Scend of the Sea

by Geoffrey Jenkins

  The sharp flicker of light became more imperative.

  'Identify yourself, please. Identify yourself. Why do you not reply to my radio?

  The warship-I could see now that she was a frigate — slowed and started to circle. It was not by coincidence that she was at sea, I told myself grimly. She was searching — for Walvis Bay.

  Smit returned. He had unearthed a battered old signal lamp, but it worked.

  'Walvis Bay,' I spelt out to the warship.

  Again the quick staccato of light. 'Answer my radio signals — immediately.'

  Smit glanced sideways at me. This was certainly not the lost sheep and joyful shepherd approach.

  'Cannot,' I replied. 'Radio washed away. Operator injured. Requires medical attention.'

  The frigate edged closer. Her captain must be taking a long look at what I had done to the weather ship. I felt naked under the silent scrutiny. Through my binoculars I read her name — SAS Natal.

  Here it came. 'What are you doing in the prohibited area?'

  'Trying to keep afloat,' I replied flippantly.

  There was no humour in the Navy this morning, however. I could imagine what a shaking that lean hull had taken during the night with her captain under orders to look for me 'at best possible speed'.

  The light said: 'Repeat, what are you doing in the prohibited area? Did you not receive the storm warning?'

  There was no use denying it; Feldman would see to that.

  'I received the storm warning. My ship was damaged shortly afterwards. One prop, is out. Unable to steam.'

  There was another long, uncomfortable pause.

  'Base informed that you are safe,' resumed the light. 'A Shackleton from Maritime Command will be over soon as stand-by. Come aboard and report personally.'

  A tiny pulse of hope beat for a moment through my tiredness. Maybe they were out looking only for Walvis Bay, not for Alistair.

  'Regret cannot comply,' I replied. 'Cannot leave my ship.’ 'Come aboard! That is an order, not a request!'

  Smit had found a working portable radio. I, too, heard the announcement. It brought confirmation of the news I had dreaded all night: Alistair had indeed crashed. I was the one who had seen him go in; I must persuade the Navy that Walvis Bay was in no urgent need, that it was imperative that I should take the frigate to where the Buccaneer had crashed.

  'Have you any casualties?' asked the warship. ‘I intend to sling a breeches buoy to you. A boat's too risky. Stand by. Skipper to precede casualties.'

  I picked up the voice-pipe to Scannel. 'Nick, ‘I’m transferring you to the frigate for those burns. Stand by, will you?'

  There was a moment's silence, then the engineer's voice came through. 'Boy, that will be the day! Do you think I'm leaving the ship stuck like this?'

  'Listen, Nick …" I began, but all I got was a derisive laugh and the instrument went dead.

  I signalled the warship. 'My first officer has a badly crushed arm and shoulder. What about using a helicopter for him?'

  'No question of it in this weather,' answered the light. 'I'm coming close. I'll fire a line across you …'

  I was given instructions how to secure the springs of the lifeline and told to keep the whaler at a fixed distance during Feldman's transfer-and my own. I hoped my exhausted crew could manage. Jubela was dead on his feet, and it was mainly upon his helmsmanship that success would depend. Smit went to help Feldman on deck.

  The frigate drew in. The rise and fall of a solid object gave the seas a new and frightening proportion. The other vessel seemed to be lifting fully thirty feet above us and then falling deep below in the troughs. She was being beautifully handled.

  'I'll come round into the wind,' said the warship. 'This will call for your full co-operation. Can you get rid of that sea anchor and make some speed?'

  ‘I can manage a couple of knots on one screw.'

  'Ready, then?'

  'Ready.'

  The frigate circled our stern and came up on the starboard side in order to give me a lee against the waves and the gale.

  I did not hear the crack as she fired a line. Jubela compensated, but the shot went wide.

  The frigate bucked wildly as she lost way, trying to accommodate herself to our limping pace. Again she fired the lifeline. This time it snaked across our deck and we made it fast. While we hauled in the main cable and secured it, Natal gave another magnificent demonstration of seamanship, holding a course parallel to ours at walking pace almost.

  I climbed into the canvas 'breeches' as I had been told, not raising my arms but letting myself hang limp to be hauled across. Feldman, his face grey with pain, fear, and I think resentment at not going first, eyed me silently. I jammed my battered cap, whose crown had taken a beating from the lashing tarpaulin when it had blown off my head once, tight over my eyes.

  I swung free of the weather ship. I had gone perhaps a quarter of the distance when suddenly the line sagged. I saw the white-topped sea below me rush up to meet my feet. The sickening drop brought back acutely Walvis Bay's moment of life-and-death in the great wave. It was Walvis Bay now that edged away slightly, bringing the line taut, but not too taut; I blessed Jubela's judgment. As I reached the warship's side, a big four-engined Shackleton came over low, circling, watching.

  I was hauled on to the deck.

  Commander Lee-Aston did not waste any time. When I saw his stubble-blackened face and red-rimmed eyes, I wondered how my own must look. A patina of dried salt lay across his shoulders like snow. His oilskin crackled like mine.

  He nodded briefly and led me below. What was obviously a conference cabin had been cleared, as if for action. Piles of chairs lay lashed against the steel walls, with carpets, pictures, and smaller furniture.

  Lee-Aston sat himself on the corner of the long table. 'We must talk fast,' he said. 'That line between the ships is damn dicey. Where's your log?'

  'You didn't ask..'

  'When were you damaged?'

  'Shortly after seven.'

  'Where — position?'

  'Not a clue.'

  'I see. But you were in the prohibited area.'

  'You make it sound like the diamond fields.’

  Lee-Aston's voice was tired, edged. 'Just answer my questions. I've had a rough night. The guts have been shaken out of my ship and the whole forepeak section is badly strained.'

  'I. .' I checked what I wanted to say about Walvis Bay's ordeal. The less said, the better.

  'What time did you receive the Navy's get-out signal?'

  'A little after six.'

  'Yet — an hour later, when you could have been safe in deep water you were, where? How far? Why?'

  My mind balked There were too many things I could not answer.

  'All this questioning — I don't know whether it's your function or not. I certainly will get all I can face from a lot of other people when I get ashore …'

  Lee-Aston looked at me bleakly. He didn't drop his probing, judicial air. 'I think we should get the division of authority clear before I proceed. Your Weather Bureau is without law enforcement authority. At sea, they call in the Navy. Within territorial waters, the Navy's word is law. So I call upon you to explain-and it seems there is a considerable amount to explain. The Navy's authority ends ashore. Along the coastline, the Railways and Harbours Police, not the police, exercise authority. If something like wreckage is involved, I hand over to them. .'

  'Listen,' I said, trying to overcome his cool self-assurance, 'at the moment both of us are sailors, up against the sea. We can discuss later whose authority I fall under. But now-if you will cast off that lifeline to my weather ship, I'll take you to where the Buccaneer went in.'

  'You'll-what?'

  ‘I saw the Buccaneer go down, and I know just about where it was. Young Smit can take charge of Walvis Bay. She won't sink — not yet, anyway. Let's get back to the crash area — fast.'

  Les-Aston slid off the edge of the table and simply stared at me. There was a small tic in one
of his red-rimmed eyes.

  'I saw the Buccaneer go in,' I repeated. Careful, I told myself, don't implicate Alistair. Low-flying is strictly against orders. Shooting up shipping is a cardinal offence. Lee-Aston wasn't Feldman. He wouldn't swallow that datum-point yarn.

  Lee-Aston was incredulous. 'It is nearly twelve hours since the first signal came in that the Buccaneer was missing! You say you saw him crash, and you made no attempt to go to his rescue or report it? What did you think it was — a dolphin?' ‘No,' I said. ‘It was my brother.'

  Lee-Aston broke the ensuing silence. It was the only time he became animated during the interview. 'Then think, man-your position! South of the Bashee doesn't mean a thing! You've got to pinpoint the place!'

  I was too exhausted to be anything but on the defensive. 'My ship was damaged before I could report or go to his rescue. .' I started to say. I pulled myself up. My story could wait. I dug a spur into my jaded brain. I must try and give Lee-Aston positions and plots for the search, then perhaps I could return in the frigate. . Where, I asked myself under the captain's cool scrutiny, where exactly had I seen Alistair go down? I had held the Waratah's course but after that-what? I had no idea where the frigate had found us. We could have drifted twenty miles in the night, and even farther, out to sea. I had also to take into account that extraordinary feeling of standing still while Walvis Bay's engines pounded at thirteen knots..

  I came out with figures, positions, estimates. When I had finished, Lee-Aston did not answer, but picked up a telephone. 'Lieutenant, come down here, will you? I want you to see Captain Fairlie safely to his ship.'

  The agony of Alistair and the agony of the night flooded back. I grabbed Lee-Aston's salt-caked jacket. 'I've got to find him. .!'

  He eased himself free of my grip, unruffled at my outburst. He was as detached, as professional, as a surgeon at an operation.

  'I was given a job, and I've done only half of it by finding Walvis Bay. She's a dockyard job. The other half is to get her safely to port.' He shrugged. 'Your position figures-the Navy and the Air Force are working on the Buccaneer's projected crash area. That's at least forty miles to the north of where you say.'

  Exhaustion slipped the halter on my words.

  'Nonsense! It was right in the Waratah area, not to the north. .'

  My words froze under his cool appraisal.

  'Ah, Waratah! Fairlie, the Waratah man!'

  I dropped my eyes, fumbling for a reply.

  He went on slowly, levelly. 'I've heard of your interest in the Waratah. So has the C-in-C

  Feldman, the bastard! I thought. During those long months I had worked at sea on my computations, he had probably been quietly talking about my preoccupation with Waratah. In a small ship like Walvis Bay there can be no secrets. Only he could have gabbed about my extracurricular activities to people in the Weather Bureau — possibly in an attempt to discredit me and try and get the command for himself.

  The abyss gaped in front of me. Watch and wait is all I could do.

  Tafline, too, watched and waited by the radio. She had shared her anxiety with Mr Hoskins. Not even in the final days of Touleier's race, he had confided to her, had he felt such concern as now: the yacht had deliberately kept radio silence to fox her rivals. A loner if ever there was one, Mr Hoskins had said-and she gleaned something more about me from his warm affection — but now there is something more than that. Hard to put your finger on, but he's changed. Somewhere deep inside him he's got a problem and he's trying to thrash the sea to work it out…

  Have you ever been on board his ship? she asked.

  No, replied Mr Hoskins, surprised. Did you see anything. .?

  Yes, she thought to herself. I did. I saw the photograph of the Waratah.

  But to Mr Hoskins she said, 'No, nothing. It was just an impression. It's all so stark, so clinical, so functional. All the man is kept out of sight.'

  Mr Hoskins had smiled. And she smiled too, but she did not say that she had sat up all night.

  Mr Hoskins said, 'He was never the same after his father's airliner crashed. Almost in the same place as …'

  She said, not thinking, 'As his brother crashed.'

  Mr Hoskins said, 'How do you know that? The radio didn't say so.'

  'No,' she replied, 'but it is.'

  Mr Hoskins put down his work and said, 'If you know that, wouldn't you rather go home and listen?'

  Then the radio broke in and gave a news flash. Walvis Bay was making for port.

  'No,' she said, 'but I'd like to go out and send a telegram.'

  I caught a glimpse of Walvis Bay through the frigate's porthole. I had turned from Lee-Aston's stare, trying to muster an answer. The weather ship rolled comfortably, almost, taking aboard only an occasional dollop. The thought goaded me at the sight — the thing which had nearly destroyed us during the night was slipping away with the realignment of the violent elements, master-current, counter-current, gale. I had to persuade Lee-Aston.

  I went for the truth. I said slowly, ‘I defied the Navy order. I admit that. I risked my ship; I admit that. You were out in the storm last night, and you saw what it was like. I had to find out every detail of it. Sixty years ago a fine liner went to the bottom in exactly the same sort of storm. The fundamental purpose of this weather ship of mine is the protection of oil rigs. In knowing why the Waratah sank, I can best ensure the safety of the oil rigs when they start to drill off Pondoland.'

  Lee-Aston remained remote, unmoved. 'Maybe — maybe not. Fortunately I am not called upon to judge your motives. I am only a naval officer, doing his duty.' He gestured to the lieutenant who had come to the door.

  'Lieutenant, see Captain Fairlie back to his ship. Cast off the line. Get a tow aboard the weather ship.'

  'You. . are. . not. . going. . for. . the. . Buccaneer..?'

  'Captain Fairlie, my orders were to find you. I have. If Walvis Bay was a navigational hazard, my orders were to sink her by gunfire. If she was afloat, I was to take her in tow to Cape Town. The search for the Buccaneer is being well cared for, I assure you. Unlike you, I obey orders. Now please get back to your ship and make fast the tow.'

  'You can't. .' I expostulated.

  'Subordination to orders is the heart of the Navy,' he replied. 'It has also been recommended, in another context, as a true philosophy of acceptance in life. I commend it to you. I shall let the C-in-C have a full report of our conversation. He is acting on behalf of the Weather Bureau since it concerns the sea and ships. Now, may I wish you good morning?'

  I went.

  The tow was secure, and I was pulling off my boots on my damp bunk before trying to snatch some exhausted sleep. Smit and I had heaved the cabinet off the bunk. The wetness and chaos made the place doubly depressing. There was wreckage everywhere.

  Smit knocked at the door and handed me a paper.

  'Signal from the frigate, sir. To be passed on to you personally.'

  I unfolded the slip and read the relayed telegram.

  Until we see each other, please keep away from the Waratah. Tafline.

  Tafline!

  So that was her name.

  So she knew.

  So did the Navy.

  So did the Weather Bureau.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'Captain Fairlie will report to the C-in-C, Simonstown, at 10 sharp tomorrow.'

  The frigate's snapping signal lamp had come to symbolize my rejection by the Navy and Weather Bureau during the past four days of the tow. Orders from the warship to the labouring weather ship had been restricted to what was strictly necessary. Their brevity indicated Lee-Aston's intention to demonstrate his basic philosophy of subordination. He had passed on equally brief messages from the Weather Bureau. They had to do with towing, getting the ship safely to port and docking. There was no word of sympathy for my casualties, not a hint of appreciation for what my crew or I had gone through to save the ship.

  I had forced Nick Scannel to go aboard the frigate to have his burns treated by the ship's
doctor.

  He reported back, grim-faced.

  'They're building up the case against you, skipper,' he told me. 'Ably assisted by that rat Feldman.' 'Case, Nick?'

  'I'm damned if I go aboard again,’ he burst out, 'burns or no burns. Wanted me to make a statement about the other night. What were you up to? What was behind the meeting between your brother and yourself? What-' he shrugged angrily, and then winced from the pain.

  'What did you say, Nick?'

  ' "I take orders," I told that iceberg frigate captain.' He grinned mirthlessly. '"I was in the engine-room. You don't see or hear anything down there, except what comes down the voicepipe. Unlike some of the arse-licking sons-of-bitches who frequent bridges." '

  I could not help laughing at Scanners vehemence.

  'It's bad enough, without taking cracks as well,' I said.

  Scannel mimicked the cold preciseness of the Navy captain.

  ‘ "I would have you know, Mr Scannel, that Mr Feldman has been of the greatest assistance to us in our preliminary investigations." "I'll bet he has," I said. "If he sucks up and gets the command of Walvis Bay, you'll find yourself with a weather ship and no crew." "May I remind you, Mr Scannel, the Walvis Bay is not a naval unit. We are acting at the request of the Weather Bureau. I am simply collating facts for my superiors." "And you can go and stick your collation right up the frigate's condenser pipe," I told him, and walked out.'

  'Thanks, Nick,' I replied.

  The engineer stared hard at me and said. 'You're going to fight them, aren't you, skipper?' I avoided his eyes. I did not reply.

  'You've got something to fight them with, haven't you, man?'

  'Yes and no, Nick,' I answered slowly. 'I don't know whether it'll do any good anyway.'

  'There's not a man of us in the crew who holds the other night against you, skipper. I'd like you to know that. We've all watched you for a whole year slave your guts out to make this ship something really special.' He became almost pleading. 'You wouldn't have thrown it all away for the sake of nothing, would you? You found something which will get you off the hook, didn't you, skipper?'