With Hansie’s revival Luvia decided on another change of crew. The ex-barman, Basil, Bremer and Largertöf, relieved Isiah, Nudäa, Vicente and Jansen. Harlem refused to be relieved although he had been rowing from the first like Luvia, and Luvia himself would not hear of taking a spell. The leader of the mutiny had stamina and a perverse pride of his own; he wished to show that he was just as good a man as the Finnish engineer.
By five o’clock Jansen said that through the glasses he could now make out the deck-houses of the steamer when standing on a thwart and insisted that Luvia should have his place taken at the stroke oar if only long enough to have a good look at the ship.
Luvia’s back was nearly breaking under the strain and the palms of his hands were half raw where they had chafed in his hours of strenuous pulling. He was not beaten yet but honestly glad of the excuse to give up for a while at least. Ordering Isiah to take Harlem’s place and Nudäa his own, he joined Jansen in the bow.
‘Yes,’ he agreed thickly after he had trained the binoculars on the steamer. ‘We’re nearer, much nearer. Not more than five miles from her. Difficult to tell what she is though with her stern turned towards us like that. She’s pretty high out of the water—a cargo boat with ballast probably. Too far off still for us to see any of the people on her decks and unfortunately it’s unlikely they’ll spot us yet either. If only she were broadside-on or coming across our bows there’d be so much more chance, but who the hell ever looks out over the stern of a vessel?’
‘The thing is, can we get so near to hail before we lose her in the darkness, sir?’ the old carpenter asked despondently.
Luvia turned to look at the exhausted rowers. ‘We’ve got to, Jansen,’ he rasped. ‘We’ve damn’ well got to.’
During the next hour some of the oarsmen had to be changed three times. Their swollen tongues were like thick lumps of leather in their mouths, they could no longer draw breath properly through the closing passages of their throats, their faces were blackened and discoloured, their palms a mass of blisters from constant tugging at the oars so that the shafts now felt red hot to their touch.
Largertöf had fallen forward, sobbing on his oar, crying out in Swedish, ‘Kill me! Kill me! I cannot bear it any more.’ Hansie, Isiah and Vicente Vedras had all collapsed and lay gasping in the bottom of the boat. Gietto Nudäa was suffering from a violent bout of vomiting, as a result of having gulped down half a pint of paraffin from the supply for the lost primus stove in a crazy attempt to quench his thirst. Synolda was comatose; a white huddle tumbled in disarray at the stern of the boat.
Luvia carried on with the rest somehow. Old Jansen was at the tiller and Unity had the glasses again. She could observe the ship quite clearly now nearly down to her water line, but only her stern was visible and in that portion of her she could see no movement.
Low on the horizon a cloud passed in front of the sun; a light mist was rising and gradually the shadows closed around them. Basil fainted and there was no one left to take his place. While they were shifting him out of the way Isiah doubled up and fell beside him. The rowers were reduced to four.
‘We’re—not—far off,’ Unity managed to choke out as the survivors settled to their oars again, ‘but—it’s getting difficult to see her.’
‘She’ll show her lights—any minute …’ Luvia croaked back. ‘Stick to it boys—cheat the devil yet.’
For another twenty minutes Unity continued to stare through the glasses. It was quite dark now but through the mist she could not make out any lights yet in the ship ahead. She was only a black patch, a little darker than the surrounding gloom. Suddenly Unity lost sight of her altogether.
Frantically she began to sweep the darkness ahead, trying to pick it up again, and not daring to tell the others of this overwhelming calamity which threatened to cheat them at the last when they were so near to victory.
In vain she peered and peered, the ship’s lights would certainly be on by this time, but the mist must have thickened considerably and was hiding them from her; only a dense, uniform blackness showed ahead.
At last Luvia ceased rowing and turned round. ‘How much farther?’ he gasped. ‘Where is she?’
‘I’ve lost her,’ Unity choked.
‘Oh, God!’ groaned Luvia.
‘There she is—there!’ Bremer suddenly sprang up and pointed, not ahead but over their starboard side, and through the mist they all made out the faint dark outline of the steamer. They were less than a hundred yards away but had nearly passed her in the darkness.
They tried to hail her, but none of them had sufficient voice left to raise a shout, so they wearily took to the oars again and pulled until they came up to within a few feet of her side.
The ship was not moving and showed not a single light. A strange uncanny silence, intensified by the mist, wrapped her round.
‘Something queer about her,’ Luvia muttered, ‘and she’s got a nasty list to port.’ Suddenly his voice rose to a hoarse shout. ‘By God! it’s the old Gafelborg. She didn’t go down after all!’
5
The Sea Gives Up Its Dead
At this amazing discovery the feelings of the little party who still remained conscious in the boat were distinctly mixed.
For the last hour Corncob had sustained himself entirely on a pleasing vision. Its principal ingredients were a mighty meal, followed by unlimited supplies of hot grog while an eager crowd in the fo’c’sle of the stranger ship listened with rapt attention to his recital of their adventures. Like a child, he burst into dry, hoarse sobs at his bitter disappointment.
Unity’s first thought was the happy one that she would be able to get all the things she had been compelled to leave in her cabin when they abandoned ship; her own hair tonic, brushes, bath salts; sleep the clock round in her favourite nightdress, and revel in clean undies when she got up.
Harlem felt a grim satisfaction. He had rowed so desperately only because his very life depended on it; but knew that when they reached the ship he would be put in irons and have to face his trial for mutiny on the high seas immediately they touched a port. In the old Gafelborg there was food and drink, but nothing to fear. He’d broken prison in the States and wriggled out of plenty of tough spots since. Many things might happen before Luvia got a chance to hand him over to the authorities, and he’d have skipped long before then.
Knowing the Gafelborg to have been seriously disabled, Jansen was frankly dismayed. He considered it little short of a miracle that she had survived the cyclone or not gone down since; and he realised that her being still afloat was due to the exceptionally calm weather of the last four days. He gloomily foresaw a short sojourn in her revictualling, then her sinking with the first puff of wind, and their having to face the horrors of the open boat again. Bremer’s thoughts were very much the same.
Luvia, on the other hand, was seized with a wild elation. As she had remained afloat for four days he felt there was a good chance of her lasting a few more. If only the weather held he might be able to patch her up and run her into port. That would mean a small fortune in salvage money for him, praise from his owners, and certain promotion to a better berth in a new ship.
He was cautious enough to realise, however, that the Gafelborg might suddenly slide under at any moment, and checked the impetuosity of the others who were frantic to get on board. They were already man-handling the boat along the side of the ship to some rope falls which hung slack from the davits where one of the boats had been lowered.
‘You’ll stay put,’ he told them as he grabbed the metal block which dangled at the end of the tackle. The least thing may send her plunging—even the extra weight of a bunch of us all boarding her at one point at the same time. I’ll be back with water just as soon as I can.’ He swarmed up the falls, clambered down the davit, and disappeared over the ship’s side.
As he was well acquainted with the Gafelborg’s geography, he was able to make straight for the pantry, draw off a large copper can of drinking-water and return
with it without the least delay. Taking one big, glorious gulp himself he bent a line through the handle of the can and lowered it to the tortured sufferers in the boat.
‘Don’t drink too much at once,’ he called, ‘else you’ll get bellyache. No one’s to come aboard before I give the word. I want to have a look round first.’
Returning to the pantry, he poured himself a pint of water, and savoured to the full the luxury of sipping it slowly down while he thought over the situation.
The Gafelborg still had a heavy list to port and was dangerously down at the head. If she was repairable it would take days, weeks perhaps, to make her really seaworthy. In the meantime there was always the chance that a sudden squall might send her to the bottom or that a slight infiltration, which was probably in progress through the forward bulkhead shutting off the waterlogged compartments, might accumulate enough weight in her main holds to tip the scale so that she would go down without the slightest warning.
His normal caution made him feel that he ought not to allow any of the others on board at all. Once in the ship they might be trapped like rats and drowned, whereas while they remained in the boat they could draw supplies from the Gafelborg and would be safe from anything short of another cyclone.
On the other hand, he had to face the fact that most of the party were half-dead already. If they were to repair the ship sufficiently for her to remain afloat, and it seemed now that their chances of life mainly depended on their being able to do so, he would need every man he had in fit condition for the labour. Plenty of good food and a long sleep in comfortable bunks was undoubtably the quickest road to their full recovery. The lowering of hot victuals to the boat seemed a pretty problem and its hard bottom boards, as he knew well enough, were no place for refreshing slumber. Finishing up his glass of water he made his decision. He must chance the ship going down with them in it and have them all on board.
Collecting a canvas sling from one of the deck lockers, he returned to the ship’s side. ‘Hallo there!’ he called. ‘Harlem, you come up here to me. Jansen, Bremer, stay in the boat and fix the casualties to be hoisted in this sling I’m sending down to you.’
As soon as Harlem had shinned up the falls Luvia hauled in the block, attached the sling to it, and lowered away. By means of the block and tackle hanging from the davit the two of them raised all the boat’s company to the deck. Jansen arrived last, having made the lifeboat fast so that it would not drift away during the night but be ready for any fresh emergency which might overtake them.
Basil, Synolda and Isiah had already been revived with some of the water in the can that Luvia had lowered; but Vicente, Largertöf, Hansie and Nudäa were still incapable of using their own legs. De Brissac, too, although conscious and less exhausted than some of the others, was standing upright for the first time since the oar fell on his head, so found it impossible to stagger more than a few steps. As they came aboard Luvia sent them to the lounge and those who could walk carried in the grimly sagging figures of the remainder.
Unity took one of the hurricane lamps and went straight to the after galley. Finding some large tins of soup in a cupboard, she opened four of them, tipped their contents into a big saucepan, and mechanically set it on the stove. She was so dazed with fatigue it never even occurred to her as queer that the fire should still be going although the ship had been abandoned four days before, and twenty minutes later Basil discovered her curled up in a corner of the galley sound asleep. He roused her with some difficulty and together they carried the soup and plates to the lounge.
Meanwhile Luvia and Synolda had been busy on the casualties. With the aid of brandy from the bar they had succeeded in restoring all of them except Nudäa, who was still desperately ill and could keep nothing down.
The soup was handed round, and, although several of them were sick afterwards owing to the frightful state of their distended stomachs, even those who were felt the better for its comforting warmth as it trickled down their gullets.
All of them were much too worn out to attempt cooking anything further that night, so the hardier ones supplemented the soup with some bananas and a tin of cheese biscuits which Hansie produced from a locker in the saloon. Afterwards, Luvia thought for a moment of getting bedding up from the cabins, so that they could sleep nearer the deck and have more chance of saving themselves if the ship began to sink, but even that small effort was now obviously quite beyond them. It was as much as they could do to support the invalids down the companionway and stagger with them to the nearest bunks.
Almost blind with fatigue, Unity found her own cabin. The electric light was not working. All thoughts of a hot bath and the pretty nightdress had left her. She ripped off her clothes in the dark, crawled between the cool sheets naked, and next moment was sound asleep.
When she awoke the strong, midday sunshine was streaming through the porthole. Her own belongings were set out about her in the small, familiar cabin, and, for a second, she thought the events of the last five days had occurred only in a frightful dream. Yet her heavy head, rough tongue, nakedness, and the sloping angle of the cabin, immediately convinced her of their reality.
‘Missie want break’fas—lunch?’ a sibilant voice asked from the doorway.
She jerked her head round and, to her amazement, saw a smoothfaced Chinaman standing there.
‘You come topsides. Li Foo make plenty bacon-eggs an’ good tea.’
Without a sound, the vision drew to the door and disappeared.
Unity stared after him, realising it was his coming which must have wakened her, but uncertain yet if he were man or ghost. He certainly had not been with them during their nightmare existence in the boat and she was sure she had not seen him on the ship during the run from Cape Town. However, he seemed a very friendly apparition and promised unbelievably good things.
Deciding to accept his invitation without delay, she slipped out of the bunk. The water in the cabin basin was cold, so she contented herself with sluicing her face and washing the grime off her hands; determining to have a hot bath later, even if she had to boil every kettle of water for it and carry them to the bathroom. All the men having seen her so recently in such a hopelessly bedraggled state, she wasted little time in dressing, but, with the heavenly thought of fresh, hot tea spurring her on, combed her hair, pulled on some clothes, and hurried to the saloon.
Basil was there, but so changed she hardly recognised him. The grubby-looking ruffian of the day before had been transformed into a lean, brown-faced young man; freshly shaved and immaculately dressed in a light grey lounge suit. His old slouch of the pre-storm days was gone too; his complexion was healthier and his eyes clear. Four days’ privation and acute mental stress had made a different man of him.
‘Top of the morning to you,’ he greeted her.
‘Same to you, but I should have thought it was getting on for afternoon,’ she smiled, sitting down opposite him.
‘It is. You’ve had a good sixteen hours’ sleep; although I’ll bet it didn’t feel like more than a ten-minute nap to you, any more than it did to me.’
‘It didn’t. I just fell asleep and seemed to wake up again immediately. I shan’t find any difficulty in getting off tonight either. Where are the others?’
‘A few of them are too ill still to leave their cabins. You’ll have to do the Florence Nightingale act again when you’ve fed. Luvia and the rest have been about for the last three hours or more, doing things to the ship.’
‘Why are you slacking then?’
‘I’m not,’ he protested as Li Foo appeared and set a plate of sizzling bacon and eggs before her. ‘I’m “Sparks”, the wireless man from now on, and I’ve been doing my damnedest to repair the outfit! The deck-house was stove in and half the gear wrecked in the storm. But even wireless men must eat, and all workers are entitled to a second breakfast.’
Unity glanced over her shoulder as the Chinaman left them. ‘Where in the world’s he sprung from?’
‘Oh, that’s Li Foo; the
ship’s second cook. Extraordinary luck the fellow’s had—or fate—whichever you like to call it. Apparently some fortune-telling bird in his own country drew the bamboos for him once and told him he’d die in a boat; so when everybody else abandoned ship he wasn’t having any and hid himself in case they took him off by force.’
‘What! he’s been here all the time? But, of course, he must have. That’s why the fire was going in the galley when we came on board last night. My brain was almost giving out but I’d just remembered and was beginning to puzzle about it.’
‘Yes, and living like a fighting-cock while we were chewing our fingernails in that damn’ boat. He says the storm ceased within an hour of our leaving the ship and it’s been like a millpond ever since.’
Synolda appeared at that moment; her fair hair tumbling over her shoulders and a silk wrap partially concealing her pale blue pyjamas.
‘Thank God you’re here!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve had such a fright. I was woken by a Chinaman. He just popped his head into my cabin and out again and—and—well, none of our crew were Chinese, were they?’
Basil laughed and explained about Li Foo.
‘I see,’ she hesitated, ‘then I suppose I’d better go back and get some clothes on—although I’m absolutely dying for breakfast.’
‘Why bother?’ he replied lightly. ‘None of the Negroes will come in here and I’ve seen you with lots less on than you’ve got now when we used to sunbathe before the storm.’
‘If Unity doesn’t mind.’ Synolda was still a little frightened of the disapproval of the younger girl, although necessity had forced them to bury their prejudices against each other during the last few days.
Uncharted Seas Page 10