The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

I checked, shocked into immobility — all the silence, all the ghostly silence of that dead ship clutching at my throat. And then I turned the beam of the torch full on him. He was a big man, dressed in reefer and sea boots, and black with coal dust. Sweat had seamed his face, making grime-streaked runnels as though he had wept big tears and the bone of his forehead glistened. All the right side of his jaw was bruised and clotted with blood.

He moved suddenly with great rapidity, came down on me with a rush. The torch was knocked from my hand and I smelt the stale smell of sweat and coal dust as his powerful fingers gripped my shoulders, turning me like a child, twisting my head to the cold daylight that came down the ladder. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded in a harsh, rasping voice. ‘What are you doing here? Who are you?’ He shook me violently as though by shaking me he’d get at the truth.

‘I’m Sands,’ I gasped out. ‘John Sands. I came to see-’

‘How did you get on board?’ There was a note of authority, as well as violence, in the rasp of his voice.

‘By the falls,’ I said. ‘We sighted the Mary Deare drifting and when we saw the lifeboats gone, we came alongside to investigate.’

‘Investigate!’ He glared at me. ‘There’s nothing to investigate.’ And then quickly, still gripping hold of me: ‘Is Higgins with you? Did you pick him up? Is that why you’re here?’

‘Higgins?’ I stared at him.

‘Yes, Higgins.’ There was a sort of desperate violence in the way he said the man’s name. ‘But for him I’d have got her safe to Southampton by now. If you’ve got Higgins with you…’ He stopped suddenly, his head on one side, listening. The sound of the foghorn was nearer now and Mike’s voice was hailing me. ‘They’re calling you.’ His grip tightened convulsively on my shoulders. ‘What’s your boat?’ he demanded. ‘What sort of boat is it?’

‘A yacht.’ And I added inconsequentially: ‘You nearly ran us down last night.’

‘A yacht!’ He let go of me then with a little gasp like a sigh of relief. ‘Well, you’d better get back to it. Wind’s getting up.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to hurry — both of us.’

‘Both of us?’ He frowned.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We’ll take you off and when we reach Peter Port…’

‘No!’ The word exploded from his lips. ‘No. I’m staying with my ship.’

‘You’re the captain, are you?’

‘Yes.’ He stooped and picked up my torch and handed it to me. Mike’s voice came to us faintly, a strangely disembodied shout from the outside world. The wind was a low-pitched, whining note. ‘Better hurry,’ he said.

‘Come on then,’ I said. I couldn’t believe he’d be fool enough to stay. There was nothing he could do.

‘No. I’m not leaving.’ And then a little wildly, as though I were a foreigner who had to be shouted at: ‘I’m not leaving, I tell you.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ I said. ‘You can’t do any good here — not alone. We’re bound for Peter Port. We can get you there in a few hours and then you’ll be able.

He shook his head, like an animal at bay, and then waved an arm at me as though signalling me to go.

‘There’s a gale coming up.’

‘I know that,’ he said.

‘Then for God’s sake, man … it’s your one chance to get clear.’ And because he was the captain and obviously thinking about his ship, I added, ‘It’s the one hope for the ship, too. If you don’t get a tug out to her soon she’ll be blown right on to the Channel Islands. You can do far more good-’

‘Get off my ship!’ He was suddenly trembling. ‘Get off her, do you hear? I know what I have to do.’

His voice was wild, his manner suddenly menacing. I stood my ground for a moment longer. ‘You’ve got help coming then?’ I asked. And when he didn’t seem to understand, I said, ‘You’ve radioed for help?’

There was a moment’s hesitation and then he said, ‘Yes, yes, I’ve radioed for help. Now go.’

I hesitated. But there was nothing else I could say, and if he wouldn’t come … I paused halfway up the ladder. ‘Surely to God you’ll change your mind?’ I said. His face showed in the darkness below me — a strong, hard face, still young but with deep-bitten lines in it, made deeper by exhaustion. He looked desperate, and at the same time oddly pathetic. ‘Come on, man — whilst you’ve got the chance.’

But he didn’t answer; just turned away and left me there. And I went on up the ladder to meet the weight of the wind howling along the deck and find the sea a mass of whitecaps with Sea Witch pitching violently two cables off.

CHAPTER TWO

I had stayed too long. I knew as soon as Sea Witch turned to pick me up. She came roaring downwind, the big yankee jib burying her bows deep into the wind-whipped waters, her long bowsprit thrusting into the backs of the waves, spearing them and coming out in a welter of spray. Hal had been right. I should never have boarded the ship. I ran to the falls, damning the crazy madman who’d refused to be taken off. If he had come with me, there would have been some point.