King of the Sea

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"Then it's probably not Nova Scotia. Let's look at the chart. The question is, which chart!" He turned his face briefly skyward. "One star, that's all we ask." But the vault above remained as darkly impenetrable as "Better turn out the morning watch," he added ever. the charts before

they spread them. In the end they settled for somewhere off the coast of Maine anywhere between Portsmouth and Isle au Haut. Whatever shore it was, the pounding they could hear not a mile away, was of a ferocity that would reduce Phoenix to matchwood. There was nothing they could do but sit it out and pray that the anchor held. as

"Those tables in the forr'ard hold," Troy said as they returned to the bridge. "Get the carpenter to have a look at them. See if he can cobble three or four rafts out of them."

Boris went to relay the command. When he returned, Troy added, as if there had been no interruption, "We haven't boats enough to save all passengers, let alone all hands."

It was a sombre note on which to await the dawn. When it came at last it proved the harbinger of bad tidings. The First Mate, McLennan, whose watch was about to stand down, reported to the bridge that the seaman in the chains said he thought she was dragging her anchor. Troy ran forr'ard to see for himself. He gripped the cable where it passed through the hawse pipe... and the last remnant of hope died within him. The cable was as taut as a violin string. He could almost hear the scratching, grinding sound of the anchor as it slithered over the rocky bed of the sea not evenly but in fits and starts. He could certainly feel the telltale vibration in the anchor chain itself.

"Is all the chain paid out?" he asked.

"Aye, Cap'n." He formulated his plan as he ran back to the bridge, calling both mates and the bosun as he went.

go "We're going to cut and run for it," he told them, "though we've no room to put up canvas and about. I'm going to turn her on her anchor chain. Feehan, take two men and file a nick in the link at the hawse mouth, inside. McLennan, take the whole port watch and bend the stern rope to the anchor chain just outside the hawse pipe. The after breast, too, if you have time. Strain them up hard. Jump to it now!"

When they had gone he told Boris to take the starboard watch and prepare to set the storm trysail and mizzen-top and then to set them without waiting for a command as soon as they felt the wind large on her port quarter.

The port watch got the stern rope bent to the anchor chain in less than five minutes - - finishing just as Feehan's g**g managed to weaken the link in the hawse pipe to the point where two or three sharp blows with a maul would snap it. Both reported to the bridge simultaneously. Troy gripped the port rail and listened to the roar of the surf. It was beyond doubt much closer now. He guessed they had lost half the open water between Phoenix and the breakers since he had come on deck.

"Sir, the anchor's holding again!" A breathless seaman reported directly to the bridge.

It seemed like a gift from the gods. If she could only hold station until daylight, their chances of surviving these present perils would be a hundred times better. He sent Feehan back to the cable locker, to stand by, ready to break that link. He sent the port watch to relieve the by now exhausted men with Boris, who had been on deck since midnight after disrupted watches for several days; he told them to find what shelter they could but to stand by to set canvas if the link snapped or if she started to drag her anchor again. And then came the worst time of all the time when he could do nothing but stand and wait for the dawn, which, if this were, indeed, the coast of Maine, should be around three bells of the morning watch.

Three hours to go!

Three hours in which every nerve would be racked between the state of the weakened anchor chain and the unremitting roar of the surf. Three hours in which his command was useless - for what orders could he issue beyond, "Stand by!"? And hope. And pray.

Three hours in which he would somehow have to restrain himself from going aft to the second-class cabins - to one particular second-class cabin - and helping its occupant to save her own life.

At last he could bear it no longer. He sent the bosun to relieve Boris, whom he called to the bridge. "I'm going to rouse the passengers," he said. "You, sir?" The First Officer was taken aback

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and too tired not to blurt out his surprise.

"It will alert them as to how grave our situation is," Troy explained. The words were so confident he even convinced himself of his intentions. "Also I trust it will have a calming effect."

"Even the steerage passengers, sir?" Boris asked, as if that had really been the cause of his amazement.

"I'll tell them not to come on deck," Troy assured him. He went forr'ard to alert the steerage first.

Poor bastards! he thought as he stood in the men's dormitory, wrinkling his nose against the intolerable fug that had built up down there ever since they had been forced to plug the ventilators. It was hard to say which was worse the men's or the women's. He was doubly glad now that he'd got Miss O'Dee out of here when he did.

"There is no question of abandoning ship," he assured them. "But we are anchored too close inshore for our health. As soon as it's daylight and we can see what we're doing which will be in about two hours' time we're going to weigh anchor and make for deeper waters where we can continue to ride out this storm in comfort." He laid an ironic stress upon the phrase, which brought a startled laugh or two from his sleep-sodden hearers. "However, for as long as we are so close inshore, it's a matter of common prudence for you to get up, get dressed, and, like the

rest of the crew, stand by." Grudgingly they obeyed, filling the air with their complaints.

When he got back on deck he detailed one of the seamen to batten the door and guard it. Then, bent double against the wind and spray, he went aft to the other passengers, whom he mustered in the second class dining room - all except Miss O'Dee, who was still officially held to be in some kind of quarantine. He told them more or less the same tale and left them in more or less the identical state of anxious reassurance.

"And what about the wee colleen?" a jovial Londoner asked when it seemed that the Captain was going directly back on deck.

Inwardly blessing the man for taking the bait so well, Troy thanked him gravely and said it was hard to remember everyone and everything at a time like this.

Teresa was up and dressed; indeed, she had not taken off more than her dress and bodice for the past five days. Troy found her sitting at the foot of her bunk, writing her journal. Her missal lay open on the blankets, its pages pinned down by a rosary.

"I know we are near our end, Frank," she said as soon as he entered. Her voice was calm, her manner composed.

His heart turned over at the mere sight of her. "We're near the end of our voyage, my dear." He made it a jovial correction. "Near the American coast, that is. Too near for my liking." And he went on to explain his plan this time without either glossing or gilding the truth. "If all goes well, we'll be fifty miles away by nightfall," he concluded brightly.

"And if all does not go well?" she asked. "Then I want you to get into the lifeboat, the last lifeboat on the starboard side - or whichever side is nearest the shore. If it capsizes in the waves ..."

"I'll go in whichever boat you go in," she told him. "I'll have to stay aboard until the last. You know that."

She smiled stubbornly.

"No!" he commanded. "You'll do as I tell you now."

Her smile did not waver.

"I'll have threatened. you carried into that boat in irons," he