higher and higher until she was firm aground; then, as the short night
ended so the wind fell further, and in sympathy the swells moderated
also and the tide drew back letting the ship settle more heavily.
By noon of that day, Golden Adventurer was held firmly by the bows on
the curved purple beach, canted over at an angle of ice. Only her after
end was still floating, rising and fallen like a see-saw on the swell
patterns which still pushed in steadily, but the plummeting air
temperature was rapidly freezing the brash ice around her stern into a
solid sheet.
The ship stood very tall above the glistening wet beach.
Her upperworks were festooned with rime and long rapier like stalactites
of shining translucent ice hung from her scuppers and from the anchor
fair-leads.
Her emergency generator was still running, and although there was no
human being aboard her, her lights burned gaily and piped music played
softly through her deserted public rooms.
Apart from the rent in her side, through which the sea still washed and
swirled, there was no external evidence of damage, and beyond her the
peaks and valleys of Cape Alarm, so wild and fierce, seemed merely to
emphasize her graceful lines and to underline how rich a prize she was,
a luscious ripe plum ready for the picking.
Down in her radio room, the transmitting key continued to send out an
unbroken beam that could be picked up for five hundred miles around.
Two hours of deathlike sleep - and then Nick Berg woke with a wild
start, knowing that something of direct consequence was about to happen.
But it took fully ten seconds for him to realize where he was.
He stumbled from his bunk, and he knew he had not slept long enough. His
skull was stuffed with the cotton wool of fatigue, and he swayed on his
feet as he shaved in the shower, trying to steam himself awake with the
scalding water.
When he went out on to the bridge, the Trog was still at his equipment.
He looked up at Nick for a moment with his little rheumy pink eyes, and
it was clear that he had not slept at all. Nick felt a prick of shame
at his own indulgence.
We are still inside La Mouette/ said the Trog, and turned back to his
set. I reckon we have an edge of almost a hundred miles. Angel
appeared on the bridge, bearing a huge tray, and the saliva jetted from
under Nick's tongue as he smelled I did a little special for your
brekker, Skipper/ said Angel. I call it 'Eggs on Angel's Wings'. 'I'm
buying said Nick, and turned back to the Trog with his mouth full and
chewing. What of the Adventurer? She's still sending a DF, but her
position has not altered in almost three hours. What do you mean? Nick
demanded, and swallowed heavily.
No change in position. Then she's aground/ Nick muttered, the food in
his hand forgotten, and at that moment David Allen hurried on to the
bridge still shrugging on his pea-jacket. His eyes were puffy and his
hair was hastily wetted and combed, but spiky at the back from contact
with his pillow. It had not taken him long to hear that the Captain was
on the bridge. And in one piece, if her transmitter is still sending.
It looks like those Hail Marys worked, David. Nick flashed his rare
