The Blue Ice (7 page)

‘Mr Dahler,' I said. ‘Now you're recovered, you'll join my watch, please.'

‘Good,' he said.

‘We're the watch below now,' I added pointedly.

He smiled. ‘I like it very well up here,' he answered. ‘My stomach is happier.'

So I, too, stayed up on deck. But I knew it was useless. If Dahler wanted to sit and watch Jorgensen he could do it any time the starboard watch was on duty. If only I'd arranged it so that they were both in my own watch. I could have kept my eye on them then. As it was I had to sleep some time.

That night my watch came off duty at midnight. The forecasts were of gale warnings on practically all coasts of the British Isles. The wind had already veered to the sou'-west. We had gybed in the course of our watch and for the first time since we had left the Thames estuary we were leaning our starboard scuppers under. I had stowed the mizzen to avoid it blanketing the mainsail. ‘Watch it,' I told Dick. ‘I don't think the wind will back, but if it does suddenly, you'll have to gybe. And keep an eye on the wind force. If it blows much harder that yankee will have to come off.'

I left him then and went below. Dahler had already gone to his cabin. I could see the light on under the door. Jill and Wilson were drinking tea laced with rum. She filled a mug for me. ‘Rum?' she asked, and poured it without waiting for my reply. Her face was very pale and her eyes looked bright, almost feverish. She handed me the mug. ‘Cheers!' I said, watching her over the rim of it.

As soon as Wilson had gone for'ard to the foc's'le she said, ‘Are you doing a deal with Mr Jorgensen, Bill?' Her voice was jerky and pitched a shade high.

‘How do you mean?' I asked.

‘That's what Mr Dahler told me,' she said. ‘He said you and Jorgensen were joining forces – against George Farnell.'

‘Against George Farnell—' I didn't get it. ‘George Farnell's dead,' I reminded her.

She nodded. ‘That's what I told Mr Dahler. But he only said, “Don't lose Gansert – that's all.”'

‘Did he ask you to have a talk with me?'

‘Not exactly. But—' She hesitated. Then she took a step towards me and caught my arm. ‘Bill. I'm scared. I don't know why. There's something about this boat today. Everybody's on edge. Everybody's asking questions.'

‘Who's been asking you questions?' I asked.

‘Oh, Jorgensen this morning. Curtis this afternoon. You're about the only person who hasn't.' She suddenly laughed. ‘Instead, I'm asking you. What about Jorgensen?'

‘I'll decide that when I get to Norway,' I said. ‘Right now you'd better turn in and get some sleep.'

She nodded and downed the rest of her drink. I waited till she'd switched her cabin light on, then I turned off the saloon light and went aft to my own cabin.

I was dead tired and fell asleep on my bunk with my clothes on. The movement of the ship was like the rocking of a cradle. I was conscious of it whilst I slept and it added to the sense of deep luxury. I dreamed of soft things, of deep purples and velvets, and of the rocking, swaying, lurching of the tree tops. Then the motion changed. It became slower, heavier. It shook with the crash of each onslaught. It leaned more steeply, more terribly. I clawed at the blankets, clutched at the side of the bunk at each roll. And suddenly I was awake, and I knew that I had to go up on deck. Down there in my cabin I could feel it. I'd sensed it in my sleep. The wind was holding her down. She was carrying too much canvas. I slipped into my sea boots. As each wave slid under her I could feel her reluctance to lift the next.

I opened the cabin door. There was a light on in the saloon. At the foot of the companionway, I paused. I could hear voices raised in altercation. I turned and peered through the crack of the half-open door. Jorgensen and Dahler faced each other across the saloon table.

‘
Sa det er det De tenker a gjöre, hva?
' Jorgensen's voice was low pitched and violent. The ship heaved and he clutched the centre support. Behind him Jill's cabin door opened. She was fully clothed. Presumably their argument had woken her. ‘
De far ikke anledning
,' Jorgensen continued, still speaking in Norwegian. ‘
Sa fort vi kommer til Bergen skal jeg fa Dem arrestert.
'

‘Arrested?' Jill cried, and he spun round. ‘Why will you have him arrested? What has he done?'

‘Sold secrets to the enemy during the war,' Jorgensen answered.

‘I don't believe it,' she replied hotly.

I threw open the saloon door. ‘On deck, please, Mr Jorgensen,' I called. ‘We're going to shorten sail.' I didn't wait for his answer, but hurried up the companionway. Out on deck the night was a howling wilderness of water. I dived for the weather rail and scrambled aft to the dim shapes gathered in the cockpit. The wind would soon be reaching gale force. I could sense the growing weight of it as gust after gust buffeted me. ‘Dick!' I shouted, ‘time you shortened sail. That yankee's far too much for her.'

‘I was just going to,' he answered. His voice betrayed his anxiety. He knew he'd left it later than he should. Jorgensen came out on deck, followed by Jill. Then Dahler emerged. I cursed the cripple for coming up. But I hadn't time to worry about it. If he got swept overboard it would be his own fault. Curtis was at the wheel. ‘Keep her running before the wind,' I ordered him. ‘Dick. You and Carter out on the bowsprit. Jorgensen. You work with me.'

We scrambled for'ard. The ship was pitching violently. Dick and Carter stepped over the bows on to the bowsprit strands and worked their way out. Jill eased off the sheets and, as the yankee emptied itself of wind and began to flap, Jorgensen and I let the sail down with a run. Dick and Carter out on the bowsprit gathered it in and passed it aft to us. We set the ordinary jib and then began to get the main tops'l in. With a following wind and the main booms swung right out we were still carrying far too much canvas. The wind was driving us into the sea. You could feel it.

In the light of the spotlight I had switched on in the rigging for'ard we manned the halyard and sheet of the tops'l. But she jammed as we ran her down. The weight of the wind was pressing the sail against the gaff of the mainsail and the canvas had caught. As we worked to free it, I felt the wind shift and saw the clew of the mainsail lift as the wind got behind it. ‘Curtis,' I shouted. ‘Port your helm or you'll gybe her. Wind's shifting.' But he'd already seen the danger and swung the wheel over. ‘Don't worry about course,' I told him. ‘Just keep her running before the wind.'

‘Okay,' he called back.

That's the danger with a following wind, especially at night. The main boom is swung right out. If the wind changes or you get off course without noticing it and a sudden gust swings in behind your canvas, then your boom comes across with a rush, sweeping the ship, and fetching up with a crash on the other tack that's enough to rip the mast out of her. That's gybing the way it shouldn't be done.

We tried setting the tops'l again. But she wouldn't budge. We needed more weight to clear her. ‘Curtis,' I called. ‘Hand over the wheel to Jill. And come for'ard.' With his extra weight we managed to clear the jam at the expense of the canvas. With a ripping sound the sail came down with a run. ‘Hold it,' I yelled. ‘Jorgensen. Take the jackyard as it comes down, will you.' He went a little further aft and, standing on the main hatch, reached up for the yard. ‘Right,' I called. ‘Lower away.'

The sail came down then, a flapping, billowing bunch of canvas that lashed at us as we gathered it in. And in that moment I sensed rather than saw the swing of the boat. I pulled the canvas aside just in time to see the wind get behind the leach of the mainsail. The great pile of canvas filled from the other side. The boom began to swing inboard. ‘Gybe-ho!' I screamed. ‘Jorgensen! Down! Get down!'

I saw him glance to starb'd. ‘Duck!' I shouted. ‘Everyone.' Jorgensen raised his hand as though to ward off the blow. Then suddenly he dived full length on to the hatch cover. I felt the ship straighten up as the weight lifted from the starb'd side. I seized canvas and jackyard, slung it over my head and rolled on to the deck. Next instant it was torn away from me as the great mainsail boom came swinging inboard. I felt the weight of it fling past me and heard Jill scream. The ship heeled and then plunged into a wave in a burst of spray as the boom roared out to port. There it fetched up with a crash that shook the ship to her keel and brought crockery clattering down in the galley below. There was a splintering of wood and the port backstay was ripped out of the bulwarks and catapulted into the rigging with a clang of metal.

Jorgensen picked himself up. He was white. I pulled the tops'l clear of Dick, Curtis and Carter, wondering whether any of them had been hit by the boom. Only Curtis was hurt. He seemed to have caught his shoulder. I left him to Dick and went aft. Jorgensen was before me though. Dahler was at the wheel. His face was a pallid mask. Jorgensen took hold of him by the collar of his coat and pulled him out from behind the wheel.

I thought for a moment he was going to fling the cripple overboard. I shouted to him. Instead he smashed a vicious right into the man's face. Dahler ceased to struggle. His muscles went slack and Jorgensen dropped his inert body back across the wheel.

‘Stand back, Jorgensen!' I ordered. ‘You've no right to do a thing like that. It wasn't Dahler's fault. He's not a sailor. Curtis shouldn't have handed the wheel over to him.'

‘Not Dahler's fault!' Jorgensen laughed unsteadily. ‘That wasn't an accident,' he said. ‘Ask Miss Somers.'

I looked at Jill. ‘What happened?' I asked.

But she seemed too frightened to speak. She just stood, staring down at Dahler's inert body.

CHAPTER THREE

THE VOICE OF
HVAL TI

Whether that gybe was intentional or an accident I didn't know. And I hadn't time to think about it then. Dahler's body was crumpled over the wheel, jamming it. The mainsail, still overweighted with canvas in the howling wind, was dragging at the mast. With the port backstay gone and the starboard backstay slack the massive timber of the mast was bending to each gust. I could hear it groaning above the thunder of the seas breaking inboard over the bows. I hauled Dahler's body off the wheel and thrust it into the cockpit. Then I put the helm hard to starb'd and brought the ship up into the wind. ‘Haul in on the mainsheet, Jorgensen,' I shouted as the boom began to swing loosely inboard.

Somehow we got the boat close-hauled and the starboard backstay set up. Then I handed the wheel over to Jill and went for'ard with Jorgensen to get a reef in the mainsail and repair the port backstay. Curtis wasn't badly hurt, but he'd a nasty cut on his shoulder and I sent him below as soon as Wilson arrived on deck. ‘Take Dahler with you,' I told him. And then suddenly remembering that he'd originally been at the wheel, I said, ‘Why did you hand the wheel over to Dahler and not to Jill as I ordered?'

‘Jill wasn't in the cockpit,' he said. ‘I saw you were in a jam and as I got up from the wheel, Dahler stepped in right beside me. He'd been at the helm once during the day, so I thought it would be all right. It left Jill as a gash hand. I didn't realise—'

‘All right,' I said. ‘You get on below and see to that cut. Put Dahler on his bunk. I'll see him later.'

It took us the better part of an hour to get things sorted out and the boat properly trimmed. I took in two reefs to be on the safe side. The damage didn't appear great, but only daylight would reveal what had happened aloft. The strain as the full weight of the mains'l had swung across had been terrific. Masthead fittings might be torn out or loosened. When the ship was at last riding easily, I sent Jill below to fix Curtis's arm and put Jorgensen on the wheel. Dick and the two hands were stowing sails for'ard. I entered up the log and then checked our course on the compass. The binnacle light threw a faint glow on Jorgensen's face. ‘Why did you hit Dahler?' I asked him. He didn't answer and I said, ‘The man's a cripple. He should never have been allowed to take the wheel in this wind. He couldn't hold it.' Still Jorgensen said nothing. ‘Do you think he did it on purpose?' I demanded.

‘What do you think?' he asked.

I remember how Jorgensen had been standing on the hatch cover, reaching up for the jackyard. If I hadn't sensed the gybe coming and yelled a warning to him, the boom would have swept him overboard. It would have smashed his ribs and sent him hurtling over the life lines. If Dahler had wanted to get rid of Jorgensen … ‘It was an accident,' I said angrily.

‘An accident?' He laughed. ‘Dahler has been sailing boats all his life. That was no accident, Mr Gansert. You heard what was said between us in the saloon just before we came on deck.'

‘You were threatening to have him arrested,' I said. ‘But that doesn't prove that he tried to – to involve you in an accident.'

‘To murder me I think you were going to say.' He shifted his grip on the wheel. ‘Let us call things by their proper names,' he added. ‘What Dahler did was attempted murder.' The way he said it, it sounded ugly.

‘I'll go down and have a word with him,' I said, and left him sitting there at the wheel.

It seemed incredible that Dahler should have meant to kill him. And yet, sitting there at the wheel and seeing Jorgensen standing on that hatch, the means of killing was right there in his hands. He had only to turn the wheel and the gybe was bound to happen. An accident. Nobody would have been able to prove that it wasn't an accident. And there would have been no chance of picking Jorgensen up with the ship's tangle of sails and broken rigging. It was understandable if he were a novice. Only a little while before he took the wheel Curtis had almost done the same thing by accident. But if he'd been sailing boats all his life …