Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers (13 page)

So, she felt even better when her husband
reappeared a few minutes later to report, “Just changing out some
hard-to-get-at hose, then using some kind of starter fluid that
produces a big bang. Sort of a controlled burn, you might say. No
need to worry.”

“Well, thank heaven for that. It would be
awful to have something go wrong when we only have a little farther
to go.”

“Indeed, it would.”

However, the day only proceeded to get
stranger from that point on. It was one of those days people find
themselves considering whether they shouldn't have gone back to get
up on the opposite side of the bed, in order to straighten things
out. Because Stuart—always so careful to “do things by the
book,”—suddenly decided to strike out across their last stretch of
“big water,” late in the afternoon. The Ketchikan Channel (not what
it was formally called, but no one could pronounce the real name)
being only about five hours away. Piece of cake, after that,
because it was such a busy city, one merely had to follow a crowd
of other boats back into the harbor. And considering it would still
be daylight at nine pm, not much could go wrong.

The first thing that went wrong was a large
rock at the entrance of their cove, which had been clearly visible
when they came in, but was now covered over with a high tide. Even
though the accidental bumping against it didn't cause any real
damage, it served as a wake-up call to remind them of the necessity
of having a spotter at the bow when entering, or exiting, such
places. Rocks being the prevailing characteristic of the region.
Why the depth sounder didn't give an alarm, no one thought to ask,
because maneuvering in and out of tight places had always been the
Captain's responsibility. In fact, if he hadn't been at the wheel
that very moment, the danger might have caused serious damage.

Things simply went downhill from there. The
afternoon wind kicked up stronger than expected, and Stuart's
decision to skirt a little farther south of the fishing boats to
avoid all those thousands of feet of net strung out across every
available space on the U.S. side of Dixon Entrance, drove the
Dreadnaught
into six to eight foot waves, farther out. Why
on earth had they even tried to attempt it at this hour?

That's what Stella was thinking when the
ship's bell summoned “all hands on deck” to hoist sails.

Heading directly north was no longer an
option. Now, they must use the wind to stabilize the ship, so they
could plow through the waves, instead of rolling into the steep
troughs each time they were hit form the side. They were sailing
directly out into rough weather, and another storm at sea. However,
the crew was more seasoned, this time, and understood their jobs
much better than those early days. Which was the only reason they
managed to “beat into it” for nearly three full hours before
finally raising a distant shore where they could find another safe
cove, or inlet, to slip into. Who cared how far off course they
were? Everyone was exhausted.

Something that only added to the strain on
nerves when the place began to disappear, on and off, behind
patches of clinging fog the wind was still trying to blow off the
rugged land. So, they took a compass bearing on a point that looked
promising, and strained all eyes for any sign of unexpected rocks
that might be strewn out in front of it. At least the seas began to
settle down the closer they got to land. But so did the wind. Down
with the sails, again, and the last hour was a nightmare, before
Lou Edna (who had the best eyes aboard) called out a possible
opening. A tight squeeze, but they would have to take it.

Because night was already coming on.

So, they began to snake their way up a long,
narrow inlet that seemed to have no sign of widening out, at all.
Cole stood at the very tip of the bowsprit, giving hand-signals up
to the wheelhouse as they inched their way around the rocky shores
at a snail's pace.

“Over there!” Lou called down from her perch
on the mainmast yardarm. “Big enough to turn around in!”

“Port, or starboard?” insisted Cole.

“On the right—the right—I mean,
starboard!”

He gave the signal, but there was no
response from the wheelhouse. “Get down here and take over, Lou.
Colonel and Mase—get ready to let go the anchor. Millie, keep an
eye out for rocks off the port side and holler out soon as you see
any. Mrs. H... you come with me.”

Which is how it came to be that Stella was
the only witness to exactly what happened, next.

She followed Cole up the short steep ladder
to the topmost deck of the
Dreadnaught
(lagging considerably
behind the quick agility of their dark-haired First Mate), and was
shocked to arrive in time to see him thrust the older man aside and
take over the wheel so forcibly that their captain fell into a
crumpled heap onto the floor. She had read enough sea stories to
know such an act was nothing less than mutiny, but didn't know
exactly what she should do about it. Other than rushing to the side
of Captain Stuart, only to discover that he was completely
unconscious.

At which point there was an ear-splitting
scream of “Rocks! Rocks!” from Millie, before Cole immediately spun
the wheel hard over and...ran right over them.

Stella was picking herself up off the floor
before she even realized she had toppled over. There was screaming
and hollering (Millie, mostly), and a tumult of running feet
clamoring over the decks below. Were they sinking? By the time she
pulled herself up enough to look over at Cole, the young man was
standing with his back to her, his head sagging down to his chest,
and still hanging onto the wheel. But only for a few moments before
he gave a great sigh, and shut off the engine.

“Is he alive?” he finally asked without
turning to see for himself.

“I...” She was still on her knees, and only
had to lean over to look at Stuart. He seemed to be sleeping. She
gave his shoulder a gentle shake, but there was no response. “I
think so. Yes... he's breathing, anyway. Cole—what on earth
possessed you to push him so—”

“Something happened. He was froze to the
wheel.”

“Dear Lord...” She patted the Captain's
face, trying once more to wake him. “Maybe we better not move him
right away. At least not for a while.” She took off her jacket and
slipped it under his head, then reached for the army blanket on the
nearest chair, to unfold over him.

“I better go check how much damage there
is.”

He slipped out the door, and was barely gone
when Gerald clamored in from the companionway that led from the
galley beneath them. He was wearing a bright orange life-jacket,
and carrying the Senator over his shoulder, buckled into a
miniature of the same. “Millie's gone over the side,” he panted.
“Saw the whole thing from the galley port, when we were getting
into our life-jackets. Just—pffft!—popped over like a cork out of a
bottle because she was leaning out over the rail too far.”

“For heaven sake! Is she—”

“Pfft! Just like that! Had her lifeline on,
though, so they hauled her right up. Didn't even get wet, that's
how high up we are. What happened to Stuart?”

“We're not sure. Cole said he was frozen.
Just hanging onto the wheel.” She moved over to where she could
look down on the forward deck. It was tilted back at a slight angle
and looked eerily deserted. Where was everybody? Were they sinking?
What if they had to abandon ship out in this—oh, dear God!

All at once, a single shaft of light broke
through the dark clouds as the sun was going down between two
magnificent mountain peaks. It gave the illusion of resting right
on top of the
Dreadnaught
. In that light, it looked as if
their ship had nosed close up into a narrow meadow, nestled between
those two pine-covered mountains. And—what was that? A waterfall
tumbling down from somewhere high up, over a wall of rock, not too
far away.

Stella felt a sudden sense of profound
peace, along with the fleeting thought they had landed in the
prettiest place they had come to, yet. Then it occurred to her how
often their situation could change (so instantly!), after she
prayed for God to save them out of some circumstance that seemed to
be pressing her beyond her own personal limits. Almost before she
even knew what to pray for. As if simply calling out to God during
those times was enough for Him to intervene.

Gerald handed her the baby, and then bent
down to have a better look at the Captain. “Seems like he's...had
some kind of stroke.”

“Oh, I hope not!” She settled the toddler
onto her hip. “It could be hours before we can get any kind of
help, way out here.”

“More than that, I'm afraid. Something
busted up forward. Right under the boy's play area. I daresay there
was water trickling in when we left.”

Stella felt her stomach lurch, as if she had
just gone down fast in an elevator. “Are we—sinking?”

“Nobody's sinking,” replied Mason, who came
in at that very moment to switch on the VHF radio. “Just knocked a
board loose because somebody didn't know right from left. What are
you trying to do, Gerry—scare the women?”

“Best to plan for the worst, I always
say.”

“Well don't. Cole's got the pumps going,
already, and the Colonel's setting up the tools. We'll have it
fixed even before help can get here for Stuart. How's he doing?
Cole said he passed out for a while.”

“A while—he hasn't come out of it, yet.”
Stella informed him. “Gerry thinks it might be a stroke.”

Mason's face registered a combination of
remorse and despair as he looked over at his long-time friend,
lying so still beneath the green blanket. But only for a moment.
After that, he returned his attentions to the radio with renewed
vigor. “What's wrong with this thing?” He banged on it, and twisted
a few more dials. “Probably been busted for years, like everything
else around here!”

Gerald's face went pale beneath his black
Navy watch-cap. “If we can't call for an emergency helicopter...”
His brown mustache quivered. “How the—devil—do we abandon
ship?”

“We can't abandon ship,” Mason sluffed out
of his army-green rain-jacket, now that he was inside, and dropped
it on a chair. “We've got everything we own on here.”

At which point Stella felt her knees go
weak, and murmured something about getting a bottle for the baby,
so she could at least find some place to pull herself together.
Anything to keep from being overwhelmed at the thought of being
shipwrecked. Shipwrecked! Right out in the middle of... why, she
hadn't the faintest idea where they were in the middle of. And
without Stuart to figure it out...

It was a quiet, sombre crew that sat around
the table in the galley, two hours later.

The situation was more grim than they first
realized. They had set up a cot in one corner so they could bring
the Captain in, and keep a close eye on him. He still couldn't be
wakened. In the meantime, they discovered that not only did the
radio in the wheelhouse not work, neither did the weather radio in
the galley. Considering they weren't getting much more than static
across all channels, they wondered if they might be too closed-in
by surrounding trees and mountains to get any reception. They tried
to send out a message, anyway, but there was no response.

After two months aboard the
Dreadnaught
, they knew enough to get the ship into some safe
harbor, even if they didn't know exactly where they were. Or, at
least close enough to some fishing boat to ask for help. Except
they were stuck fast on top of the rocks they had run over. A fact
that turned out to be their salvation, considering the damage had
been more extensive than they first realized. While water was only
trickling into Lou's apartment, it was fairly pouring into the
lower hold, where most of their supplies were. The jolt had opened
up a larger crack between the boards, down there.

It might have spelled disaster if the water
hadn't stopped rising when it reached a level of two feet at the
lowest end of the vessel. This because they had run high enough up
on the rocks to be about three-quarters out of the water everywhere
else. Which should have made them feel safer. Except the knowledge
that the water fell off to depths of nearly a hundred feet on
either side, made them realize where they might have been—this very
minute—if they hadn't run so hard aground.

Something they had to credit to Cole for
thinking so fast. But while they were not sunk, they were
definitely not going anywhere. At least, not anytime soon. Maybe
even never, if the tide didn't rise sufficiently to float them back
off the rocks, again. And even though there was always the hope
that someone else might wander into this same place and find them,
who knew how long that would take? The only thing they did know,
was they were in some wild corner of the Pacific Ocean, where most
of the of the smaller islands they had been traveling through were
uninhabited.

And there were hundreds of them.

Of course, there was always the possibility
they had landed on the shores of one of the larger ones, but—after
so many weeks of passing through mile after mile of wilderness
places—the chance of that would be be an out-and-out miracle. That
being the case, they decided they might as well go to bed, and
tackle the problem, again, in the morning. That is, everyone except
Gerald, who volunteered to sleep on the long upholstered bench at
the back of the table, there in the galley, in case Stuart woke up
and didn't know where he was, or what had happened.

By that time, it was nearly midnight.

As exhausted as Stella was, she remembered
thinking—just before she drifted off to sleep—that she had never
faced any disaster with so much calm and assurance as she felt just
then. Maybe it was because she never had so many people to face one
with before. Then, again, it could be that having such a strong,
wonderful husband (who always made the best of things) helped her
feel like she could survive anything, too. Whatever it was, she
knew—someplace deep in her heart—that everything would work out
right. Somehow. Simply because God promised it would. It was a
feeling she had never experienced, and the only reason she was able
to fall into such a deep, restful sleep under such terrible
circumstances. Which was a good thing.