The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [7]
‘Remember, Jack, it’s our little secret.’ He gave Jack a conspiratorial wink as he patted the mattress back flat. ‘This rutter’s far too valuable to leave lying around. As soon as anyone hears we’ve reached the Japans, they will know there’s one on-board.’
When Jack didn’t reply, he studied his son with concern. ‘How are you holding up?’
‘We’re not going to make it, are we?’ said Jack bluntly.
‘Of course, we are, son,’ he replied, drawing Jack to him. ‘You got the foresail down. With sailors like you, we cannot fail.’
Jack tried to return his father’s smile, but he was genuinely scared. The Alexandria had met storm after storm, and even though his father claimed they were close to their destination, it seemed like they’d never feel land under their feet again. This was a darker fear than that which he had felt in the rigging, and at any other point on the gruelling journey so far. His father bent down to look him in the eye.
‘Don’t despair, Jack. The sea is a tempestuous mistress, but I’ve been through storms far worse than this and survived. And we will survive this one.’
Making their way back on to the quarterdeck, Jack kept close to his father. Somehow he felt protected from the worst of the storm by his presence, his father’s unwavering confidence giving him hope where there appeared to be none.
‘Nothing like a good storm to swab the decks, eh?’ jested his father to the Third Mate, who was still valiantly wrestling with the wheel, the exertion sending his face as red as his beard. ‘Set a course for north by north-west. But let it be known there are reefs ahead. Warn the lookouts to stay sharp.’
Despite his father’s faith in the direction they were heading, the ocean stretched on and on, wave after wave pounding the Alexandria. Jack’s own confidence began to ebb away with the sand in the binnacle hourglass.
It was not until the sand had run dry a second time that the cry of ‘Land, ho!’ come forth. A wave of elation and relief ran through the entire crew. They had been battling the tempest for close on half the night. Now there was a glimmer of hope, a slim chance they could ride out the storm, tucked behind a headland or within the shelter of some bay.
But almost as quickly as their hopes had been raised, they were dashed by a second cry from the lookout.
‘Reefs to starboard bow!’
Then shortly after…
‘Reefs to larboard bow!’
Jack’s father began to shout bearings at the Third Mate.
‘Hard to starboard!… Now hold your course. Hold… Hold… Hold…’
The Alexandria rose and fell over the churning waves, skirting reefs as it ran headlong for the dark mass of land in the distance.
‘HARD-O’-LARBOARD!’ screamed his father, throwing his own weight behind the wheel.
The rudder bit into the churning sea. The deck heeled sickeningly. The ship swung the other way… but too late. The Alexandria collided with the reef. A halyard snapped and the weakened foremast cracked, crumpled and fell away.
‘CUT THE RIGGING!’ ordered the Captain, the ship lurching dangerously under the drag of the foremast.
The men on deck fell upon the ropes with axes. They hacked away, freeing the mast, but the ship still failed to respond. It was apparent her hull had been breached.
The Alexandria was sinking!
4
LAND OF THE RISING SUN
The whole crew had battled all night to keep the ship afloat, though it had seemed a futile attempt. Seawater had flooded the bilge and Jack had worked alongside the men frantically attempting to pump it out, but the waters rapidly rose past the level of his chest. He had desperately fought to control his panic. Drowning was a sailor’s worst nightmare, a watery grave where crabs crawled over your bloated body and picked at your cold, lifeless eyes.
Jack retched over the Alexandria’s side for the fourth time that morning, remembering the way the dark brackish water had lapped at his chin. Holding his breath, he had still kept pumping.