by the thunder of the gale and the cold; here, in the confined space of the cabin, the waves added their drum-like crash against the hull to the general uproar. It was impossible to move across the place — streaming wet from rain and seawater jetting in through the tarpaulin-lashed skylight — without using the grab-handles. The motion was jerky, uncertain, unpredictable, violent; a sudden pitch or staggering roll could easily break a limb if one did not hang on.

Tafline was very pale. 'Darling — is this the end? Are we sinking?'

I wanted to hold her, comfort her, chase the shadows from those lovely eyes. All I could do was hang on against the wild, erratic motion.

'Far from it,' I answered. I did not say, it will be worse before the night is over.

She shuddered, looking at the untidy mess swilling about under the yellow oil lights. We had disconnected the battery supply and drained the acid from the cells, in preparation for the storm.

'Was it worse — in Walvis Bay?'

'Yes, but different,' I reassured her. 'Touleier's like a cork, she's under sail. Walvis Bay plugged into it, nose-down. In the whaler, I was able to hold the Waratah's course, but any set direction now is out of the question.'

'No wonder they pray, "for those in peril on the sea".'

'I'm heaving her to,' I explained. 'There's nothing to be gained by trying to sail. It will make the motion easier, perhaps.'

She stared hard at me, and then asked in a small voice, 'This doesn't mean you're abandoning the Waratah, does it? I'd rather go on, come what may. If it's for my sake.. ’

The question of speed worried me greatly, but I don't think it is a factor. You see, the Waratah was steering at thirteen knots, Gemsbok was flying at over 300, and Alistair over 600.1 can't see any connection. I feel sure that Touleier's being hove-to won't make any difference. If it-whatever it is-is to come, it will come, whether we are under way or not. From the way the yacht is behaving, I think the storm centre must be close. The entire storm moves strangely fast. In twenty-four hours one of these blows could have spent its main force.'