Maddon's Rock (29 page)

It was the truth. We’d given her plenty of slack. But it was the top of the tide and the wind was piling the water in on to the beach. She’d have needed several fathoms more slack to have a chance of riding those waves.

“We’ve got to do something,” Jenny shouted, “It’s horrible.”

“There’s absolutely nothing we can do,” I said.

“But she’s being held down. She isn’t being given a chance.” She was sobbing. I could feel the breath coming in her in great gulps.

A wave, bigger than the rest, piled in. The
Eilean Mor
climbed gallantly halfway up the breaking comber. Then she was pulled up short by her moorings. The wave curled. It was like a hungry jaw opening. Then it crashed down on top of the gallant little vessel. The moorings snapped like bits of string. Her bows dipped; her stern rose. She rolled over and then came driving in on to the beach, still struggling like a live thing. She hit the beach stern first not twenty yards from the
Trikkala
. Her bows thrust up into the air like the arm of a drowning man and then she seemed to disintegrate into the original planks and timbers. In that instant she was changed from a ship to a heap of drift-wood.

I took Jenny below then. No use watching the remains being battered on the beach. We had seen her death struggle and her end. That was sufficient. “If only I’d been with her,” Jenny sobbed. “I might have been
able to do something. I brought her right up here and then I deserted her. All I did was stand by and watch her fighting for her life. Oh God, it’s horrible—horrible.”

Zelinski produced some brandy. We finished the bottle. Then we had breakfast. We were all of us pretty silent. With the
Eilean Mor
gone we were marooned on Maddon’s Rock.

A
S WE CLEARED
up after breakfast that morning Zelinski took Mac on one side, “I dinna ken,” I heard the old man say.

“Plees?”

“I dinna ken what the hell ye’re talkin’ aboot.”

Zelinski took his arm. Mac turned to me as the Pole led him firmly out of the galley. “A’ got an idea he wants me to have a look at the engines. A’ll be doon below if ye’re wantin’ me.”

All that morning Jenny and I and Zelinski checked over the ship’s stores. Bert kept us informed of the weather. With the fall of the tide the
Trikkala
ceased grinding her plates against the beach. But even at low tide the waves were still seething against her stern, so high did the wind pile the sea in over the reefs. By midday we’d checked all stores and Jenny and I sat dejectedly in the mess-room working out how long they’d last us. Zelinski had disappeared into the galley.

It must have been about one o’clock that Bert came down and told us the wind was dropping.

“It always drops with the tide,” I said.

“’Ave it yer own way,” he answered. “But I say the wind’s droppin’.” He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “An’ there’s a luvly smell o’ grub comin’ from the galley. Decent chap, that Polski,” he ran on. “First time I ever knew a bloke volunteer for the cookhouse. Peels ’is own spuds, too. Where’s Mac?”

“Still down in the engine-room,” I said.

“Leave him there,” Jenny said. “So long as he’s got some engines to play with he’s happy. It’ll keep his mind off things.”

“You two look pretty glum,” Bert said. “Wot’s up?”

I pulled the sheet of paper on which we’d written our
stores figures towards me. “Well, Bert—we’ve just been doing a little profit and loss account,” I said. “And there’s not much on the profit side.”

“Oh, it ain’t as bad as all that, mate,” he said, pulling up a chair. “We got ’ere. We fa’nd the
Trikkala
—complete wiv bullion an” hintact. We got ol’ slinky—wot’s ’is silly name?”

Jenny looked up. “Zelinski, Bert.”

“That’s right—Zerlinsky. Why don’t they ’ave names yer can get yer tongue ra’nd? Well, we got ’im as witness for the prosecution. That ain’t bad fer a start.”

“Yes,” I said, “but how the hell do we get away from here? Look, Bert—Jenny and I have had a look at the ship’s stores. There are five of us and we reckon that on a reasonable scale of rationing we’ve got food for just over three months.”

“Well, that’s better than ’aving ter live on seagulls’ eggs.”

His innate cheerfulness annoyed me. “You don’t seem to realise that Jon Zelinski has been here over a year,” I said, “and in all that time not a single ship has come near the place.”

“Nah, look ’ere—free munfs is a long time. I know the
Eilean Mor’s
gone. But in free munfs—well, in free munfs the five of us oughter be able ter do a lot.”

“For instance?”

“Well——” He frowned. “Get the radio going. Build a boat. There’s two ideas for a start.” And he smiled brightly. It was clear he’d no idea of our danger.

“To begin with,” I told him, “none of us know anything about radio. As for a boat—all the wood on deck is splintered beyond use. The only other wood is in the cabins—matchboarding a lot of it—quite unsuitable for building a boat that’ll sail through these seas. The dinghy is out of the question.”

Bert shrugged his shoulders. “Wot’s the Polski say? Lumme, a bloke wot’s bin marooned up ’ere on ’is own for over a year—’e’s ’ad time ter fink up somefink.” Jenny sat up then. “Bert’s right, Jim. Why didn’t we ask him before?”

“The man’s a cavalry officer, not a sailor,” I pointed out. “And then there’s the problem of Halsey.”

“’Alsey!” Bert snapped his fingers and grinned. “That’s the answer. Don’t yer see. He’s our return ticket. We knows ’e coming ’ere. ’E ain’t likely ter let us down, not with all that silver here. An’ when ’e comes——” His voice trailed off. “Ain’t we got no arms, Jim?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Eight rifles and a box of ammo, four cutlasses and two Verey pistols.”

“You don’t reckon we got a chance of takin’ the tug, do yer?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “We’ll be hard put to it to keep them from taking us.”

“Wot—free soldiers an’ a cantankerous ol’ Scot? Wiv them eight rifles we oughter be able ter keep ’em at bay.”

“Don’t forget they’ll have dynamite on board,” I reminded him. “In the dark they could just blow the ship apart. Obviously that’s what they intend to do. They won’t leave a trace of the
Trikkala
when they leave here.”

“Yes, you’re right there, mate,” he said. “Brother ’Alsey ain’t got much in the way of scruples. Like as not ’e’ll dump most of ’is crew, too—all but the old gang. An’ if I was Rankin I wouldn’t reck’n me chances of seein’ Blighty again very ’igh. ’Ullo, wot’s that?” he added as a steadv humming sound vibrated through the ship. “Sounds like an engine.”

The floor was vibrating under my feet. “Do you think Mac has got the engines going?” Jenny asked. There was a note of excitement in her voice.

The door opened and Zelinski came in with a tray piled with food. “Plees—dinner is sairved,” he said, smiling.

“Quite the ’ead waiter, ain’t he?” said Bert with a grin as he helped to unload the tray. “Wot’s under the cover, mate? Smells orl right.”

“Ravioli,” Zelinski replied. “We ’ave so much flour, you see—it is necessary that we eat Italian, no?”

“Eyetalian, is it?” Bert said and then shrugged his
shoulders. Well, I ain’t perticular. Beastly starvin’, I am.”

At that moment the lights came on.

We sat there blinking, too stunned to comment. Only Zelinski did not seem surprised. “Ah, that is good,” he said. “It is Mac, no? He is very clever with the machine. He will get the engines to work and then we will go to England. I have never been. But my mother—she was English—she tell me it is a lovely place.”

Jenny leaned across the table towards him. “What do you mean, Jon—he will get the engines going and then we will go to England? How can we get to England when our boat is gone?”

He looked up, surprised. “Why, in the
Trikkala
,” he replied. “She will float. Her bottom has not fall out of her yet. All the time I am here I pray for someone to come who can work the engines. I do not understand them. I try. But it is too complicated. And always I was afraid I should kill them if I try. So. I wait. But I prepare. I take—’ow do you call them?—’awzers, out to the reef. I make a raft of wood and carry an anchor out. It was big work. But I do it. Now the wind is from the east. At high tide she can be pulled into the water. But it is not safe wizout the engines.” He had finished arranging the table. “Excuse, plees,” he said. “You must eat. It will get cold and then I shall be sorry, for it ees good. I will call Mac.” He looked quickly round at us. “If the engines are Okay, I shall be zo ’appy. I have given them grease. Always I have been down there wiz the grease.” He smiled and nodded his head like a happy father speaking of his children. “I know it is good for them. Excuse—I must go to find Mac.” And then he went out.

We stared after him in amazement. “Well, wot d’yer know aba’t that?” Bert said. “All yer questions answered.”

“How horrible for him,” Jenny said. And when Bert asked her what she meant, she added, “Don’t you see? He’s been here alone for over a year, facing certain death when he came to the end of the stores. And all the
time he knew he had a chance of getting away if only he’d learned less about horses and more about mechanics.”

When Mac came in I asked him about the engines. “Weel,” he replied, “A’ wouldna say they were all reecht. There’s some bearings gone on the port engine. That’s all reecht. A’ can replace them.” He nodded dourly towards Zelinski. “Yon feller’s done a gude job o’ maintenance. But A’m no sure about the starb’d propeller shaft. A’ve a notion it’s cracked. And there’s the boilers, too. A’ll no be sure of them till they’re fired.”

“Do you think we can get the port engine going?” I asked.

“Aye.” He nodded slowly, his mouth full of ravioli. “Aye, A’ think A’ can do that.”

“When?”

“Mebbe to-morrow morning—if the boiler’s no rusted to pieces.”

“Grand,” I said. “High tide’s somewhere between seven-thirty and eight to-morrow. Work straight through the night, Mac. We’ve got to take advantage of this east wind. It’s only when the wind is easterly that the tide comes far enough up the beach to lift her stern. And if we don’t take advantage of it, it may be months before we get another chance.”

He raised his fork. “Aye,” he said. “But what aboot the plates doon by her keel?”

“Zelinski says she’s all right,” Jenny put in.

“He canna be sure,” the old man said severely. “Unless he can see through a cargo of iron ore.”

“I don’t care,” I said. “It’s our only chance to get clear before Halsey arrives. Whether the hull’s damaged or the engines aren’t going, we take her off at the high to-morrow morning. When can you let us have steam enough to work the after donkey engines?”

“Och, mebbe in two or three hours. A’ve got one of the small boilers fired. A’ was jist testing her.”

“Right,” I said. “Give us steam on the after donkey-engines just as soon as you can. And keep the dynamos going. I’ll need the deck lights. While you’re working on the engines, we’ll clear as much of the iron ore as we
can out of the after hold. And, Mac,” I added, “see that you’ve plenty of steam to-morrow morning. She’s bound to make water and we’ll need the pumps going flat out.” I suddenly laughed. I think I was almost light-headed with excitement. “My God, Jenny,” I cried, “to think that half an hour ago we were sitting here wondering how we were to get back. And here was our ship all the time. Lloyds will get a shock. She’s been officially sunk for over a year. And then we sail her into port.”

“Ay, but ye’re nae hame yet, Mr. Vardy,” Mac said.

“Can’t nuffink cheer you up?” Bert put in with a grin.

I got up then and went on deck to take a look at the weather. Bert was right. The wind was dropping. But it was still blowing half a gale and there was no change in the direction of it. Up on the bridge the glass was beginning to rise. A bit of planking lay high up the beach among some driftwood. On it I saw the letters E-L-AN MOR. I hoped Jenny would not notice it.

With Bert and Zelinski I got to work, removing the hatch covers from Number Three hold. We got the derricks rigged. Shortly after three Jenny came up to say that steam was laid on to the donkey-engines. It was wonderful to hear them clatter at the tug of a lever and the tackle of the derricks drop into the hold. Jenny quickly learned how to work them and with her operating the starb’d engine and the three of us in the hold loading, we began to clear the cargo from the hold and dump it over the side.

We worked steadily till dusk. And then with arc lamps rigged worked straight on into the night. In the intervals whilst we were loading, Jenny got us bully and tea. That was the hardest night’s work I ever did. We were shovelling almost continuously for fifteen hours in a stifling hell of red ore dust. Each load seemed to make little impression on the level of the cargo. But gradually, imperceptibly, the level dropped. As we sweated we became coated in a thick layer of the dust so that we looked as though we were as rusty as the
Trikkala
.

At six o’clock in the morning, when the stern was just
beginning to bump on the shingle, I gave the order to pack up. “Cor luv ol’ iron,” Bert grinned, wiping the rusty sweat from his face, “I feel as though I done another ruddy year in Dartmoor.” I was too excited to feel sleepy, but by God I felt tired. My limbs ached so that I could hardly move.

When we climbed up out of the hold it was to find that the wind had dropped to little more than a strong breeze. The waves inside the reefs were much less violent. They still broke with a shattering roar on the little beach and against the rocks on either side, but there was not the same strength in them.

I sent Zelinski off to get breakfast and Jenny and I went down to the engine-room. Mac was under one of the boilers. When he emerged he was hardly recognisable. He was covered in oil from head to foot. It was as though he’d bathed himself in sludge. “Well,” I said, “how’s that port engine, Mac?”

He shook his head. “Yell have to gi’ me anither twenty-four hours, Mr. Vardy.”

I forgot that Jenny was standing beside me and swore violently. “What’s the trouble?” I asked.