The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

Sea Witch heeled over in a gust as Hal fought the wheel, bringing her round through the wind, all her sails flogging madly. The big yankee filled with a crack like a pistol shot, heeling the boat over till all the weed-grown boot-topping showed in the trough of a wave; and then the big sail split across and in an instant was blown to tatters. The wind was strong to gale in the gusts and she should have been reefed by now, but they hadn’t a hope of reefing, just the three of them. It was madness for them to attempt to come alongside. I had never seen a sea whipped up so quickly. But Mike was waving to me, signalling downwards with his hand, and Hal was braced at the wheel, edging her up towards the ship’s side, mainsail shivering, barely filled, the remnants of the yankee fluttering in streamers from the forestay. I caught hold of one of the falls then and swung myself out over the side, slithering down hand over hand until the surge of a wave soaked me to the waist and I looked up and saw that the rusty plates stood above me, high as a cliff.

I could hear Sea Witch now, hear the slap of her bows as she hit a wave and the solid, surging noise of her passage through the water. There were shouts and over my shoulder I saw her coming up into the wind, very close now, her head unwilling to pay off, the bowsprit almost touching the steamer’s sides. A gust of wind buffeted me, the main boom slammed over, sails filling suddenly, and she went surging past me a good twenty yards out from where I clung, swinging sickeningly in mid-air. Hal was shouting at me. ‘The wind… strong… the ship turning round.’ That was all I caught and yet he was so close I could see the water dripping off his oilskins, could see his blue eyes wide and startled-looking under his sou’wester.

Mike eased the sheets and the boat roared off downwind. Hanging there, soaked with sea water thrown up from the wave tops breaking against the ship’s side, I felt the weight of the wind pressing me in towards the rusty hull. At each roll I had to brace myself to meet the shock of my body being flung against her. Gradually I realised what had happened. The wind was swinging the Mary Deare broadside on; and I was on the windward side, exposed to the full force of the rising gale.

Sea Witch went about again and I wanted to shout to Hal not to be a fool, that it was no good. Now that the Mary Deare had swung, it was dangerous to come alongside with the wind pressing the yacht down on to the ship. But all I did was pray that he’d make it, for I knew I couldn’t hang there much longer. The ropes were getting slippery with water and it was bitterly cold.

I don’t know how Hal managed it, but despite the lack of headsails to bring her bow round, he got her about with almost no way on her a short stone’s throw from where I was clinging. Then he let her drift downwind. It was a superb piece of seamanship. There was a moment when her stern was almost within my reach. I think I might have made it, but at that moment the roll of the Mary Deare swung me against her sides and I was held fast against the wet chill of her hull, whilst the familiar counter of my boat slid away as Hal got her moving again to prevent her from being battered to pieces against the ship. ‘No good … daren’t… too dangerous … Peter Port.’ The ragged snatches of Hal’s shouts reached me through the wind as I was freed from the ship’s side and swung out over the water, right over the spot where Sea Witch’s stern had been only a few seconds before. I wanted to shout to him to try again, just once more. But I knew it was risking the boat and their lives as well. ‘Okay,’ I yelled. ‘Make Peter Port. Good luck!’

He shouted something back, but I couldn’t hear what it was. Sea Witch was already disappearing beyond the steamer’s bows, going fast with all her sheets eased and the wind driving at the great spread of her mainsail. I glanced up quickly at the towering wall of iron above my head and then I began to climb whilst I still had some strength left.

But each time the ship rolled I was flung against the side. It gave me extra purchase, flattened hard against the rusty plates, but it battered me, knocking the wind out of me. And each time I was swung clear the loss of purchase almost flung me off, for my fingers were numbed with cold and my arms and knees trembled with the strain of clinging there too long. The waves broke, engulfing me in ice-cold spray, and sometimes green water sloshed up the side of the ship and gripped me about the waist, plucking at me as it subsided.