A Twist of Sand

The old schooner was coming straight at us. Something in my mind sounded a note of warning -- that dead straight course, the alteration when she sighted Etosha: but I dismissed it as fantasy.

The schooner came on and I could see her fine lines clearly. She was leaning over close-hauled, so far that the boat swinging from the davits seemed almost to skim the water spurting down her rail.

At a mile distance she made no alteration of course. Etosha was lying almost at a standstill.

John, too, I could see felt a little uneasy, despite his enthusiastic comments.

"Shouldn't we get out of her way, Geoffrey?" he asked. "Steam gives way to sail, and all that."

"Give her a spoke or two," I told the man at the wheel. Then I thought of the heavy net trailing astern. "No, port fifteen," I corrected, ringing for a slight increase in speed to swing her bows away from the newcomer.

"That should clear us, all right," I said, "even if Hendriks is fool enough to come racing through the water as if we didn't exist."

"She's put her helm down," exclaimed John with a note of anxiety. "What the devil is she playing at?"

The Pikkewyn had allowed her head to fall off slightly and was bearing down straight at us. She was half a mile away.

"Blast!" I exclaimed. "Hard a'port," I snapped. I couldn't ring for more speed because of the heavy net holding us down. Ordinarily, nothing but a warship could have outmanoeuvred Etosha. But now she was wallowing like a hamstrung horse.

The schooner again altered course and came roaring down upon us. I have never been at the receiving end of a torpedo, but the sight of that old ship tearing down upon me, seemingly hell-bent on ramming Etosha, gave me some idea of what it is like to see that inexorable track streaking through the water.

I snatched a megaphone. "Cast off that net," I roared, "quick, damn you! cast it off!"

John stood aghast. We were sending over the side our profits just because some damn fool Malay was showing us how he could sail a schooner.

The crew, aware of their peril, jumped to it. The thick hawsers snaked overboard with a splash -- away went the catch to Davy Jones.

"Full ahead," I rang, watching the oncoming doom, travelling like an express train. Then I saw her lean over as she luffed slightly until her lee scuppers were under water. It was clear she did not intend to ram us. But she was coming as close as she dared. I snatched up the megaphone as she came within a biscuit's toss -- it was plain she had meant to cut across our stern and foul the trawl. My anger rose as I saw what she was up to. The fool! Had that light wooden hull, even at eleven knots, fouled the heavy hawsers of the net, her bow would have swung in towards the Etosha, and heaven alone knows what would have happened.

I could see Hendriks near the mizzen shrouds, grinning and waving. The figure next to him was Stein.

The stream of invective which had arisen to my lips at Hendrik's deliberate act of provocation was cut short at the sight of Stein. Bracing himself against the angle of Pikkewyn's deck, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, but the words were lost in the wind.

John turned to me furiously. "We'll have Hendriks's scalp for this, Geoffrey -- you can't damn well play about with ships like that. Full ahead and after him?"

"No," I rapped out, for I thought I saw part of Stein's game. "No. She's doing a good eleven knots, and it'll take everything Etosha has to catch up with her on that course before night. I think I see what Stein is up to. You remember how he tried to get Etosha's speed out of Mac ? He's played a double game here -- he knew we'd have to cut the trawl for fear of being rammed and then go tearing after him to ask what the hell. No. I've lost the net and my catch and I'm damned if Stein is going to find out what Etosha can do. We'll let him go."

The schooner was drawing away rapidly.

"But," said John vehemently, "You can't go attempting

to ram another ship on the open sea "

"He's got the perfect defence," I replied shortly. "A ship under sail has the right of way. Anything under steam must give way to it. We were under way. He was perfectly within his rights. We can't do anything about it."

"Wait till I find Hendriks alone ashore," expostulated John, "I'll teach him"

"To sail close to the wind," I remarked grimly, nodding my head after the schooner.