68 Knots (42 page)

It was just after midnight on August 1st, and Dawn was the captain. She assigned each crewmate to a position: Arthur at navigation, Jesse and Logan on the sheets and sails, Joy and Crystal on bow watch, BillFi down below to monitor the patch, and she took the helm. Within a few minutes, the
Dreadnought
slid out of its protected harbor and into the chaos of the storm.

The waves were ferocious, crashing again and again over the forward deck. The crew was dressed in full rain gear, with hoods pulled forward and low on their faces. Joy and Crystal tied themselves to the rigging and held on as hard as they could as they watched for rocks and debris. Whenever they saw something in the water, they would shout back to Dawn and point toward the hazard.

It was all Dawn could do to keep the
Dreadnought
on course. With each wave, the ship lurched to port, and Dawn pulled hard on the wheel to counter the blow. After each wave, she threw the wheel in the opposite direction to stay on course. Arthur held tight to binoculars and tried to catch glimpses of markers while the ship was high on a wave, and he shouted compass directions to Dawn as they pressed ahead.

Bolts of lightning illuminated the crew's gestures in blazing strobe flashes as the wind ripped their words out to sea.

It took more than forty-five minutes for them to reach the Foster Ledges. Arthur searched the sea with the binoculars, but he saw no sign of the
Elkhart
.

“Get BillFi up here!” Dawn shouted. Arthur dashed below to the galley.

“It's still holding,” BillFi said, standing almost knee-deep in seawater. “The patch. It's leaking a little. But it's holding. The patch is holding.”

“Good,” Arthur replied. “BillFi, we need you on deck.”

BillFi scrambled up the gangway and stood next to Dawn at the wheel. He hunched in his yellow slicker and closed his eyes. He listened to the wind. He listened to the rain. He listened to the waves. “They're over there,” he shouted. He pointed off the starboard beam. “Half a mile or so.”

“Ready about!” Dawn shouted. “Hard alee!” She turned
the wheel hard to the right. The
Dreadnought
came across the wind and headed off on its new tack. It was just a few minutes later that Joy called back from the bow.

“I see something!” she shouted. “Over there!” She pointed just off the port bow. Ahead in the water was an oily cluster of debris—scraps of fiberglass, splintered pieces of polished wood, a clutch of cognac bottles bobbing on the waves. In the midst of the wreckage, clinging tightly to a swamped lifeboat, were Turner and his crew.

How does BillFi do that? Dawn asked herself. She barked out some orders. “Heave to! Jesse, Arthur, Crystal—grab life jackets and get into the dinghy. Let's get these people on board!”

As usual, Jesse took the oars, and the three crewmates ventured out into the waves. The
Dreadnought
was close to the wreckage, but it still took Jesse, pulling with all his strength, nearly ten minutes to cross the violent swirl of ocean between the ship and the wild-eyed crew of the
Elkhart
. They were clustered around the swamped dinghy, holding on and kicking with their feet to stay afloat. The dinghy had enough buoyancy to help, but cold and fatigue strained the victim's faces.

Jesse pulled the dinghy alongside, and Richard Turner helped his crew grab onto the sides.

“There are too many of us!” Turner shouted over the shrieks of wind. “You'll have to make two trips. We'll wait with—damn! It's the
Dreadnought
crew!”

“Yes, sir,” Crystal shouted back. “We'll get you out of this.”

Arthur looked at the ashen faces peering over the gunwales. “Turner!” he shouted. “We'll take five in this dinghy—the weakest, any injured, the coldest. Let's get them in here.”

“We can't hold five!” Crystal shouted back.

“Yes, we can,” Arthur answered. “You and I are getting out. We've trained for this, and we know what to do.” This is no time for democratic discussion, he thought.

Crystal spun around and locked her blue eyes on Arthur. Then she nodded. “We sure do!” she said.

Arthur grabbed one of the
Elkhart
crew under the arms. It was the cook, who looked just as somber and nervous as he had at dinner on the deck. Arthur planted a foot against the dinghy's hull and hauled the man painfully over the gunwale. The cook flopped into the bottom of the dinghy, lay stunned for a moment, then curled up on the bow seat.

Arthur next reached for the meteorologist, but she grinned and laughed out loud. “Hell, no,” she said. “Take him first.” She nodded her head toward the nine-year-old. Arthur wasn't going to waste time arguing; he grabbed the boy and dragged him into the dinghy. By this time, Crystal had helped the first mate, Woody Richardson, climb over the gunwales, and she was busy dragging the young actress on board. The dinghy lay dangerously low in the water, and waves spilled in over the side.

“Crystal!” Arthur shouted. “Let's go!” The two of them tightened their life jackets and vaulted into the sea, and Arthur helped Garrison Chevalier boost himself into the dinghy. Without wasting a second, Jesse heaved on the oars. The dinghy moved slowly back toward the solid safety of the
Dreadnought
.

The water was colder than Arthur had expected. He felt the icy water suck his strength out to sea. He grabbed the side of the
Elkhart
's swamped lifeboat and hollered over the wind. “Everybody in! Now!”

Counting Crystal and Arthur, there were seven people left in the water. Arthur did not bother with discussion and consensus. “Everybody sit down!” he shouted. “Sit down in the boat!”

Crystal nodded. The swamped-dinghy drills. They had been fun, many weeks ago, but now the skills they had developed in those drills were going to matter. She modeled the proper position and signaled for everyone else to do the same. Jim Greenfeather and Richard Turner caught on and helped the meteorologist and the Hennessey sisters hunker down in the boat. The group worked well together, and they squirmed down into the chilly water inside the dinghy, held onto the sides, and waited for the next command.

The drill went perfectly. At Arthur's shout, the crew raised to a crouching position, and Arthur, Jim, Turner, and Crystal slapped and splashed water furiously over the sides. It took a long suspenseful moment, but gradually, the dinghy's gunwales inched above the surface. Once the others saw the progress, they all began bailing water out of the boat. Ten minutes later, the boat was high enough to make steady bailing possible. An occasional wave and the driving rain refilled the boat, but the crew was able to keep up with it. The dinghy was too overloaded to row, but the waterlogged people inside could at least keep themselves out of the ocean.

Half an hour later, Jesse returned with the dinghy. He had come alone to leave as many seats as possible for the
Elkhart
crew. Half the people in the
Elkhart
dinghy climbed over to Jesse's boat, and the two small vessels worked their way through the storm to the safety of the
Dreadnought
.

Even on board the ship, there was a lot of work to be done. Except for Jim Greenfeather and Richard Turner, who insisted on helping with the sails, the
Elkhart
crew was taken
below and treated with bandages, hot soup, and warm blankets. On deck, the crew set some sails, and Dawn took navigational directions from Crystal, who had plotted a course to the nearest safe waters. Once the ship was tucked away between Matinicus and Ragged Island, with three anchors out and everything stowed and secured, the two crews squeezed into the dining room below. Some steady bailing had reduced the water underfoot to an insignificant layer of dampness.

Sipping hot cocoa and wrapped in a damp woolen blanket, Turner explained what had happened. “There are some people expecting us on Matinicus,” he said. “Some old business partners of mine have a cottage there, and they invited us over for a few days. We knew the storm was coming, but we thought we could get there in time.” He took a deep drink of the cocoa. “I guess we were wrong. The storm hit us quickly and drove us up on those ledges. The propeller shaft broke, and we started to go down. After we sent out our Mayday, we evacuated to the lifeboat, but we couldn't even keep it from swamping. That water is cold—we wouldn't have lasted out there much longer.”

“It is a wild one,” Dawn said, listening to the howl of the wind outside. “I'm just glad everyone is all right.”

Turner shook his head, his face pale and his expression serious. “If I can ever repay you for saving us, you let me know,” he said.

“On behalf of the crew of the
Dreadnought
,” Dawn said, raising her mug, “you're welcome.”

Crystal and Jim huddled under a blanket along one wall. Dawn and Arthur did the same. Everyone chatted about boats, storms, Maine, and life at sea. The storm outside raged for a while and then gradually diminished into spent silence.

Early the next morning, the
Dreadnought
dropped the passengers off at Matinicus Island and sailed on her way. No mention was made of the “fellow in charge” of the
Dreadnought
.

For the next several days, the
Dreadnought
sailed the Gulf of Maine, Penobscot Bay, and a bit into Muscongus Bay. They staged some raids on large fancy yachts, snagging summer sausage, fruit, and other food along with some cash and the occasional bonus trinket. On one boat, they picked up three roasted chickens and a soccer ball. On another, they found a dozen paperback books and a three-gallon tub of Greek olives. Joy protested from time to time, but she drew strength from the knowledge that she was bringing the grace of Jesus among them, even if they sinned. She saw it as good preparation for her work on the streets of Austin. The House of Joy had given way in her mind, replaced by a vision of serving God among the unfortunate people on Earth.

One day, while anchored in a small and pretty cove, Dawn took a swim through the waves. The saltwater stung her lips. The sun, strong enough to raise small pink blisters on her shoulders, warmed the top two feet of the ocean waters, leaving chilly regions of darkness below that licked at her feet. She smiled as she paused to look around. Logan was on board the schooner that they all called home, walking barefoot along the ship's edge and clutching a bright green umbrella. He was making the sounds of circus music: “BUM pa dittle ittle um pa dum pa, BUM pa bittle ittle um pa dum pa . . .” as his flag fluttered in the rigging overhead. Laughing at his antics, Joy and Arthur sat in the stern and played checkers. Crystal lay on deck, pumping
situps on a mat, and BillFi and Jesse sat on a rock near the shore, debating intently with low tones and sweeping gestures.

“Ah, Goddess,” Dawn whispered to the sky, “this is how life was meant to be.”

They spent the next afternoon gathering mussels, which Joy used to make a stunning pasta dish with thick noodles and a hearty red sauce. The activity had been fun, with five of the crew wading along a beach at low tide, poking among the rocks and scraping the small meat-filled shells into tin cans. Logan got a nasty sunburn from the experience, but it was a pleasant way to spend a day.

A few days later, Logan declared that he would serve as the chef for the day. His breakfast was basic but tolerable: toast with peanut butter on it, a quivering mass of yellow scrambled eggs with bits of sausage and cheese mixed throughout, glasses of “Logan's Patented Breakfast Juice,” which turned out to be a blend of cranberry and grapefruit. Lunch was hot dogs on the leeward beach of a tiny island; deli-made potato salad, pinched in one of the raids, completed the menu. But dinner, Logan said, would be something special. He issued tin cans to the entire crew—everyone was required to participate to get enough food for a meal—and he told his friends to put a little bit of seaweed and saltwater in the bottom of each can.

“I read about this in a Euell Gibbons book in the captain's quarters,” he explained. He led them to the beach and demonstrated the procedure he wanted them to follow. “Watch this.”

He grabbed a large patch of chocolate-brown seaweed, held his hand still for a slow count to five, then flung the seaweed aside and thrust his hand into the now-open space. Skittering in the sudden sunlight were four tiny crabs, each
no bigger than a quarter, and with deft movements Logan grabbed at them and plunked them, one at a time, into his can. He got three, but the fourth escaped below a large rock.