King of the Sea

Chapter 21

Chapter 21

HE LANTERN CAST a fitful light as Frank Troy made his way along the bottommost decks to the after hold. Every now and then he paused to lift an inspection hatch and peer down into the bilges. So far he hadn't found a single sprung timber for, even though this was not the part of the ship that had run aground, the snapping of the masts might well have done some damage down here. He knew, however, that the likelihood of finding a leak increased the nearer he drew to the stern. Even so, he had already seen enough to be sure that any such breach must be small; the amount of water in the bilge, though considerable, was no more than you'd expect after a week of such storms as Phoenix had endured.

Judging by the way she'd yawed and rolled at high tide, during the operation to get the passengers and crew ashore, she wasn't held very firmly in the sands. This was the period of neap tides, so, though the storm would have added a foot or two of surge, today's highest mark would still be the best part of a fathom lower than high water during the spring tides, which would be on them in about two weeks' time. In other words, if her timbers weren't too badly sprung, there was a good chance she'd float again. That was why he had remained behind, the sole hand on board 1 to prevent Phoenix from turning into "salvors' meat." For anyone may claim salvage rights on an abandoned vessel.

In the after hold he discovered that her cheap furniture had turned into a cargo of even cargo of cheaper matchwood. He spent a good while clearing its shards from the deck before he could lift the two aft inspection hatches and peer down into the bilges.

Sherry casks of export ale stirred lazily in the tar reeking water, but there was no sign of a leak there, either. He noted the waterline and, leaving the hatches open, made his way back amidships. Half a dozen hands on the pumps tomorrow and she'd be dry as the American Navy. Perhaps Boris would have arranged a tow by then; it would be no works outing to try sailing by her own canvas alone, with just the mizzenmast and main courses left to her.

Being the thorough man he was, he went forr ard to carry out a similar inspection of the bilges there - only to discover that she had shipped rather more water than he had supposed. Phoenix was down by the head, of course, so the water level in the fore hold would be high, anyway. But he arrived to find there was no need to open the inspection hatches; the cargo deck itself was awash with some three inches of water at its deepest part.

On his way back up to the open deck he decided not to get her pumped out after all - assuming she didn't ship more water overnight. It would be no bad thing, he reflected, to have her a bit heavy and sluggish to handle; a half-dismasted vessel with a rigged rudder, floating three feet above her plimsoll line, could be blown all over the ocean. He gathered an armful of matchwood on his way.

One item remained to be checked: the four lines he had secured to ground anchors ashore, two from her bows, two from her stern. Four lines! He'd seen how the men smiled with disgust and gritted their teeth when the orders came down to secure the third and then the fourth. Never mind that they'd been five days at sea with hardly any sleep, that their muscles shrieked for respite now they were safely aground, that they could hardly keep their eyes open old Cap'n Troy never yielded an inch of his principles, he would certainly never use one line where two would do, nor two where four were better.

He stood on deck in the last glimmer of dusk and stared at the three shoreward lights they had set, red at the ends of the two outermost hawsers and white at the watchman's hut, which was higher up the beach. He gave an all's well with his lantern. There was an answer from the hut. He returned his attention to Phoenix and noted with satisfaction that smoke still curled from the galley stovepipe. He dropped his bundle by the galley kiddley and went round the farther side to check the stern ropes. The twilight was now so deep that he could see only the first few feet before their graceful curves were swallowed in the gloom. The three lanterns ashore were now the only visible sign that there was land there at all.

The storm had abated considerably during the day and was now a mere half-gale; but the seas were still running high. The breakers came roaring in over the rocky shelves on either side. It had the curious effect of sapping the strength of the unbroken rollers, which lagged behind in the deeper channel between them the channel through which, by luck and good seamanship, he had brought Phoenix aground. The effect was that the spent rollers were already sizzling back down the strand, even as the laggard swell arrived, undercutting it as it tried to break near the ship. As a result she lay in a seething cauldron of white water, assaulted more by sound than fury.

Remembering the scene as daylight had greeted them for the fading of that same day had now swallowed it completely - he marvelled yet again at the narrowness of their escape. A cable's length more to port or starboard and they'd surely have been pounded to splinters. Now, for the first time that day I with every passenger and all surviving hands safely ashore, and her timbers seemingly tight, and the tempest dying - he felt secure enough to go down on his knees and thank Almighty God for their deliverance. He added a prayer for the souls of the bosun and quartermaster, whose remains were now in a mortuary ashore. He rose and stared shoreward into the dark.

And how was she faring there, he wondered? Doubled up head-to-tail with four others in some hospitable Maine homestead? Or quartered in some community assembly room, an impromptu re creation of the hell of the female steerage dormitory? He remembered her pleas to be allowed to stay aboard with him, and the look of reproach she had given him when he had ordered her to the port mustering station. Lord, but he'd give his sea legs just to have her here now. He decided he'd sleep in her bunk tonight - just to torment himself the more.

You'll forget her, a voice promised inside his head. A sudden, violent anger seized him - not at the unlikelihood of such an event but at its very certainty. He would forget her, just as he had forgotten Jenny Bright in every sense that mattered. Of course, he remembered her name, her looks, her smile, the sound of her voice; he even remembered that once upon a time she had filled every waking hour; whether she was in the forefront of his mind or not, she had still been there, consuming his day, consuming him. But the quality of that passion, its texture and its power, had died beyond recall until Teresa came

along. Frying bacon! Suddenly he could smell bacon, frying in the pan. A hallucination? Was he tired enough for that? The wind eddied round him and the aroma vanished. He shook the illusion from his exhausted brain and returned to the bitter-sweet of his contemplation.

Teresa! At first she had merely awakened the echoes of that earlier love, reminded him of all he had scoured from his soul, sacrificed, and buried, merely to survive. Then she had taught him he had not scoured well enough. How swiftly those long cauterized emotions had revived; how speedily they had transferred from the dead past to the all-too living, breathing, vibrant present. You will forget her, the demons whispered - and every particle of him rose in outrage that it was true, that he would, if he were wise, endure his long death a second time.

Bacon again! And was it eggs, too, frying in butter? A sudden cramp bent him double round his hunger. When it passed, he straightened himself gingerly and stared out into the dark, toward the watchman's white light, the source, surely, of this present t*****e. Actually, he reflected, it was t*****e only because he could not tear himself away from the stern, where he stood nearest to her, and go fry his own eggs and bacon.

If he were wise he would lock her cabin door against himself tonight, cast the key overboard, and sleep in his own virtuous bed.

Two bells rang softly on the moaning wind. Had the bosun...? No, of course not. The hair prickled on his scalp, for he was as superstitious as any man who has spent thirty years at sea; he knew what play the ghosts of long-drowned sailors made of grounded ships. He held the lantern high and strode amidships,

stamping his seaboots to recruit his courage. On a calm night Teresa's laughter would have carried to the shore. "Cot you! Cot you!" she cried, throwing her arms about his neck and bathing, his face in kisses.

If there was ever a moment when common sinner turned into uncommon criminal, that was it. He resisted her embrace for a second or two, trying desperately to summon the anger he knew he ought to feel and then he yielded. It was more than the mere withdrawal of his opposition; it was a whole hearted endorsement of her rebellion, a blood bond in mutiny against his own command, both of the Phoenix and, even more vitally, of himself.

"Come and see," she urged, her eyes dancing in the soft light of the galley lamp. And, picking up a tray, all covered in silver service, she led the way round the bridge to the officers' wardroom. "You may bring your firing with you," she added as they passed the heap he had dumped on the deck.

Half bewildered still, but wholly delighted, he did as she told him and followed her below. The wardroom table was set for royalty, with silver everywhere, two candelabra ablaze with light, white and red wines decanted... there was even a pink rose- of silk, to be sure - in a narrow silver vial between the two place settings. "Don't be getting your hopes up now," she warned. "I've only two courses but didn't it look mean with just knife, fork, and spoon. I'd have baked some soda bread had I time, but that's not too stale."

He dropped the firing by the upright stove and turned to relieve her of the tray. He laid it on the sideboard and held his arms wide for her to come in. "Twill go cold," she warned, huddling herself

happily into his arms. "You're the chance of a new life to me," he murmured, grazing her red curls with his lips. "Oh God, I'm lost! I'm lost for loving you." "Frank?" she murmured into his neck.

"Mmm?"

"We are going to live, aren't we? I mean, the danger's past?"

"We'll live forever," he promised her, "you and I." The second question he left hanging on the air.