A Bridge Of Magpies (13 page)

`Kaptein Denny said it'd be okay.' I couldn't think of anything else to say.

'We'll never make that tiny gap.'

'We will and we must.'

Tuscaloosa Islet, where we intended
to
anchor, was low and close inshore and difficult to make out. That didn't help Jutta's fears or mine. First we had to reach the channel leading to it.

I spotted discoloured water right ahead of the bow. That I meant twelve fathoms –so Kaptein Denny had said. Every warning of his was at a premium now.

'I'm going to mug her right down.'

I had to shout for Jutta to
hear.

'Hang on to the wheel for a moment while I fix the
sail.
Just hold her steady. I won't take a minute.'

I was a fool, of course, to have entrusted the steering under such conditions to a novice, but it seemed simple enough and I didn't intend to be long. I felt the
gale
cool the sweat inside my oilskins when I got outside the wheelhouse. That should have been a red light, telling me how hard it had been to work the wheeL

But I went on to the saiL

At that moment
Ichabo
must
have hopscotched over a
shallower bit of bottom. From being merely storm-triggered rollers, the sea became a battering-rain.
Ichabo
caught it on the port quarter. She yawed wildly; the boom thwacked me in the rib-cage. I
felt as though I'd been
kicked by a mule. 89

I was hurled off the wheelhouse roof on to the foredeck I caught
a
glimpse, plunging past the windows, of the wheel spinning out of control. Jutta's hands
were in the air sema-
phoring
her helplessness.

Where I finished up I was swamped and soused immediately by torrents of water. The cutter's head fell off. She started to swing beam-on to the sea–the most dangerous position for a boat under such circumstances. The peril made me try to rise but I fell back, heJpless.

Then Jutta
was
there, holding me to her. Another ice-sharp, hissing deluge poured over the deck.
Ichabo
bucked like a demented rocking-horse

`Get back! Get back to the wheel, for Chrissake! Leave me!'

But she wouldn't, and hugged me to her. I fought her and I fought for breath.

'Struan! Struan I '

Ichabo lay
beam-on to the swell. I managed to get to my knees. I longed to take advantage of the full count to recover my wind but the awful motion of the boat made me throw aside all thought of it.

`Get me up I Get me on my feet! To the wheel!'

I hauled myself upright by throwing all my weight on to her shoulders. And I went on doing so unmercifully, using her as a kind of human crutch to jack me up the ladder to the helm. I battled to get air and give her orders at the same time but I only achieved a whisper because the salt water I'

d swallowed had dehydrated my throat.

Finally we made it to the spinning wheel but because of my nausea I couldn't stand upright on the canting deckboards. So I got behind her and clamped my hands over hers on the spokes and tried to steady them. I stayed on my feet by hanging on to her like that and jamming my chest against her back I whooped; the boom banged; the sail tried to blow itself away with reports like rifle-shots. Every time we fought a wave the pain ripped up my side. Every one of them seemed to pack maximum punch. But
we
won out. Finally the out of-control twisting of the boat eased and the seas stopped scouring the decks.

We'd only bought a temporary reprieve, however. We'd lost our critical moment; there wasn't a hope now of hitting the mouth of the channeL The safe bearing on which Kaptein 90

Denny had red-lined the passage was past. We were careering straight towards the chain of hazards on the seaward side. It was impossible even to try and claw away from them.
Ichabo was
carrying far too much sail, anyway. She crashed through the troughs like a cart through potholes: she was being blown along like a paper boat on a pond.

'Dial a prayer, Jutta.'

'Is it so bad?'

'Odds are ninety to one against'

Jutta had lost her sou'wester in our scramble for the bridge and her hair was tangling in my face. It smelt of sea, sand and ships. Then I became aware that she wasn't only using her body as a makeweight to steer: it was clinging to mine, saying its own message-in the few desperate moments we had left before
lchabo
struck.

'Do we swim when she strikes, Struan?'

'Not
a
chance. It'll be over quickly.'

'Then don't let me go.'

'I won't . Jutta .

'Struan?'

'Sorry I made you come.'

'I'm not. Only that I found out too late.'

'Me too.'

Ichabo
bored in at the terrifying barrier of driving-rearing water which walled off Alabama Cove seawards. It was leaping so that great chunks of it were breaking off the crests and shooting into the air, like shapes.

'Birds!' I yelled. 'Birds! Millions of 'em! Back from the great migration!'

They were beating the sky apart with their wings. I saw an outside hope.

'Look, Jutta, they're at the fish!'

Maybe she thought I'd gone crazy because she just stood dazed. I threw my weight and hers on the wheel spokes, trying to bring
Ichabo
round a point or two. That would be enough, if I could get her among the birds.

'Help me I Everything you've got!'

She did so, and it helped.

'There's a shoal of fish going through a gap there between the sandbars! The birds are after it! If it's deep enough for them it's deep enough for us!'

Ichabo came
round a trifle more, but the deck went clean 91

under beneath the press of sail.

Water, spume and spray exploded as the sand-spit took the sea's force, and we hurtled into the breakers. About a bucketful of fish was thrown bodily out of the sea on to the deck. There was a crash and
a
gannet the size of a turkey dive-bombed after them into the planks and broke its neck Its mates pulled out of their dives in time and the boat was surrounded by white blobs until I couldn't distinguish which were birds and which were bits of spume.

That blind rush through the sandbars and reefs can't have lasted more than a couple of minutes, but it was the longest voyage I've ever made. I expected at any moment to hear the crash of her keel on to the iron-hard sand. A bird went slap through the sail. It rent it across but this had the good effect of making
Ichabo
ride
easier.
Then we were through, safe; through the breakers and into the channel beyond. It didn't look safe, though. The shoreline was a wall of black rocks. The surf leaped spectacularly against them and threw spray high over the beachfront dunes. The rocks looked like teeth sticking out of frothy gums. I got control of
Ichabo
with Jutta's assistance–my side hurt like hell–and we coasted up-channel under short sail towards the anchorage at Tuscaloosa. The birds were everywhere, following the same up-channel course as ourselves towards the islet: they were there by the tens of thousands. There was another tricky moment when finally we got into the lee of the islet and felt its blanketing effect on the wind. I couldn't do much because of my side, so decided to bring her up by the simple method of cutting sail and anchor loose at the same moment Jutta took the sail and I the anchor cable.

The plan worked. The sail came down and the anchor roared out, simultaneously, as if they'd been linked to some synchronizing mechanism;
Ichabo came
to rest at a spot which I reckoned would have been a natural also for the
Alabama.
Behind Tuscaloosa the wind's roar diminuendoed: the islet formed a splendid natural bulwark against the gale, which was now nudging peak velocity.

The place appeared to have been thrown up by some mighty volcanic convulsion. It was simply a confusion
of
great loose blocks of stone, basalt and lava. It was so low 92

on its exposed side that the rollers came smashing half-way over it. Nevertheless it was high enough to constitute a galebreak.
Ichabo
plucked and strained at her cables and a lot of loose gear sloshed about on deck. I made it fast in a haphazard sort of way because my side began to hurt as if one of Tuscaloosa's blocks of stone had fallen on it. Jutta made. me leave off before I was properly finished, so she could have a look at it. The day was gone and the storm made it too dark topside to do much good, anyway; so I went down with her to the shabby oil-lit cabin where she had coffee and food ready.

My suspicions towards Kaptein Denny had abated. He'd provided us with the perfect funk-hole. Jf he'd wanted to get rid of me he could simply have kept his mouth shut about Alabama Cove.

'Let's have a look at your side.'

I stripped off my oilskins and shirt.

'You were terrific, Struan.'

Her fingers, massaging and exploring the injury, continued the tell-tale messages of her body at the wheeL

'You weren't so bad yourself.'

'It's an awful bruise. I don't think the ribs themselves are damaged, though.'

Ìt feels
as
if a squadron of seals had made a racetrack of me.'

'It was my fault. I let you down.'

Her fingers were soothing–and charged. They were betraying something exciting going
on
inside her.

'No post-mortems. We're safe in one piece and that's what matters.'

She was very close to me, concentrating on the damage. Concentrating more than
was
really necessary. She'd got rid of her suede jacket. Her breasts swelled under her sweater, firm and tight.

I'll rub you with some
warm
oil.'

'Aboard this outfit you'll find nothing better than engine oil.'

Ì'll dig up something. There's a first-aid kit in the engineroom.'

I didn't want to spoil the relaxed moment. I'd never seen her like this, and I didn't want it changed. My rib-cage felt ringed with a steel band when I
filled my lungs; but
93

the injury didn't really merit the fuss she was making of it. She returned with some smelly ointment.

`Horse-doctor ! '

`Horse!'

We just couldn't help turning one another on. We grinned at each other.

But I overbid my hand by bringing up
Ichabo's
narrow escape.

'Old Captain Semmes was a crafty one, to have holed up here in the Alabama. It would have been impossible to flush him out. I wonder how he discovered it? One thing's certain –

he didn't get the help of any Yankee whalerman, being a Southerner himself.'

'Lost causes like his always bring out one's inventiveness.'

I should have stopped short and kept to the soft-core talk when J heard the note in her voice but I didn't expect a sudden deadfall after what her fingers had revealed.

'At least Semmes couldn't even have missed finding his way back here–he had seventy chronometers.'

She stopped massaging. 'Seventy? How'd you know that?'

`Prizes. He always took his
victims'
chronometers as personal loot. He gave my great-grandfather one for his services.'

She sank to a squatting position on the floor. I was on a locker. Her hair burned brighter than any light.

`How'd your great-grandfather come into it?'

'He was the
Alabama's
Number One gunner. Ex-Royal Navy: he'd been a gun captain aboard HMS
Furious a
couple of years before the
Alabama
started raiding. Half Semmes's crew were British recruits. He was in
Furious
when she annexed Ichabo Jsland for Queen Victoria.'

`So the Weddell roots really go deep into the Sperrgebiet?' Ìf you put it that way.'

That emotive little spot
was
back hi the corner of her eye. 'I do put it that way! It burns me up! You've got this place in your blood–but you want to deny it to me! Why? You're throwing me out like an empty bottle!'
She
jumped to her feet and stood over me. 'Why'd you have to bring in your blasted
Alabama
gunner? Why couldn't you let us be . . . us?'

I also got up. I pulled on my shirt: that part of things was over.

'You make me sick!' she exploded. 'I wasn't trying to steal 94

your bloody wreck! Or anything else! I've got a claim, like you! I was only looking . .!'

`Calm down. It's not my Sperrgebiet. Jf it was I'd let you stay.'

I
was seeing her with clearer eyes than I had before. Her face
was
more fragile than it had appeared out there on Doodenstadt. Her teeth
were
very fine and regular and there were several tiny skin blotches on the line of her scalp and forehead. Her mouth looked the sort better suited to smiling than accusing. Up to
now
there hadn't been much of the first for me.

'You've bawled me out
over
every nit-picking point you could lay your mind to. Even having a bath'

'I've got a job to do. You think I'm a bastard-don't you?'

It was the sort of point-scorer one throws around in a quarrel. Neither her fingers nor her body had said that. 'What'

s the use of going on? We're not getting anywhere.' 'It takes two to tango,'
I
said. 'I'll listen.'

She said carefully,
'I
don't know what you want me to tell you.'

'I think you do.'

She sat down. Her eyes met mine briefly, slid away, and then came back. 'It'll sound like a confession. It's all about myself.'

'That makes me want to hear everything.'

She seemed surprised–and pleased.

'My life, really. I was beginning to find some pieces. I don't know where to
begin.'

'When we met is good enough for me.'

`The tape? You do believe it, don't you?'

`Yes.'

'Here it Is then, Struan. This isn't a tale I'm pitching you. Neither am J trying to bamboozle you into taking me back to the Bridge of Magpies.'

'I can't, anyway, in this gale. Were here for
a couple of
days
at least.'