by Darrel Bird
wind, and these waters had their share of that this time of year. He didn’t believe all the superstition about the Devil’s Triangle, but he had no answers for where the people disappeared to, either. He figured maybe storms like the one rising out of the west had a lot to do with it.
He glanced up at the still-limp telltales again, and then looked at the clouds that appeared to be piling atop the others in great anvil shapes. They looked as if they were trying to reach the outer atmosphere. He heard a low rumble that rolled across the cloud front and ended in a cavalcade of low warning mutterings. He saw a big wad of Sargasso weed floating near the boat. A wave gently lifted the weed mass, and it passed on under the boat.
He went below and shook Randy awake. “Storm brewing,” he said flatly, and began stowing away every loose item he saw. He tossed Randy a liter of water, got himself one, and squeezed passed him to go topside again. Randy followed him and looked at the cloudbank, which now covered the western sky. The thunder muttered as the storm gathered strength, advancing toward them. The thunder crashed, and then rolled off across the cloud front to end in a low guttural sound. Jim reached over and cut the diesel, which he had been running to keep the batteries charged.
The air became even more stifling. The storm was brooding as if it was making up its mind what it wanted to do to them.
“There’s a big blow coming, Randy. I’ll take down the main and the jib, and raise a storm-sail, and let out the drogue, and we’ll let her run before the wind.
“Look Randy, it’s going to get rough. From where we are, it will probably blow us straight toward Key West,” he said. He worked his way around the cabin of the boat, dogging down the port lights and the top cabin hatch. He gave the last large wing nut a final twist and began to take down sail. His brother, who knew nothing about sailing, started toward him and Jim motioned him to sit back down.
“I’ll get it,” Jim said. “You just stay put.” He took down the main and the jib, fed them into the sail locker, and dogged down the covers. Taking out the tiny storm-sail, he ran her up to mid-stays. He walked around the boat, checking the stays and the chain plates, and found everything right. He glanced at a telltale and saw it move. He felt a slight breeze on his sweaty skin and saw the waves begin to pick up as the wind pushed them ahead of the storm.
He fed the drogue off the bow to help reduce the discomfort of riding out a storm in the boat’s cabin. Then he lashed the wheel amidships, sat down, and looked around. He clewed up the boom and gave the line a final tug, leaving the boom straight with the keel. He didn’t want that coming loose.
“Ok, everything looks good. We’ll ride it out below. Try to keep calm or you’ll get sick for sure. It’ll toss you around some, but try not to worry. This boat is built to withstand a hurricane.” As he said that, a gust of wind hit the boat and made the stays shudder.
“Let’s get below.” Jim followed Randy down the steps and loosed the thick re-enforced hatch, pulling it closed after them. He turned the wheel on it until he felt the hatch snug against the gasket. He turned on the overhead tube fan and it began pulling air down into the cabin.
Randy said that he would like for them to have a word of prayer, so they prayed. Randy prayed for all the souls at sea. He prayed for their family, for his wife at home in Clearwater, and for the church in general. This time, the droning of Randy’s voice did not bother him. For the first time since they had made it back to the boat, he lifted his heart to God, thanking him for his brother’s safety, healing, and deliverance from that hellhole of a prison.
For the first time in his life, Jim didn’t feel like he had all the answers. He was truly shaken by everything that had taken place. He thought about the truck pulling in just before he blew the back wall of the prison out, so that he didn’t have to blow the gate. He thought about the strength he had needed to carry his brother through that jungle and get him up onto the boat. He thought about Randy’s rapid recovery that he had witnessed. He thought about the location of the prison, because he knew that if Randy had been sent to an inland prison, it would have been impossible for him to affect a rescue.
Jim saw clearly for the first time that there was a power that worked according to a pattern at times, and this was one of those times. As Randy prayed, Jim gave thanks to God that day, and he regretted his earlier casual approach to God.
When they finished praying, the boat was beginning to move, and they could feel the vibration from the wind blowing through the mast stays. He felt the drogue begin to pull the bow of the boat into the wind. Within thirty minutes, the water began to crash on the top deck as the boat was tossed in the rollers. He looked through the port light above the dinette and could see the foam blowing off the tops of the waves.
As the waves rose higher, the boat rose with them, and then dropped sickeningly as the waves receded. He estimated the waves to be around forty feet. Another wave would roll in and the boat would rise higher and higher, then drop into the trough. The wind began howling through the mast stays as the storm gathered strength. He looked at Randy, whose face was growing pale. His forehead was beaded with sweat.
“Don’t lose it on me, brother!” He had no more than spoken when Randy lowered his head into the plastic bag he was holding. About five minutes later, he vomited again, and it began to worry Jim. Randy’s face had taken on a bluish tint. He knew Randy was in no shape to withstand seasickness. Randy held onto the sides of the berth with white knuckles.
The noise was growing deafening as the wind began to howl, moan, and then howl again, through the mast stays, mast, and boom. The boat lurched as it climbed a tall wave. The wind caught it, and it fell back down between the waves. Water crashed down on the top deck, trying to push her under, but she always rose back to the surface.
Jim saw Randy’s lips moving, and he thought he must be praying. “You need to keep confidence in the boat!” Jim yelled to be heard above the roar.
Randy lowered his head into the bag again and heaved. Jim shoved a liter of water at him and motioned him to drink. Randy looked sickly at the bottle and shook his head no. He was sweating profusely.
A larger wave lifted the boat and slammed it back down. Jim saw the water cover the port lights behind Randy. The noise stopped as the boat labored to rise. She finally broke through, only to be hit with another blast of wind.
If we hit a reef, we are a goner, Jim thought.
Jim was afraid for Randy. He had lain down on the berth, and the only movement Jim saw was from the rolling of the boat. He began to pray earnestly for his brother. “Lord, don’t let my brother die. I know we are in your hands. I know now that we always have been. Forgive me for my petulant ways, and get us home. Linda needs him, and I need him.”
He was answered by another wave, and a blast of wind shook the boat like a Terrier would shake a rat. He checked Randy’s pulse intermittently.
The storm lasted another four hours, mainly because it was driving the boat before it as it went. Finally, the wind died down to a steady breeze. Jim turned the wheel on the hatch, raised it back, and dogged it to the steel rail that held it rigid. He welcomed the fresh air, washed clean by the rain. He could see the glow of the sun to the west as it set below the backside of the clouds. A narrow slit parted between the clouds and the water. The red rays from the sun shot through, causing the tops of the waves to glow.
Jim surveyed the boat for damage, and fortunately found none. He went below to check on Randy. He rolled his brother toward him so he could feel for fever and check his pulse. When he felt Randy’s clammy forehead, Randy opened his eyes. What worried Jim was not seasickness, although prolonged seasickness could kill a person. A neighbor of his had asked to go with him and his buddy diving one time. They had left about 8 a.m. Thirty minutes out, the neighbor had gotten seasick and had lain down in the isle of the cabin. He’d wrapped himself in a stinking canvas tarp and would not move the whole trip. However, five minutes af
ter they had docked the boat that night, he perked up and was fine.
Randy’s case was different. The neighbor had been in otherwise good health; Randy was not. He bathed his brother’s face in water and turned the fan on him again.
He needed to tend Randy, but he also needed to get under sail and get him to land as soon as possible. He reluctantly left him and went topside, and began to pull sail from the sail locker. It took him about forty-five minutes to raise the jib and the Genoa. He set the self-steering and went below.
Randy was coming around and he helped him sit up. He said, “Randy, we have to get some liquid down you, and keep it down.” Randy nodded sickly. Jim looked around in the food locker, found a can of 7Up®, uncapped it, and handed it to him. Randy took it, raised it to his lips, and drank. He sputtered and coughed weakly.
Jim rustled around the food locker again and came up with the last can of chicken broth. He mixed that with water and heated it on the alcohol stove. His brother had drunk about a quarter of the soda, so he took the can from Randy and handed him a cup of the hot broth.
“Drink this with about two minutes between swallows. Here is my watch; can you see the hands?” His brother nodded. Jim slipped the watch on Randy’s wrist.
“I need to get the spinnaker up. Be back in a few minutes.” Again, his brother nodded. Jim pulled out the spinnaker and winched the big sail up. The sail caught the wind. The boat leapt forward and began to slice through the water. Air rushed into the cabin.
When Jim returned below, his brother had drunk the cup of soup. “Please, Lord, don’t let him throw up,” Jim pleaded. Randy was able to keep the stuff on his stomach; the air coming into the cabin helped.
Jim was nearing exhaustion from the constant work and activity, but he knew he couldn’t rest yet. He searched through the medicine chest for something else that might help Randy. The only thing that was even a possibility was antihistamine. He decided to give him one and see what the effect might be. The pill made Randy drowsy, but that appeared to be all. Randy lay down in the birth and closed his eyes, and in a few minutes, Jim could tell he was asleep. He watched his chest, and his breathing was regular, though shallow. Jim didn’t like to spend too much time below with the big spinnaker flying, so he sailed the boat and checked on his brother periodically over the next two hours.
After awhile, his brother awoke, and Jim persuaded him to eat some saltine crackers and wash them down with water. About five thirty that evening, Jim opened a can of pork and beans, and they shared that with slices of the bread, which was getting stale, though the center was still edible. Randy was weak, but able to talk.
“Look, Randy, we should be sighting St. Pete about noon tomorrow, and we have to talk.”
“Go ahead,” Randy said, when he sensed that his brother was bothered about something.
“I think it is better to not talk about this to anyone. It’s better that we just let it lay. We don’t want the government involved in this, do you understand?” Randy nodded. “You can tell Linda some of it. Just keep the details to yourself. She will understand.” Jim didn’t tell him about shooting the guard, and he didn’t plan to, either. He figured it was better left unsaid.
“Why did you take such risk to come after me?”
“I just did what