The Sea Between (21 page)

August 1868

R
ichard opened his eyes and stared at the shadowy outline of the

tallboy. For a moment he’d thought he was aboard his ship. He had drowsily mistaken the thuds for the crash of waves against the hull. But he wasn’t aboard the
Nina
; he was in bed with his wife, and the noise was coming from outside on the street.

The blankets rose up like a wave, letting a rush of cold air into the bed, then Eliza’s fingers curled around his arm, gripping him tightly. ‘Richard, wake up. Someone’s knocking at the door. Whatever can they want at this hour of the night?’

Richard shook his head, as much to wake himself as to answer Eliza’s question. Their visitor, whoever he was, was calling Richard’s name, determined to rouse him. Who the man was he had no idea—he didn’t recognize the voice. As to why the man was shouting and banging on his door, there could be only one reason: trouble of some sort. The ship most likely. She was lying at anchor in the harbour. Surely she hadn’t broken free? No, impossible. There was a wind blowing, he could hear it rattling the window, but it was by no means strong enough to whip up heavy seas.

‘God knows,’ he said, finally answering Eliza’s question.

Eliza’s fingers reluctantly released their hold as he tossed the blankets back and tumbled out of bed. ‘All right, I’m coming,’ he
called in the direction of the back door as he groped about for his trousers. He dragged them on then reached for the heavy velvet curtain and pulled it back a few inches, letting a shaft of moonlight into the room. Able to see better now, he pushed his feet into his boots, not bothering with his socks, then tucked his nightshirt into his trousers.

As he headed for the door, Eliza sat up, dragging the blankets protectively under her chin. ‘Oh, Richard, I’m afraid,’ she whispered. ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’

‘I very much doubt it will be good news,’ Richard replied over his shoulder. He stepped into the darkened hall, racking his brain as to what might have happened. It couldn’t be the cargo. The hold was empty; it had been cleared of all the cargo yesterday. Well, he would find out soon enough what was wrong. The bolt on the back door grated loudly against its housing as he slid it back.

A tall, thin man, muffled up against the cold in a thick grey overcoat, peered at him as he swung open the door. ‘Captain Steele?’

Richard nodded.

‘Webb—nightwatchman,’ he said, briefly introducing himself. ‘You’d better go down to the harbour at once. Your ship’s listing, captain.’

‘Listing?’ Richard stared at him. ‘Has she been holed?’

Webb shook his head. ‘No. The water in the harbour is very low.’

Richard screwed up his forehead. ‘How low?’

‘The harbour’s all but dry around the jetties. Go down and see for yourself,’ Webb said, turning to leave. ‘I must go—I’ve three more captains to rouse yet.’

Completely nonplussed, Richard watched him stride off. He opened his mouth to call him back, then closed it again, deciding the
best way to find out what was going on was to do as the nightwatchman had said: go down to the wharf and see for himself.

‘Richard, what is it? What’s happened?’ Eliza asked anxiously as he walked back into the bedroom. She had lit the lamp and was sitting up in bed, shivering in the cold night air, her dark hair spread over her shoulders like a cape.

‘It’s the
Nina.
’ Glancing across at her, Richard reached for his shirt. ‘She’s listing.’

‘Oh, is that all,’ Eliza said in relief.

‘
All?
’ What Richard’s tone didn’t convey, his face did. The
Nina
was his livelihood.

‘Oh, don’t glower at me like that, Richard,’ she returned impatiently. Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she drew up her knees and pulled the blankets around her. ‘I thought someone was seriously ill—Ann, or young Charles. I’m sorry if there’s a problem with your ship, but ships are not as important as people. You might do well to remember that.’

‘And you might do well to remember that it’s my ship that provides the money to pay your allowance, that provides the wherewithal for you to buy fancy clothes and expensive furniture,’ he retorted. Kicking off his shoes, he plucked his socks from the chair.

‘I’d not forgotten your ship, Richard. How could I? It rules both our lives!’ Eliza paused, then added in more even tones, ‘Why is it listing?’

Still annoyed with her, Richard dragged on his socks then pushed his feet back into his boots and hastily tied the laces.

‘Richard—why is it listing?’ Eliza repeated.

‘Because the water’s retreated.’

She stared at him for a long moment, then slid down into bed and rolled on to her side. ‘All right, don’t tell me!’ she said petulantly.

‘The water’s retreated. As to why it has,’ stretching across to the
bedside table, he turned down the wick of the lamp and extinguished the flame, ‘I’m as much in the dark as you are, Eliza.’

Ten minutes later, Richard was standing on the wharf. In all his years as a sea captain, he’d never seen such a sight as the one before his eyes. The timber piles of the jetties were almost completely exposed. Where there would normally have been lapping waves, there was nothing but mud, shining wet and black in the moonlight, stretching out as far as the breakwater at Officer’s Point. The vessels moored at the jetties had heeled over, and the ships lying at anchor in the bay, his own included, were listing, some worse than others. The
John Knox,
moored at the screwpile jetty, was listing so badly that her yards were almost touching the timbers of the jetty. According to her captain, the sudden exit of water from the harbour had occurred shortly before four o’clock.

‘I didn’t know what the devil was happening,’ Captain Jenkins said, shaking his head as he recounted the strange events to Richard and a couple of other men. ‘One minute I was asleep in my berth, the next I was rolling on the floor. The
John Knox
was on such a tilt I could barely stand, and I’d the devil’s own job to get into my clothes. I could hear Webb, the nightwatchman, shouting to me, telling me to come out because the ship was on a fearful lean.’ He gave a short, dry laugh. ‘As if I’d not noticed! Anyway, I went on deck, though that was no easy task, I can tell you, with the vessel keeled over as she was. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw the reason for it. The water had disappeared and there was just this.’ He raised his hand to point to the dark expanse of mud. ‘I swear I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Nor I,’ Richard murmured, as he cast his eye over the stranded vessels. He looked back over his shoulder as the sound of voices reached his ears. Two or three men were cutting across the railway yards. Captains like himself, probably. He turned back to Jenkins.
‘Was there much turbulence when the water receded?’

Jenkins shook his head. ‘Not enough to wake me. It was only when the
John Knox
heeled over that I woke.’

Richard nodded and instinctively looked in the direction of the sea. He couldn’t see the harbour mouth, but in his mind he was visualizing it, picturing the waves, rising and falling, grey moonlit waves, tipped with sea-foam, and a huge mass of retreating water, which would eventually turn and flow back. The laws governing the tides and the ebb and flow of water were immutable. When the water did return, he had a feeling it would rush back in a great wave that would cause considerably more damage than its quiet departure had.

Quarter of an hour later, his expectations were realized.

‘Listen—d’you hear that?’ the man on his left asked.

A rumbling sound, like a strong wind coming in off the sea. Richard looked at Jenkins, who tightened his mouth grimly. Like Richard, Jenkins knew that it wasn’t wind they could hear—it was something far more formidable. The sea was returning.

It was two or three long minutes before it came into view: a huge, towering wave, stretching across the harbour as far as the eye could see. Within a minute or two, water was surging around the stranded ships. Jenkins watched helplessly from the higher ground to which he and Richard and the other men had retreated, as the massive wave slammed into the
John Knox,
smashing her against the jetty. Richard held his breath as, seconds later, the advancing wave hit the
Nina.
Her masts reeled wildly back and forth as the huge body of water crashed into her, but to his relief her anchor cables held firm.

As soon as the heaving seas began to settle a little, Richard and a half a dozen others ventured back on to the screwpile jetty to examine the damage to the
John Knox.

‘Is she well insured?’ Richard asked.

Jenkins nodded. ‘She is, thank God. She’s sustained a fair bit of damage, and the night isn’t over yet. There may be worse to come.’

Jenkins’ prophetic fears were borne out when the huge body of water that had rushed with such violence into the harbour began to recede, taking with it a ketch that had broken her anchorage.

‘She’s bound to foul another vessel,’ the portly captain on Richard’s left said, shaking his head grimly.

Pray God it isn’t mine, Richard thought. It wasn’t the
Nina,
but a schooner that the ketch eventually collided with. A dull crack sounded as the two hulls crashed against each other, their masts quivered as if a great hand had shaken them, the hulls crashed against each other a second time, then mercifully the two vessels remained locked together, bucking as one in the wild seas.

The ketch wasn’t the only vessel to lose her moorings. The
Novelty,
a paddle steamer that had been moored at the Railway Wharf, had also broken free and was being carried out towards the heads with the powerful drawback of the receding water. Her crew were aboard her, and Richard could hear them shouting to one another as they tried to raise steam to start her engines. The water was littered with debris; splintered pieces of timber were spinning like tops as they were caught up by the swirling currents.

Quarter of an hour later the danger had passed and the moored vessels were once again lying stranded in wet mud.

As word of the night’s events began to spread through the town, increasing numbers of people made their way down to the foreshore and wharves, curious to find out what had happened. Shortly after seven o’clock, Dan Lithgow came hurrying on to the jetty. ‘Captain—I’ve just heard the news,’ he said breathlessly. ‘How has the
Nina
fared? Has she sustained much damage?’

Richard lowered the brass pocket telescope that he’d borrowed from another captain and lifted his shoulders in a stiff shrug. His
whole body was stiff, from his neck to his ankles, partly from tension, but more from cold. He’d left the house in a hurry and he wasn’t wearing nearly enough warm clothing.

‘I can’t tell,’ Richard replied. ‘But it’ll be a miracle if she hasn’t sustained some damage, given the size of the wave that hit her. We’ll have to give her a thorough inspection.’

Dan nodded. ‘Shall I fetch some of the crew?’

Richard shook his head. ‘No, leave them be. There’s nothing to be done for the moment. There are too many strong currents running to risk a boat, and there could be more big waves to come, for all I know. We’ll row out to her when I’m sure it’s safe to do so.’ Eliza had accused him of caring more about his ship than about people. Well, she was wrong there. He cared a great deal about his ship, he’d not deny it, but if it came to a choice between the safety of his ship and that of his men, there was no question in his mind as to which came first. His men.

Richard’s fears about further waves were realized not long after nine o’clock when a second wave rolled into the harbour, dealing the stricken
John Knox
another cruel battering. A large crowd was there to see it this time. Among them he could see Charlotte. As for where Eliza was, that was a good question. Three-quarters of the town had come down to the foreshore to see what had happened. But had his own wife come? No. Was she concerned about his ship? No. Was she concerned about
him?
Had she thoughtfully brought him some breakfast, as some of the other captains’ wives had done, captains who, like himself, had been up half the night? No, she had not. He knew why she hadn’t come: she was sulking because he’d ticked her off for overspending while he’d been away. She’d run up debts of over a hundred pounds on frivolous, completely unnecessary purchases. He was still thinking about the ridiculously expensive silk-tasselled velvet cushions she’d bought when he caught sight of
George, standing near the Railway Wharf, and decided to walk over and have a talk with him. It had in all probability been an expensive night for George and his partner.

‘Richard, what a damnable business this is!’ George greeted him. ‘How’s your ship? Is there much damage to her?’

Richard shrugged and shook his head. ‘I can’t tell.’ Only a close inspection would reveal the extent of any damage. ‘How many of the damaged vessels are insured by your company, George?’

‘Just one, thank God. The
Margaret.
’ He turned to point to the ketch that had broken her moorings and fouled the schooner; the two vessels were still locked together, tossing about as one on the waves.

Richard frowned as he watched the two ships. Their rigging had become completely tangled. Still, it had at least prevented the
Margaret
from fouling any other vessels. ‘You’ll be liable for some damage to the other ship, too, I suppose,’ he said, turning back to George.

‘We will. It’ll be a difficult business to sort out who pays for what, though. Some of the damage to the other ship would have been done by the sea, not the collision. Are you still insured with Lloyd’s, Richard?’

Richard nodded. He’d approached George several months ago, with a view to transferring his ship’s insurance cover from Lloyd’s to George’s company. George, however, somewhat to Richard’s surprise, had told him to stay with Lloyd’s, his reason being that in the event of a dispute—which wasn’t unusual with shipping claims—he preferred his disputes to be with clients who weren’t related to him. Accordingly, Richard had left his insurance in Lloyd’s’ hands.