Lovers Meeting (31 page)

Josie waited, swallowing her fear. She could not bear to watch the wild tossing of the boat and raised her head to look out over the mountainous seas. For a moment there was a break in the solid, banked clouds overhead and a lightening of the sky in the distance. Josie thought she saw something, like a black brush stroke on the leaden horizon. Might it have been a ship? She was not sure. Then the gap in the clouds closed again, the far-off horizon was blotted out – and Tom Collingwood bawled at her, ‘In you go!’

The loose dead weight of Bucko Daniels had been swung out into the boat, laid in its sternsheets, and now Tom turned to Josie. He lifted her in his arms and stood with one booted foot braced on the rail, the other on the canted deck. Despite not wanting to look, Josie twisted her face from where it was hidden in his chest. She saw the boat far below her and a hideous drop into sea churned into foam as it boiled between the boat and the ship’s side. Then it soared up to meet her, the men on the lines hauling in furiously to keep it close to the steel wall. It hung there for a fraction of a second and Tom passed her over the rail into the stern of the boat. Josie stumbled and fell, but into the bottom of the craft. She was aware that it was falling again, could see Tom’s head above the rail where he was watching to see she was safe, saw him soaring away from her. She lifted a hand and waved and the head disappeared.

‘Up you come out o’ that!’ The seaman manning the line in the stern of the boat reached down to lift Josie. She was well aware that the bottom of the boat was inches deep in water that washed from end to end and swirled around her. She rose willingly as he dragged at her arm and pushed herself up to sit in the sternsheets beside Bucko Daniels. She peered down into his face, saw his eyes still closed, and could not tell whether he breathed or not. She wrapped her arms around him.

‘She’s capsizing!’ The seamen in the boat yelled in chorus and fear. Josie looked up and saw that the
Macbeth
had listed further still and that her deck was almost vertical. Dougie Bickerstaffe and the rest of the crew were seated on the thwarts in the waist of the boat and now only Tom Collingwood hung on to the deck above. Then, as she watched, the boat made its swift ascent once more. This time it did not rise quite so high, was not so close to the ship’s side, and Tom stood poised, seeming to hesitate.

The men shouted, ‘
Come on, Skipper
!’

Josie was infected by the fearful chorus and shrieked, ‘
Jump, Tom
!’ This time he waved a hand, to show he heard. Josie realised he was judging the best time. Then, as the boat started to fall, it also surged closer to the ship’s side. Tom saw his chance, stepped out from the rail and dropped down into the boat. He stumbled and fell between Josie and the men seated on the thwarts, but then he was up and sliding on to the seat at her side.

‘Shove off!’ At his bellow the men in bow and stern cast off the lines holding the boat to the ship and the men gripping the oars used them to push it clear of the
Macbeth
. Then the oars went into the rowlocks, the rowers bent to them and hauled. As the little craft moved out of the lee made by the
Macbeth
, its motion increased.

‘It’s easing!’ Tom shouted in Josie’s ear. ‘And it’s getting light!’ Josie wanted to believe him, and the darkness was turning to grey now, though there would be no hint of a sun rising this day. But to her mind the boat rode no better. The big seas rose in front of it like mountains of green glass, each one to be climbed to the crest. Then they would hang, poised on the crest, looking down into the dark valley below, and slide bow first into it.

Tom fumbled beneath his seat in the sternsheets and hauled out a folded tarpaulin. He shook out its stiff folds and wrapped it around Josie and the inert Bucko Daniels. Josie said, ‘I thought I saw a ship – just before I came down into the boat.’

‘Where?’ Tom demanded. And as Josie pointed, he muttered, ‘There’s nothing to be seen now. Maybe when it’s lighter—’

‘She’s going!’

‘Aye, she’s going!’ The men at the oars spoke, looking over Josie’s head as they bent and pulled. She and Tom turned as one and saw the
Macbeth
roll completely over. Above the noise of the storm she heard a rumbling across the sea and one of the stokers said, ‘That’s her engines working loose and dropping out of her. She’ll flood now.’ On the heels of his words the bow of the
Macbeth
sank from sight and her stern lifted so they could see her single screw. Then she slid down and was gone in a hiss of steam.

There was silence in the boat and then Tom said harshly, ‘Watch your stroke, you men at the oars. You’re like a lot o’ bum-boat men. The rest of you start bailing.’

Josie realised they were adrift in an open boat and any rescue would depend on a passing ship seeing them, just a dot on this wild ocean. And they had lost the
Macbeth
.

22

The light grew until it was full day, when it showed an empty sea. Tom muttered, ‘I can’t see any sign of that ship you thought you sighted.’

Josie protested, ‘I only thought it was a ship. I thought I saw … something …’ Her voice trailed away. It was difficult now to recall just what she had seen.

He looked around the green waste that now rolled in long, slow swells. The boat still rose and fell ten to twenty feet, but slowly, and it rode easily now as it took the seas on the bow. ‘I think we can steer towards where you saw it, anyway.’ He glanced down at the boat’s compass and eased over the tiller. The bow swung to the new heading and the motion increased as the seas broke against the side now, but Tom held the course and little water was shipped.

Bucko Daniels was conscious now, sitting in the sternsheets on one side of Tom while Josie sat on the other. Josie thought he looked like some Sikh in his turban of white bandage. He had shrugged off the tarpaulin, refusing to wear it, and Josie sat with it wrapped stiffly around her. Despite its protection, she could feel her skirts clinging damply to her legs.

The men pulled steadily at the oars. They were working in two shifts, one rowing while the others rested. For a while on the new heading they were cheerful and joking, encouraged by the thought that they were steering towards possible help and not just to keep the boat’s head to the sea to stay afloat. But as time went by and there was no sighting they grew quiet. Finally Tom sighed, ‘I think we would have seen her smoke by now if she was there.’

‘Maybe I was mistaken,’ said Josie in a small voice. ‘But I was sure I saw something.’

Tom explained, ‘It’s possible you did see a ship but she was more than likely steaming away from us and moving a sight faster than we are.’

Josie shivered, from the chill dampness of her clothes and also from apprehension. She wondered how long they could survive in the North Sea in this weather. But, casting her mind back to when she had been standing by the wheelhouse, she was still sure. She persisted stubbornly, ‘I did see something, a long, low shape in the distance.’

Tom nodded acceptance. ‘We’ll hold this course.’ And they did as the morning wore on and Josie sank gradually into a stupor of cold and misery.

Until Tom stiffened in his seat beside her and a second later stood, holding the tiller against his leg, balancing as the boat rolled and pitched. He squinted against the wind, waiting as the boat rose on a wave, then he grinned and called down to the others, ‘There’s a ship!’ That brought a cheer and heads turned, but Tom said, ‘You won’t see it from down there. Just wait a while.’ He was silent a moment, then added slowly, ‘She doesn’t seem to be making any smoke.’ He glanced down at Josie. ‘That’s why we couldn’t see any. It’s strange, though.’

He sank down on his seat again and now Josie sat up straight, peering ahead eagerly, looking for a first sight of this ship. Then she realised that Tom was watching her, and she was suddenly conscious of how she must look, wrapped in the tarpaulin and with her hair blown on the wind. She fixed her gaze on the sea ahead and blamed the wind for bringing the colour to her cheeks.

‘There it is!’ And Josie added, ‘That’s what I saw.’ It was no more than a black smudge, a blip on the horizon, but that was how it had appeared the previous night.

A half-hour later Tom said, ‘It baffles me why she’s still here. There is some smoke’ – and there was just a wisp of it from the single tall funnel – ‘but she isn’t moving. There’s no bow wave, no wash at her stern. Her screw isn’t turning.’

When they were close enough to read the ship’s name on her bow –
Northern Queen
– he cupped his hands around his mouth to bellow, ‘
Ahoy
!’ Then again and again, ‘Ahoy!’ But there was no answer. The ship lay still and silent in the water. He said, ‘I think she’s derelict. Her boats have gone and you can see the falls hanging from the davits where they lowered them.’ Josie saw the ‘falls’, the ropes by which the boats had been lowered. Now they hung from the davits that stuck out from the ship’s side like gibbets, so that the ropes dangled some feet out from the black and rusty wall.

‘She’s low in the water,’ Tom muttered. As the boat rose on a wave the deck of the ship was only a few feet above them. Then the ship lifted and the boat fell, the gap opened. As it rose again Tom called, ‘Lay hold of one o’ those lines!’

Josie grabbed at the rope that swung by her side. Then, as the boat fell once more, dropping away from under her, she was yanked out of her seat and her nest in the tarpaulin. She clung to the rope and, looking down with horrified eyes, saw the boat filled with gaping men and the sea washing below her. She climbed. Reacting instinctively, remembering the far-off days in the woods of Geoffrey Urquhart’s country house with little Bob Miller, she twined her legs around the rope and shinned up it. At the top she desperately transferred her hold from the rope to the davit and slid down that to the deck. Only then did she seem to draw breath, and only then did she realise what she had done. She found with relief that her skirts had clung to her legs and not ridden above her knees, thus retaining her modesty.

‘Mrs Miller!’ Tom’s voice. Then the rope shook and a moment later his head appeared, eyes searching for her. He saw her with relief, swung across the davit and dropped to the deck beside her. ‘You’re not hurt?’ he questioned. Then, when she shook her head, he went on, ‘Why did you do that?’ And grinning now, ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes. You were like an acrobat in a circus.’

‘You said to grab a rope.’ Josie had been frightened and embarrassed and now was becoming angry. ‘Did you know that would happen?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘How dare you!’ And Josie slapped his face.

It was not much of a slap because she had had little practice. Tom was not hurt, merely startled. As she swung her hand again, he caught it. ‘I knew that would happen as would any of the men in that boat, but I didn’t mean it to happen to you. I intended one of them to catch hold of the line and then pay it out, or haul in, to hold us alongside.’

‘Oh.’ Josie saw that it had been no more than a misunderstanding. She winced. ‘Please.’

He let go of her wrist and she rubbed at the weals his fingers had left. He said stiffly, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

Josie managed a smile. ‘And I’m sorry I lost my temper.’

‘You must be tired.’

‘Aren’t we all?’ Josie saw that her hand had left its mark on his face. She reached up to stroke it gently with the tips of her fingers, as she might have comforted Charlotte. Then she remembered this was Tom Collingwood and dropped her hand.

He said, ‘I’d better get the men aboard.’ He turned away and swung the davits inboard so that the ropes hung close against the ship’s side. The men climbed up and soon all of them were gathered on the deck of the
Northern Queen
. They were weary and empty-bellied, shivered in their wet clothing. Tom addressed them, his voice harsh and demanding: ‘You’ll get warm by working and you might stay alive that way. We’ll not hoist our boat in until we find out if this ship is sinking or not. She seems to have been deserted. We’d better find out why and what we can do with her. I want to know if she’s holed or making water some way and whether she can be steered, whether we can raise steam …’

He had no orders for Josie. When the group scattered she set out on her own exploration and found the galley where she expected it to be, in the superstructure amidships and alongside the saloon where the captain and his officers would eat. The galley stove was still alight – just – and she added more coal, pulled out the damper and soon it was roaring with life. Meanwhile she washed, found a comb in a little pocket in her dress and examined the contents of the cupboards. Soon she was able to step outside the galley again, looking for Tom Collingwood. She didn’t see him but caught Dougie Bickerstaffe as he hurried by. ‘Dougie! Do you know where Captain Collingwood is?’

‘Up forrard. I saw him a minute ago.’

‘Will you tell him I have some tea and sandwiches for everyone, please.’

‘Oh, aye, ma’am.’ Dougie trotted away.

In a few minutes he returned with all the others, including Tom, and they gathered in or around the galley. They wolfed sandwiches and gulped the hot tea, each mug coloured and sweetened by a spoonful of condensed milk. Josie stood slender and comparatively trim among the ruffian crew. All were wearing old clothes for working at sea and were blear-eyed from tiredness, unwashed, unshaven and filthy. The black gang from the engine-room were particularly so, coated with coal dust and oil. They all smelt of sweat, salt and smoke.

Tom summed up the results of their investigations, talking as he ate, staccato and urgent: ‘Her steering’s intact. She’s taken a lot of water aboard but I can’t tell how fast she’s making it. I think most of the trouble lies in the number one hold forrad. The seas battered through the hatch covers and it’s full. I think her captain and crew thought she was going to sink – that would be easy to believe with the weather we had last night – and so they took to the boats. I pray that they are safe but I doubt it. The chances in an open boat with these seas are not good.

‘Now, Joe Kelly’ – and he glanced at the little engineer in his boiler suit – ‘tells me the fires are still burning and he can raise enough steam in an hour or two to give us steerage way.’ A shivering Joe nodded agreement and Tom said, ‘One more thing. I’ve had a look at the barometer and what it told me matches with what I see out there.’ He pointed over the weather rail. Josie and the others looked out in that direction and saw the black storm clouds massing again on the horizon. Tom said grimly, ‘The bad weather hasn’t finished with us yet. I want you to bear that in mind.’