Harry took the stairwell down to the middle deck. The aft section consisted of the officers’ quarters, amidships was the galley, and forward was a large open area of slung hammocks. How anyone could possibly sleep in one of those was beyond him. Then he noticed half a dozen sailors, who must have come off the dog watch, swaying gently from side to side with the rhythm of the ship and sleeping contentedly.
A narrow steel stairwell led down to the lower deck, where the wooden crates that held the 144 Raleigh bicycles, a thousand cotton dresses and two tons of potatoes were all safely secured, and wouldn’t be opened until after the ship docked in Cuba.
Finally, he descended a narrow ladder that led to the boiler room, and Mr Patterson’s domain. He heaved open the heavy metal hatch and, like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, marched boldly into the fiery furnace. He stood and watched as half a dozen squat, muscle-bound men, their vests soiled with black dust, sweat pouring down their backs, shovelled coal into two gaping mouths that needed to be fed more than four meals a day.
As Captain Havens had predicted, it was only a few minutes before Harry had to stagger back into the corridor, sweating and gasping for breath. It was some time before he recovered enough to make his way back up on to the deck, where he fell on his knees and gulped in the fresh air. He could only wonder how those men could survive in such conditions and be expected to carry out three two-hour shifts a day, seven days a week.
Once Harry had recovered, he made his way back up to the bridge, armed with a hundred questions, from which star in the Plough points to the North Star, to how many nautical miles the ship could average per day, to how many tons of coal were required for … The captain happily answered them all, without once appearing exasperated by the young fourth officer’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge. In fact, Captain Havens remarked to Mr Bradshaw during Harry’s break that what impressed him most about the lad was that he never asked the same question twice.
During the next few days, Harry learnt how to check the compass against the dotted line on the chart, how to gauge wind direction by watching seagulls, and how to take the ship through the trough of a wave and still maintain a constant course. By the end of the first week, he was allowed to take over the wheel whenever an officer took a meal break. By night, the captain taught him the names of the stars, which, he pointed out, were every bit as reliable as a compass, but he confessed his knowledge was limited to the northern hemisphere as the Devonian had never crossed the equator in all her twenty-six years on the high seas.
After ten days at sea, the captain was almost hoping for a storm, not only to stop the endless questions but also to see if there was anything that could throw this young man off his stride. Jim Patterson had already warned him that Mr Clifton had survived for an hour in the boiler room that morning and was determined to complete a full shift before they docked in Cuba.
‘At least you’re spared his endless questions down there,’ remarked the captain.
‘This week,’ responded the chief engineer.
Captain Havens wondered if a time would come when he learnt something from his fourth officer. It happened on the twelfth day of the voyage, just after Harry had completed his first two-hour shift in the boiler room.
‘Did you know that Mr Patterson collects stamps, sir?’ Harry asked.
‘Yes, I did,’ replied the captain confidently.
‘And that his collection now numbers over four thousand, including an unperforated Penny Black and a South African triangular Cape of Good Hope?’
‘Yes, I did,’ repeated the captain.
‘And that the collection is now worth more than his home in Mablethorpe?’
‘It’s only a cottage, damn it,’ said the captain, trying to hold his own, and before Harry could ask his next question, he added, ‘I’d be more interested if you could find out as much about Tom Bradshaw as you seem to have wormed out of my chief engineer. Because frankly, Harry, I know more about you after twelve days than I do about my third officer after three years, and until now, I’d never thought of Americans as being a reserved race.’
The more Harry thought about the captain’s observation, the more he realized just how little he too knew about Tom, despite having spent many hours with him on the bridge. He had no idea if the man had any brothers or sisters, what his father did for a living, where his parents lived, or whether he even had a girlfriend. And only his accent gave away the fact that he was an American, because Harry didn’t know which town, or even state, he hailed from.
Seven bells rang. ‘Would you take over the wheel, Mr Clifton,’ said the captain, ‘while I join Mr Patterson and Mr Bradshaw for dinner? Don’t hesitate to let me know if you spot anything,’ he added as he left the bridge, ‘especially if it’s bigger than we are.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Harry, delighted to be left in charge, even if it was only for forty minutes, although those forty minutes were being extended each day.
It was when Harry asked him how many more days it would be before they reached Cuba that Captain Havens realized the precocious youth was already bored. He was beginning to feel some sympathy for the captain of HMS Resolution, who had no idea what he was letting himself in for.
Harry had recently been taking over the wheel after dinner so that the other officers could enjoy a few hands of gin rummy before returning to the bridge. And whenever the Chinaman took up Harry’s mug of tea now, it was always piping hot, with the requested one lump of sugar.
Mr Patterson was heard to remark to the captain one evening that should Mr Clifton decide to take over the ship before they got back to Bristol, he wasn’t sure who he’d side with.
‘Are you thinking of inciting a mutiny, Jim?’ asked Havens as he poured his chief engineer another tot of rum.
‘No, but I must warn you, skipper, that the young turk has already reorganized the shifts in the boiler room. So I know whose side my lads would be on.’
‘Then the least we can do,’ said Havens, pouring himself a glass of rum, ‘is order the flag officer to send a message to the Resolution, warning them what they’ll be up against.’
‘But we don’t have a flag officer,’ said Patterson.
‘Then we’ll have to clap the lad in irons,’ said the captain.
‘Good idea, skipper. It’s just a shame we don’t have any irons.’
‘More’s the pity. Remind me to pick some up as soon as we get back to Bristol.’
‘But you seem to have forgotten Clifton’s leaving us to join the Resolution the moment we dock,’ Patterson said.
The captain swallowed a mouthful of rum before repeating, ‘More’s the pity.’
53
HARRY REPORTED TO the bridge a few minutes before seven bells to relieve Mr Bradshaw, so he could go below and join the captain for dinner.
The length of time Tom left him in charge of the bridge was becoming longer and longer with each watch, but Harry never complained, because he enjoyed the illusion that for an hour a day the ship was under his command.
He checked the arrow on the compass and steered the course that had been set by the captain. He had even been entrusted with entering their position on the chart and writing up the daily log before he came off duty.
As Harry stood alone on the bridge, a full moon, a calm sea, and a thousand miles of ocean ahead of him, his thoughts drifted back to England. He wondered what Emma was doing at that moment.
Emma was sitting in her room at Somerville College, Oxford, tuning her radio to the Home Service so she could hear Mr Neville Chamberlain address the nation.
‘This is the BBC in London. You will now hear a statement from the Prime Minister.’
‘I am speaking to you from the Cabinet room, Ten Downing Street. This morning the British Ambassador in Berlin handed the German government a final note, stating that unless we heard from them by eleven o’clock, that they were prepared at once to withdraw their troops from Poland, a state of war would exist between us. I have to tell you now, that no su
ch undertaking has been received, and that consequently, this country is at war with Germany.’
But as the Devonian‘s radio was unable to pick up the BBC, everyone on board went about their business as if it was a normal day.
Harry was still thinking about Emma when the first one shot past the bow. He wasn’t sure what he should do. He was loath to disturb the captain during dinner for fear of being reprimanded for wasting his time. Harry was wide awake when he saw the second one, and this time he had no doubt what it was. Harry watched as the long, slender, shiny object slithered below the surface towards the bow of the ship. He instinctively swung the wheel to starboard but the ship veered to port. It wasn’t quite what he’d intended, but the mistake gave him enough time to raise the alarm because the object shot past the bow, missing the ship by several yards.
This time he didn’t hesitate and jammed the palm of his hand on the klaxon, which immediately emitted a loud blast. Moments later Mr Bradshaw appeared on deck and began racing towards the bridge, closely followed by the captain, pulling on his jacket.
One by one, the rest of the crew came rushing out of the bowels of the ship and headed straight for their stations, assuming it must be an unscheduled fire drill.
‘What’s the problem, Mr Clifton?’ asked Captain Havens calmly as he stepped on to the bridge.
‘I think I saw a torpedo, sir, but as I’ve never seen one before, I can’t be sure.’
‘Could it have been a dolphin enjoying our leftovers?’ suggested the captain.
‘No, sir, it wasn’t a dolphin.’
‘I’ve never seen a torpedo either,’ Havens admitted as he took over the wheel. ‘Which direction was it coming from?’
‘Nor’-nor’-east.’
‘Mr Bradshaw,’ said the captain, ‘all crew to emergency stations and prepare to lower the lifeboats on my command.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bradshaw, who slid down the railings on to the deck and immediately began to organize the crew.
‘Mr Clifton, keep your eyes peeled and tell me the moment you spot anything.’
Harry grabbed the binoculars and began a slow sweep of the ocean. At the same time, the captain bellowed down the voicepipe, ‘All engines reverse, Mr Patterson, all engines reverse, and stand by for further orders.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said a startled chief engineer, who hadn’t heard that order since 1918.
‘Another one,’ said Harry. ‘Nor’-nor’-east, coming directly towards us.’
‘I see it,’ said the captain. He swung the wheel to the left and the torpedo missed them by only a few feet. He knew he was unlikely to pull off that trick again.
‘You were right, Mr Clifton. That wasn’t a dolphin,’ said Havens matter-of-factly. Under his breath he added, ‘We must be at war. The enemy has torpedoes, and all I’ve got is a hundred and forty-four Raleigh bicycles, a few sacks of potatoes and some cotton dresses.’ Harry kept his eyes peeled.
The captain remained so calm that Harry felt almost no sense of danger. ‘Number four coming directly at us, sir,’ he said. ‘Nor’-nor’-east again.’
Havens gamely tried to manoeuvre the old lady one more time, but she didn’t respond quickly enough to his unwelcome advances and the torpedo ripped into the ship’s bow. A few minutes later Mr Patterson reported that a fire had broken out below the waterline and that his men were finding it impossible to douse the flames with the ship’s primitive foam hoses. The captain didn’t need to be told that he was facing a hopeless task.
‘Mr Bradshaw, prepare to abandon ship. All crew to stand by the lifeboats and await further orders.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ shouted Bradshaw from the deck.
Havens bellowed down the voicepipe. ‘Mr Patterson, get yourself and your men out of there immediately, and I mean immediately, and report to the lifeboats.’
‘We’re on our way, skipper.’
‘Another one, sir,’ said Harry. ‘Nor’-nor’-west, heading towards the starboard side, amidships.’
The captain swung the wheel once again, but he knew this time he would not be able to ride the punch. Seconds later, the torpedo ripped into the ship, which began to list to one side.
‘Abandon ship!’ shouted Havens, reaching for the tannoy. ‘Abandon ship!’ he repeated several times, before he turned to Harry who was still scanning the sea through his binoculars.
‘Make your way to the nearest lifeboat, Mr Clifton, and sharpish. There’s no point in anyone remaining on the bridge.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Harry.
‘Captain,’ came a voice from the engine room, ‘number four hold is jammed. I’m trapped below deck along with five of my men.’
‘We’re on our way, Mr Patterson. We’ll have you out of there in no time. Change of plan, Mr Clifton. Follow me.’ The captain shot down the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps, with Harry just inches behind him.
‘Mr Bradshaw,’ shouted the captain as he dodged in and out of the oil-fed, lapping flames, which had reached the upper deck, ‘get the men into the lifeboats sharpish and abandon ship.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Bradshaw, who was clinging on to the ship’s railings.
‘I need an oar. And make sure you have one lifeboat on standby ready to take Mr Patterson and his men from the boiler room.’
Bradshaw grabbed an oar from one of the lifeboats and, with the help of another seaman, managed to pass it to the captain. Harry and the skipper took one end each and stumbled along the deck towards number four hold. Harry was puzzled what use an oar could possibly be against torpedoes, but this wasn’t the time to be asking questions.
The captain charged on, past the Chinaman, who was on his knees, head bowed, praying to his God.
‘Get yourself into the lifeboat, now, you stupid bugger!’ shouted Havens. Mr Lu rose unsteadily to his feet, but didn’t move. As Harry staggered past, he shoved the man in the direction of the third officer, causing Mr Lu to topple forwards and almost fall into Mr Bradshaw’s arms.
When the captain reached the hatch above number four hold, he wedged the thin end of the oar into an arched hook, jumped up and threw all his weight on to the blade. Harry quickly joined him and together they managed to lever up the massive iron plate until there was a gap of about a foot.
‘You pull the men out, Mr Clifton, while I try to keep the hatch open,’ said Havens, as two hands appeared through the gap.
Harry let go of the oar, fell to his knees and crawled towards the open hatch. As he grabbed the man’s shoulders, a wave of water swept over him and into the hold. He yanked the seaman out and shouted at him to report straight to the lifeboats. The second man was more agile and managed to pull himself out without Harry’s assistance, while the third was in such a blind panic that he shot through the hole and banged his head on the hatch lid before staggering off after his shipmates. The next two followed in quick succession and scrambled on their hands and knees in the direction of the last remaining lifeboat. Harry waited for the chief engineer to appear, but there was no sign of him. The ship lurched further over and Harry had to cling to the deck to stop himself falling head-first into the hold.
He peered down into the darkness and spotted an outstretched hand. He put his head through the hole and leaned down as far as he could without falling in, but couldn’t quite reach the second officer’s fingers. Mr Patterson tried several times to jump up, but with each attempt his efforts were hampered as more water poured in on top of him. Captain Havens could see what the problem was but couldn’t come to their assistance, because if he let go of the oar the hatch lid would come crashing down on Harry.
Patterson, who was now up to his knees in water, shouted, ‘For God’s sake you two, get yourselves into the lifeboats before it’s too late!’
‘Not a chance,’ said the captain. ‘Mr Clifton, get yourself down there and push the bastard up, then you can follow.’
Harry didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself backwards, feet first, into the hold, gripping on to
the ledge with his fingertips. Finally he let go and dropped into the darkness. The sloshing, oily, freezing water broke his fall and once he’d regained his balance he gripped the sides, lowered himself down into the water and said, ‘Climb on to my shoulders, sir, and you should be able to reach.’
The chief engineer obeyed the fourth officer, but when he stretched up, he was still a few inches short of the deck. Harry used every ounce of strength in his body to push Patterson further up until he was able to reach the rim of the hatch and cling on by the tips of his fingers. Water was now pouring into the hold, as the ship listed further and further over. Harry placed a hand under each of Mr Patterson’s buttocks and began to press like a weightlifter until the chief engineer’s head appeared above the deck.
‘Good to see you, Jim,’ grunted the captain, as he continued to place every ounce of his weight on to the oar.
‘You too, Arnold,’ replied the chief engineer, as he pulled himself slowly out of the hold.
It was at that moment the last torpedo hit the sinking ship. The oar snapped in half and the iron hatch lid came crashing down on the chief engineer. Like the axe of a medieval executioner, with one slice it cleanly severed his head and slammed shut. Patterson’s body fell back into the hold, landing in the water next to Harry.
Harry thanked God he couldn’t see Mr Patterson in the darkness that now surrounded him. At least the water had stopped flooding in, even if it meant there was now no escape.
As the Devonian began to keel over, Harry assumed the captain must also have been killed or he surely would have been banging on the hatch trying to find some way of getting him out. As he slumped down into the water, Harry thought how ironic it was that he should go to his grave like his father, entombed in the hollow bottom of a ship. He clung to the side of the hold in one final effort to cheat death. As he waited for the water to rise inch by inch above his shoulders, his neck, his head, myriad faces flashed before him. Strange thoughts take over when you know you only have a few moments left to live.
Only Time Will Tell (2011) Page 34