Passage by Night - Jack Higgins [43]
As the boat lifted over the waves, the level of the water rose and fell, slapping across his face, on one occasion passing right over his head, soaking him to the skin.
There were several ragged bullet holes in the bows and water oozed in constantly. He examined them for a moment and then moved back and pulled himself through the hatch into the cabin.
'How bad is it?' the old man said.
'Could be worse. After all, it's almost seven hours since we left San Juan so it took its time to get as bad as it did. Another three hours and we'll be in Spanish Cay. We'll get her fixed up there. You've nothing to worry about.'
The old man was still pretty groggy. He sat down and reached for the coffee pot and Manning went back up on deck. The wind had freshened considerably and clouds scudded across the face of the moon. As he went into the wheelhouse, rain spattered against the glass.
'How bad is it?' Orlov said.
'It's coming in pretty slowly at the moment. That's why it took so long to show.'
'How long till we reach Spanish Cay?'
'Three hours.'
'Then we've no worries.'
'I wouldn't be too sure. The side of the cabin's like a sieve, remember. If we run into dirty weather, we won't stay afloat for long.'
Orlov looked anxiously out through the window at the rain. 'What do you think?'
'Let's say it doesn't look too promising,' Manning told him. 'I'd better take over here. You give Anna a spell on that pump and keep it working.'
During the next half hour the weather deteriorated rapidly and visibility was considerably reduced. The Cretan Lover lurched over the waves, spray scattering the length of her deck, and after a while, she started to ship water.
The door opened and Papa Melos came in and slammed it shut. In the light from the binnacle, he looked much more his old self.
'How's she handling?'
'Not too well,' Manning said. 'I think she's filling up again.'
'I'll take over. You go and check.'
Manning went outside and moved along the deck. In the weird glow of the green and red navigation lights, he could see Orlov crouched by the pump in the cabin, working rhythmically.
When he went down into the cabin, he found Anna on one of the bunks, desperately trying to plug the bullet holes with pieces of rag. Each time a wave dashed against the hull, great fingers of water syphoned into the cabin. There was already at least six inches on the floor.
'Do what you can,' he said. 'I'll be back in a little while.'
He went and crouched beside Orlov, the wind carrying away his voice so that he had to shout into the Russian's ear.
'Can you keep it up?'
'I think so. How are we doing?'
'Not so good. I'm going to check on our position.'
As he moved along the deck, a great sea passed over the rail, knocking him onto his back and he slid against the engine-room hatch and bruised his shoulder. He scrambled to his feet and staggered towards the wheelhouse, using the rail to force his way along.
When he went in, the old man turned, his face grim. 'It's taking her all her time to breast these waves.'
'There's water pouring in all over the place down below,' Manning told him. 'Anna's doing what she can to stop it. See if you can help her. I'll take over here for a while.'
The old man nodded, relinquishing the wheel. When he had gone, Manning slumped into the seat and leaned his forehead on the window pane. He was tired and scared and very cold. Beyond the navigation lights there was nothing, only the darkness and the wind which moaned around the wheelhouse, filling him with foreboding.
He was tired. Too tired to think straight and yet he had to. He flicked on the light above the chart table and holding the wheel with one hand, tried to work out their position.
By now they were well in Exuma Sound and north of Eleuthera, but how far north? He didn't have much to go on and worked out a dead reckoning based on their speed and approximate mileage. The result seemed to indicate that he should alter course to northwest for Spanish Cay, but north of Exuma there were