Maybe Tideman alone was capable of saving her. Nine degrees was Jetwind's theoretical maximum heel before things started to give. She must have been superbly built to have stood up to twelve degrees in those killer troughs. To my overwrought senses the sail plan seemed to flatten down almost parallel with the water. Would Tideman blow away her top-masts with the ring charges? It seemed the only way to save her now.
I tore my eyes away from the sight when Jim Yell shouted. 'There! There she is, sir! It's her!' 'Is she… dead?' 'No -1 saw her face.'
The next wave intervened like disaster itself. From its trough we had no sight of either Jetwind or Kay. We went deep, deep, into icy, white-lashed water.
When we soared to the crest – baling frantically – Kay was only two waves away. I hoped she could see us.
'Keep your eyes on her!' I yelled. If Jetwind were going to her death, there was nothing any of us could do now. Afloat in that tiny boat would be only a way of prolonging our agony. No wonder the old windjammer crews refused to learn to swim.
Jim Yell reached for an oar. 'Take-it easy, Jim! You'll smash in her face if that touches her! Hold the boat off till we can grab her!' 'She'll be safe enough with me, sir!'
The flare pinpointed her position. She was slumped over, head down, arms trailing. Her mouth and nose were perilously close to the water. 'Easy, boys! Let her come down into the trough to us!' Kay seemed to hang there at the summit, but the life-belt could not have taken more than a few moments to coast down towards us. Then – our boat cork-screwed away.
‘For Chrissake!' exclaimed one of the men. 'Don't lose her now!'
I didn't though. The tiller felt ready to take my arm out of its socket but I forced the boar in close.
Kay's face was white against the scarlet paint of the lifebelt, Blotches of purplish-blue were forming round her mouth and eyes. 'Handsomely, boys!'
Yell leaned outboard, a man holding his legs, and plucked Kay, life-belt and all, to safety. I tried to steady my voice. 'Is there life in her, Jim?'
For an answer, she moaned and gagged sea-water on the bottom boards.
'Take over the tiller,’ I ordered, pulling off my thick jersey and pants. I'd already shed my oilskins. 'The cold will kill her if we don't get her warm soon.'
Jim and I got rid of her soaking track-suit. We rolled her over on her face and tried to clear her lungs. The roughness of the bucking boat platform helped our life-giving massage. She coughed and gagged repeatedly.
I picked her up. She was as limp as a rag doll. Her eyes were staring; I don't think she saw me. 'She'll make it, never you worry,' Yell consoled me.
With only my oilskins now, I realized how perishing cold it was.
'It's warmth she needs,' I repeated. I held her close to me to try and absorb some of my body heat. 'There's not such a thing as a blanket aboard, I suppose?' 'No, sir. Not in a boat this size.'
'Okay, let's get back,' I said urgently. 'Head for the ship, will you?' I said to the man at the tiller.
The tillerman made a gesture which took in the waves, the wind, the wide emptiness of the Southern Ocean. 'Ship, sir? There is no ship.'
Chapter 21
There was no ship.
Fear as icy as the gale plucked at me. From the vantage height of the next wave-crest all that confronted us was an empty sea, its foam-covered lips snarling for vengeance. 'See anything, Jim?' I asked.
He levered himself to a standing position. He tensed, and said quickly, 'Ice, sir! Close by! A couple of hundred metres away to port!'
His warning triggered a hope. Maybe it was the same growler Kay had tried to warn me against before she had pitched overboard. If that were so, it could save usyeto 'How big?' 'Big enough, sir. A growler.'
I knew what he meant. Big enough to have ripped open Jetwind. Growlers never float alone. There must be others around. If the ice were reduced to growler size, it was probably because the sea was slightly warmer than I thought. Kay could live. Could we? I tried to remember what they call in Antarctica the 'wind chill factor' – how much the human body can stand at various wind speeds. All I could recall was a ridiculous phrase about face protection being mandatory.
If it was the same growler that Kay had spotted, it could provide a marker, the point from which Jetwind started her turn into the eye of the gale. That is, if she hadn't rolled herself into eternity. She might therefore be coming back in a wide circle to pick up the wind… 'Close the ice!'
'Pardon, sir,' asked Jim Yell. 'Is that wise? If Jetwind spots the growler on her radar, she'll steer clear of it.'
‘
He had not carried out my order but I wasn't going to pull my rank with a sailor of his calibre.
'Okay, Jim. There's the life-belt flare. The ice will act as a mirror and give it ten times the range it otherwise would have.'
One of the other men broke in excitedly. 'There are also a couple of emergency flares in this locker, sir. We could shoot 'em off against the growler, too!'
'Good man!' I said. I tried to imagine how Tideman would act. He would have everything furled except a couple of top-gallants, just enough to keep the ship from being pooped in order to have the maximum time to search for us over the previous area. He'd have every light aboard full on in the hope that we would spot him. He'd use rockets and flares.
Jim Yell edged the boat near the growler. Kay started to shudder. I said to Jim, 'If the ship doesn't come soon, she'll die.' ‘She won't be alone, sir. The rest of us can't last very long either.'
The growler seemed almost a friend, something stable, amongst the gyrating waters. One face angled away like the shape of a radar dish. Jim threw the life-belt plus flare against its base. The unreal light made our faces look like those of sacrificial victims. Kay's was corpse-like. 'Boat flare next, sir?' 'Fire away.' This flare was blue. It blinded us. 'Careful – keep the boat off!' I warned. 'A bang against the growler and we've had it.' Two minutes. Five minutes.
I was starting to shake with the cold. Sea-water Kay had gagged inside my oilskins froze on my chest. 'Try another flare, sir?' 'Not yet. Give the first one time.'
One of the men exclaimed suddenly as the boat soared to a wave-top. 'Seems like a bit of a glow – there, astern, sir.'
'Could be another berg’ I replied cautiously. 'Keep an eye on it.5 'It is something’ the man insisted. 'There – something white-square’ Tabular berg – or top-gallant?
We strained our eyes into the murk. It was difficult to judge distances – the grim uniformity of the water offered no scale. 'Two, sir!' yelled the man excitedly. 'It's two – it's a couple of top-gallants, sir!' ' See anything, Jim?'
Yell managed to stand on the gunnel while the others supported him.
'It's them all right, sir!' he shouted. 'It's the ship! Wait – she's turning away – that growler's scared her off…' 'Fire another flare! Note the ship's position!'
The brilliant spurt of orange-yellow penetrated even my closed eyelids. When the flare had burned down, we fixed our eyes on the quarter where we had last seen the sails. There they were. 'She's answering, sir!'
A brilliant white flare rose from the still invisible hull. I saw the angle of the sails diminish – she was turning towards us!
Tideman handled the rescue like a genius. In minutes the hull appeared below the burnished, streaming yards and masts which rose up out of the murk like the bright wings of an angel of salvation. We burned our last flare. The ship neared, slowed, then turned to give us a lee under the stern to bring the boat alongside. Tideman furled all sails except one top-gallant; his judgement of the balance of forces between the amount of sail necessary to keep the ship from being swamped and overshooting the boat was masterly. One false move, and Jetwind could
