Ezra Brewer is still at the helm in his sealskin coat and Monmouth cap. He nods at me and smiles.
To my horror, in the distance, I spot the Defiance. I point, and Ezra Brewer nods, barely perceptibly. Is he not intimidated, or does he not want to show me he is alarmed?
How did Andrew catch up to us? What if he overtakes the Black Dog and throws Ezra Brewer overboard? A shiver passes through me.
Ezra Brewer slips a rope anchored to the deck around the wheel to keep us on a steady course. He motions for me to come and hold the wheel, just to be certain. I think he is trying to keep my mind off what may come to pass.
While my hand holds fast to the wooden peg on the wheel, Ezra Brewer reefs the mainsail, rolling the edge of the canvas in on itself, and ties it tightly. He changes the smaller sail out for a “storm jib.” He spells these words with his fingers, explaining it to me.
“We must keep the waves at the helm,” he tells me, pointing behind us.
When he no longer needs my help, I fetch us hard biscuits and dried fish from the larder down below. Moving about keeps the frostbite off me. I ladle grog from a barrel for us to drink. Ezra Brewer must agree with Miss Hammond’s theory that this light spirit is healthier than water.
Ezra Brewer looks tired. I’ve noticed him nap at the helm, then come to with a shiver and a shake of his head.
“Soon we will come close to the tip of the Cape,” he signs, slipping off the sealskin coat and placing it on me. I am grateful for its warmth.
The ship rocks back and forth in the gusting winds. I stagger to keep from falling. The rain turns to hail. Small white stones pelt us and gather in piles on deck. I scoop them up and throw them overboard before the waves rush over the sides and melt them into blocks that will slide across the deck.
I can no longer see Andrew following us. Did he capsize?
The waves rise higher and higher, and the Black Dog with them. Up and down we go, cresting each one and falling back down, only to rise on another. My stomach turns over a few times.
In English folklore, a black dog can bring bad luck. Ezra Brewer is rascally and named his boat after a dark omen. “By facing the worst,” he once told me, “I can only have good luck.” With a black cat and a woman on board his boat, he is almost courting bad luck!
Up and down, up and down. It’s like riding a wild horse over hills and jumping stone walls. How long will it go on?
Lightning strikes at regular intervals as if it is right above my head. I can feel a crack in the sky, and the strange hum of electricity that follows. During one great flash, I see the Defiance is beside us! It sideswipes the Black Dog. Where did it come from?
“Go below!” Ezra Brewer signs one-handed, gripping the wheel.
I don’t want to leave him. I crouch down on the deck, to keep out of the way.
Another boom of thunder and zigzag of lightning. The Defiance, lit by the flash, goes hard to port, away from us, and circles back around. Andrew is a deft sailor, I will give him that. He uses the waves, even as they tug and toss and he struggles against the storm. The bowsprit ducks in the water as he rolls forward toward us, and I am reminded of a ram lowering its head, ready to charge.
I think of the whaler we saw and realize that Andrew intends to ram us!
I fall to the bottom of the boat and grab for the railing, afraid to be knocked over the side into the crushing sea. My captain handles the wheel rapidly, teeth gritted, and turns the boat hard. Andrew smashes alongside us again. I slide across the deck.
Suddenly, a knot slips loose in the riggings, and I lunge for it, holding on with all my might. It burns as it slips through my wet hands. I brace my feet against the slippery deck. Ezra Brewer gestures frantically for me to hold on. I wrap the rope around my wrist and tug hard.
I pray to God in Heaven to deliver us to dry land the way Noah, his family, and all the pairs of animals were delivered. Send us a dove with an olive branch to show us that we are near.
The sea is churning. Waves higher than the sides of the Dog flood the deck again and again.
A great wave rises out of the ocean like a pride of leaping lions and slams into the Defiance. I watch the schooner slowly topple in the violent sea and gasp in horror when a flash of lightning illuminates Andrew’s slim figure trying to keep hold of the sinking ship. The way the waves are battering it, there seems no chance for it to right itself.
It appears suspended in its strange, lopsided position. I hold my breath and watch another wave hit. It turns turtle, the barnacled bottom facing upward, the mast pointed downward to the seabed. Do I see a hand reach out of the roiling ocean, then disappear?
We are fighting the storm too hard to help. Ezra Brewer must have struck a bargain with the sea god Neptune because he somehow keeps the Dog afloat.
When at last the storm starts to abate, I slump onto the deck. The pooled water soaks my skirts down to my wiry legs. I shake with cold but am too exhausted
