her in close through the brash ice, under the tall sheer of Golden
Adventurer's stern.
The thin white nylon line was the only physical contact with the men on
the liner's towering stack of decks, the messenger which would carry
heavier tackle. However it was vulnerable to any jagged piece of
pancake ice, or the fangs of that voracious underwater steel jaw.
Nick paid out the line through his own numbed hands, feeling for the
slightest check or jerk which could mean a snag and a break-off.
With hand-signals, he kept the work boat positioned so that the line ran
cleanly into the pierced hull, around the sheave blocks he had placed
with such heart-breaking labour in the engine room, from there up the
tall ventilation, out of the square opening of the stack and around the
winch, beside which Beauty Baker was supervising the recovery of the
messenger.
The gusts tore at Nick's head so that he had to crouch to shield the
small two-way radio on his chest, and Baker's voice was tinny and thin
in the buffeting boom of wind.
Line running free. Right, we are running the wire now/ Nick told him.
The second line was as thick as a man's index finger, and it was of the
finest Scandinavian steel cable. Nick checked the connection between
nylon and steel cable himself, the nylon messenger was strong enough to
carry the weight of steel, but the connection was the weakest point.
He nodded to the crew, and they let it go over the side; the white nylon
disappeared into the cold green water and now the black steel cable ran
out slowly from the revolving drum.
Nick felt the check as the connection hit the sheave block in the engine
room. He felt his heart jump. If it caught now, they would lose it
all; no man could penetrate that hull again, the sea was now too
vicious. They would lose the tackle, and they would lose Golden
Adventurer, she would break up in the seas that were coming.
Please God, let it run,, Nick whispered in the boom and burst of sea
wind. The drum halted, made a half turn and jammed. somewhere down
there,, the cable had snagged and Nick signalled to the helmsman to take
the work boat in closer, to change the angle of the line into the hull.
He could almost feel the strain along his nerves as the winch took up
the pull, and he could imagine the fibres of the nylon messenger
stretching and creaking.
Let it run! Let it run! prayed Nick, and then Suddenly he saw the drum
begin to revolve again, the cable feeding out smoothly, and streaming
down into the sea.
Nick felt light-hearted, almost dizzy with relief, as he heard Baker's
voice over the VHF, strident with triumph.
Wire secured. Stand by/ Nick told him. We are connecting the two inch
wire now. AgAin the whole laborious, touchy, nerve-scouring Process as
the massive two-inch steel cable was drawn out by its thinner, weaker
forerunner - and it was a further forty vital minutes, with the wind and
sea rising every moment, before Baker shouted, Main cable secured, we
are ready to haul! Negative, I Nick told him urgently. Take the strain
and hold. If the collision mat in the bows hooked and held on the work
boat's gunwale, Baker would pull the bows under and swamp her.
