A Ravel of Waters

by Geoffery Jenkins

  'Sure as hell. Come up and see for yourself.'

  'I will. Keep your eyes skinned, Paul! Report the slightest movement or change. Wait - black out the crow's nest. The mast-head will be visible from the destroyer.'

  'I did so as soon as I spotted her, skipper. I'm sitting alone in the dark. It's getting goddam cold.'

  ‘I’ll send you something hot.'

  'I'll have to piss over the yard-arm.'

  'Hold it till a rain squall comes. No one will know the difference.'

  Kay fetched a vacuum flask of coffee for me to take to Brockton. On the ascent up the mast ladder, the cold increased step by step. If the wind kept mounting, the rain would turn to sleet by morning.

  I joined Brockton and took a long look at the destroyer through the night glasses. Captain Irizar might have been wanting to make quite sure we identified his vessel. A bright light amidships - usually carried only by moored submarines - and an amber flashing light silhouetted the warship's main distinguishing feature: that heavy mast with its clutter of radar and firing gear, supported by the clumsy stay. All this was clearly visible since the destroyer had swung head to wind, like Jetwind, and her port side was parallel with us. Between the two ships rose a range of low hills.

  As I concentrated on the destroyer I made an assessment of how she would have to negotiate The Narrows. In order to comply with the rules of navigation, the destroyer would have to keep over on the Navy Point side. As I planned the escape, we would then race through on the opposite flank, or Engineer Point. That would leave the warship's stayed mast exposed to Jetwind. Exposed and vulnerable.

  A recurring low cloud squall jetted across my vision, blotting out the Almirante Storni and everything else. 'Paul,' I said, 'if Dawson is right, I reckon these squalls will come with fewer intervals between them as the night progresses.'

  'Should he be wrong?'

  'I'm staking everything on his being right. He's lived in Port Stanley for years. The cloud clearance has to do with the wind heating itself as it pours down the hills. It dissipates the cloud temporarily until the point is reached when the overall temperature becomes too low for the phenomenon to be effective.'

  Brockton asked very quietly, 'You're sure of what you plan to do when the Almirante Storni up-anchors, Peter? The consequences could be hell for a lot of people and things.'

  'That's why I want to take all the responsibility on myself, Paul.'

  'Okay, you're the boss. I for one wouldn't mind sharing it. Nor would John - or Kay.'

  'Thanks,' I replied. 'But I prefer to work it out alone. Anyway, now we know where the destroyer has anchored there's no point in my hanging around here. Let me know the situation as soon as the squall has passed.'

  'Will do.'

  The four hours that followed were as nerve-wracking as a depth-charge hunt when a sub lies doggo and silent on the bottom of the sea, not daring to breathe.

  Eight bells - midnight. Change watch. My watch.

  Tideman remained on duty with me. His anchor job was completed. The massive piece of metal dangling from the fore-yard gave Jetwind a lop-sided appearance. Jim Yell, bo'sun-quartermaster and top of Tideman's Adventure School team, took over the wheel. I would need the best and coolest helmsman for the job ahead.

  The wind remained in the west quarter. It was intensifying and becoming colder all the time. By one o'clock it was gusting over thirty knots, a near-gale. That gave all the wind I needed. The sky was clear of cloud. The waves picked up size. Jetwind snubbed her anchor chain, heaved short on my orders to the last few fathoms for a tearaway start. The cards were all on the table.

  With that strange camaraderie which crisis and the small hours seems to engender, Kay and I drew closer. Her calculations needed only minute onward adjustments. We checked them a score of times until we knew them by heart. On several occasions when I could stand the silence on the bridge no longer, I went to her in my cabin. We talked about her passage of Cape Horn in the Round the World race, my run in Albatros, of what a man thinks alone, alone on a wide, wide sea - and what a woman thinks.

  Four bells, 2.00. Half watch.

  The intercom screeched. Paul's voice was excited.

  'Get on the bitch-box, and rouse out those sleeping sons of bitches below! The Almirante Storni is on her way!'

  Chapter 14

  'Hands to make sail!'

  I found myself shouting over the ship's public address system - Paul's bitch-box - as if I were roaring orders on an open deck in a gale.

  'All hands! All hands! At the double!'

  Jim Yell leapt to the wheel as if a shot of adrenalin had picked him up bodily from his lounging-stool. Tideman moved swiftly to station at the big central walkaround console.

  'Break out the anchor!' I ordered.

  He spoke into a voice-tube. 'Bridge here! Full power for all hydraulics!'

  He banged down the voice-pipe and manipulated the sail and mast controls, watching expectantly for my next command.

  'Back all yards on Numbers One and Two masts: Trim Numbers Three, Four, Five and Sixthree-zero degrees off the wind. Make all sail to the top-gallants - no royals. Stern thruster - full ahead port; bow thruster -. full ahead starboard!'

  The purpose of my orders was to box Jetwind's head hard round to face in exactly the opposite direction to which she now lay, bow to the west wind. I would employ the backed sails to swing her bows, while the other sails, in normal position, gave her momentum forwards and sideways. Add to this ten tons of solid shove from the two thrusters and Jetwind would pivot on her heels like a dancer.

  She came alive as Tideman's hands played the toggles and push-buttons. Kay was at my side with her calculations.

  I snapped into the biich-box mike, 'Captain here! Black out the ship. No lights to be shown. Emergency illumination only.'

  Tideman's racing fingers followed my commands. Next moment the bridge was dark except for the binnacle and green-yellow glow of the console dials.

  I added, 'Black out the sidelights.'

  Tideman hesitated fractionally. The law of the sea required a sailing ship under way to carry red and green sidelights, but unlike a steamship no white mast-head lights. This put me legally in the wrong in relation to the Almirante Storni.

  'Out!' I repeated.

  Jetwind swung round like a racehorse being manoeuvred into its starting-box with only one idea in its head - to streak the hell down the course. The speed of the ship's pivot-turn was electrifying.

  'Cut the bow and stern thrusters!' I ordered. 'What depth of water under her?' I asked Tideman.

  He checked the fathomer. 'Nine-eight metres, making nine-nine.'

  That meant deep enough, but Jetwind had a deep hull, whose grip on the water could be supplemented by two drop-keels, one in the bows and the other in the stern. These could be raised and lowered at will. Nowhere was the anchorage deep enough to use them to advantage. To allow for Jetwind's natural depth I would, in any event, have to follow an irregular course to The Narrows. A slight deviation would ground the ship on the muddy, sticky harbour bottom.

  'Wind angle?' I asked.

  'Two-seven-zero, true.'

  So far, so good.

  'Steer six-zero,' I told Jim Yell at the wheel. 'Handsomely, as she comes.'

  To Tideman, 'Brace all yards as she steadies.'

  The ship was in the final stage of completing her turn, the great yards above swinging with it. The thrust of over 9000 square metres of aerodynamic dacron was like shove-in-the-back acceleration.

  It wasn't the sudden acceleration but a commotion which directed my attention behind me. It was Grohman. He had hastily thrown on his clothes - his shirt was not yet buttoned. His previous neat, rather sinister Spanish grandee air had given way to a savage intensity reminiscent of a stooping giant condor. His head and nose were thrust forward like the Andean bird of prey; his eyes above his stuhbled cheeks seemed to burn.

  He came at me with his sleeves rolled roughly to the elbows, like a fencer about to lun
ge.

  'Did I hear - Hands to make sail?’

  It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. There was even more arrogance in it than he had displayed at Comodoro Rivadavia.

  'You're not on watch,'.! responded roughly. 'And I'm the captain of this ship!'

  He behaved as if he hadn't heard. 'You're taking the ship out!'

  'You're damn right. Straight to the Cape.' 'You can't sail without clearance!' 'Says who?'

  'It's illegal! The inquest!'

  My attention was on the compass needle. 'Steady as she goes,' I told Jim Yell. 'Hold her like that!'

  In manoeuvring the ship, I missed the feel of the wind on the nape of my neck; I wanted instinctively to tell Yell to keep his eye on the weather leech of the foresail in order to steer by the wind. Instead, I had to interpret a complex series of read-outs before acting. More accurate, perhaps, but much less human.

  My blood was up. Jetwind had a wonderful racing feel -there is nothing to match a ship which responds like that, except perhaps planing full-bore down a Southern Ocean super-wave.

  My attention snapped back to Grohman. I told him briefly, 'This is my responsibility. ‘

  I saw the cords in his throat knot. Anger blazed in his eyes, then died as he said contemptuously, 'The Almirante Storni is waiting outside. You won't get past her.'

  'She is not outside,' I replied. 'She is on her way in. You can have a closer look at her very soon - as we go by.'

  For a moment he looked taken aback and then he laughed derisively.

  'All this up-and-away action is very dashing - like a movie,' he sneered. 'It is also very unrealistic, Captain Rainier. The Almirante Storni will intercept you, now or later. It is an empty gesture.' He added with a touch of pomposity, 'I wish to publicly dissociate myself from the illegality of your escape.'

  'Fine,' I retorted. 'You've said it publicly. Do you also wish to be relieved of your duties publicly?'

  That shook him. For a moment I thought he was about to make a dramatic exit from the bridge in haughty Spanish style. Then a curious look crossed his face and he said, I will announce my decision to the captain of the Almirante Storni'

  'You do that,' I rejoined.

  He came closer to where I stood. I ignored him and said over my shoulder to Kay, 'Stand by, will you? In a moment I'll want the optimum sail trim and rudder angles for the first mark. I'll also do a spot check with Paul right away.'

  The destroyer's movements would determine any counter measures that became necessary in my plan. Only Paul could actually see what the warship was doing.

  But Grohman was not finished. 'Your actions are an insult to my country's Navy’ he threw at me.

  'Let Captain Irizar tell me that, not you. You are an officer under my command. Either you go along with me, or you don't. Take your choice - now.'

  'I repeat my protest. You are risking the ship and its crew. I protest.'

  'I'll log your protest officially. Now stand back.' I then consulted Brockton via the intercom about the destroyer's movements.

  My immediate problem was to get the ship moving as fast as possible before turning head-on to face the Almirante Storni in The Narrows, and get Jetwind there to coincide with the warship's arrival. There were a series of predetermined marker points - the summits of the four hillocks which lay on the spit of land between the inner and outer anchorages. Jetwind's first leg being downwind, the optimum course was less critical than what Paul could tell me about the warship's movements.

  'Paul, what's new?'

  'First way-point, Goldsworthy Rock, abeam. Optimum speed made good, five knots. On course. Evaluation, ninety-five per cent of optimum performance. Some slight trim needed...'

  'Skip it,' I interrupted. 'She's running near enough on target. What's our friend up to?'

  'She's burning enough lights to make her look like Coney Island,' he replied. 'That flasher amidships is the complete give-away. Any moment now, she'll be making her turn to approach the entrance - hold it, here she comes

  - she's coming round, round ...'

  The warship was now obviously committing herself to the northern extremity of The Narrows, manoeuvring probably by the leading beacons on the mainland in order to pick her line through the gap. From her present position she would be able to sight one light - that of Engineer Point - but the second, opposite on Navy Point, would be obscured. While that light remained obscured, we would remain invisible.

  'Destroyer steadying on new course’ reported Paul. 'One-eight-five degrees.'

  That was the recommended approach to the port from seawards. The move brought the Almiranie Storni facing bow-on towards Jetwind’s port side.

  I had a sudden fear about Grohman giving the game away. I wheeled round. He was standing near the door leading to the radio office; he seemed to have an air of controlled purpose. I fixed him with a stare while I spoke to the radio operator by phone.

  'Arno! No transmissions without my express orders until the ship is clear of the land - understood?'

  'Aye, aye, sir.'

  'Any signals coming in?'

  'Strong radar transmission, sir.'

  'Relative bearing?'

  He rattled off a series of figures which confirmed that Almirante Storni was using an instrumented as well as visual approach. Nonetheless, the destroyer was not yet fully committed to The Narrows. She was in deep water on its outer approaches. I knew she drew five and a half metres, and the depths all round her now were a comfortable ten to eleven metres. This meant that she could, if necessary, still turn safely and intercept Jetwind. Further towards the entrance gap, however, was where I aimed to put the cork in the bottle. Although the water was deep in the centre channel of The Narrows - over fifteen metres - it fell away on either side close to both Navy and Engineer Points to under five metres. Once in this channel, the destroyer could not turn without grounding. Another hazard was a broad fringe of kelp along this shallow line; if she did attempt a turn and tangled with the kelp her engine intakes would jam within minutes.

  The kelp constituted a hazard for us as well, I reminded myself grimly, and even more so. It fringed a lee shore, the sailing ship's traditional nightmare. Jetwind could easily be thrust helplessly against the land by the powerful wind which was now blowing from astern but would come abeam once she made her own turn to negotiate The Narrows.

  Chapter 15

  Jetwind drove on and gathered speed. She had roughly a kilometre to go before making her turn into The Narrows. She was now between the first and second way-points or shore-line markers.

  ‘Paul. . .' I started, wanting more information, but he interrupted me.

  'What gives down there, Peter?' he burst out. 'Is this tub dragging lead from her ass? You're only sailing seventy-five per cent of potential! You'll never make The Narrows in time for the warship! And she's running right on schedule! At this rate she'll be through before you make your approach turn! Give her the gun, man!'

  Kay saw the look on my face at Paul's news. In one stride I was at Tideman's console. Six knots, I read.

  'Kay! John!' I snapped. 'Something's wrong! She should be doing eight knots by now!'

  Tideman indicated the wind direction indicator. "The wind's changing - it's veered ten degrees astern.'

  'We've struck a flat spot in her sailing performance,' Kay added, 'The wind's too far aft for her to be at her best - it's almost dead astern now.'

  'The after sails are blanketing those for'ard at this angle of wind,' said Tideman. 'The proper way to cope would be to tack downwind to increase her speed.'

  'I can't tack in these confined waters,' I replied.

  'Kay?' I hoped she might come up with some solution.

  'She's doing the best she can under the circumstances,' she replied.

  'Stealing the wind.'

  Perhaps my acute anxiety threw the fragment of old clipper lore to the forefront of my mind. When the clippers found themselves in such a situation they reefed the sails aft to allow a flow of air to those i
n front. I couldn't vouch for the aerodynamics of such a tactic, but I knew it had worked. There was no time now to discuss the merits of such a method.

  'Reef all sails on Number Five and Six masts aft!' I ordered Tideman.

  As his fingers reached for the control switches, Kay protested. 'No, Peter, no! It won't work!'

  I would know in a moment. 'Paul,' I said, 'give me a minute-by-minute speed read-out.'

  It was impossible to tell simply by feel whether my desperation throw had come off.

  We waited.

  Then Paul's voice came through. 'Six and a half knots.' Was it working or was it purely a momentary fluctuation of wind which had won us the extra half knot? 'Where's the destroyer, Paul?' 'Abreast Tussac Point.'

  'Ah!' The cork was heading for the neck of the bottle! Where she was now, the warship could still turn for a pursuit, but within the next few hundred metres the shallows would lock her in.

  'She's slowing - down to about four knots. Guess she's feeling her way.'

  Then he exclaimed excitedly. 'Hey! Seven knots on the log - picking up, what's more.'

  After what seemed an eternity, Paul reported again. 'Eight and a half knots nearer nine. Second way-point now abeam.'

  Half a kilometre now to our turn! Then the direction of the wind would switch to abeam, Jetwind's best sailing conditions. Then I would throw in the full power of the after sails as well as the royals, now reefed out of sight at her mast-heads. The time for concealment would then be over. We would be in full view of the destroyer through The Narrows entrance.

  I gave Kay a knowing smile and she responded with a thumbs-up sign.

  When I spoke again to Paul, my voice was hoarse with strain. 'Paul - what's happening out there?'