Page 74 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
“Bah,” Rath scoffed. “Unless they happen to have a heavy cruiser or battleship in the area we are perfectly safe. Besides, that’s the risk we all knew ahead of time. But the odds are small, and we’re exposed for an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Right, Pesha?”
“At the most.”
“See, nothing to fear, Captain. You just worry about getting us there, and we’ll do the rest.”
38
The trouble didn’t start untilthey were five days out of Ponta Delgada. The sky had been bright blue and the seas calm with a steady breeze that made the stumpyAlice N.cut through the water like a clipper ship. On the morning of the fifth day, dawn revealed the western horizon to be a towering wall of gray from the sea to the top of the sky. It was some miles off, but Captain Grimm knew just by looking at the clouds that the storm was intense and absolutely massive.
From the fishing boat’s little bridge, he called to his crew, who were below preparing their morning meal. “Zane, finish up making breakfast—double rations for everyone. It’s going to be a piece till we get another hot meal. Then I want you to make us a mess of sandwiches and wrap ’em in wax paper. Also brew up as much coffee as you can find a container for. We’re gonna need it. Oh, and break out our slops.”
“Slops?”
“Foul weather gear. Caleb, you and Bell batten everything inside and make sure the bilge is clear. After that start hauling down the sails and be ready to set the storm jib and the trysail.”
“Why not just reef the main?” the young mate asked.
“No, lad. That storm’s gonna hit like a polar hurricane and would rip the mainsail from the mast no matter how she’s reefed. Best we show her as little canvas as possible. Gentlemen, we’re in for a miserable time, make no mistake, but theAlice N.’s a fine boat and she’ll see us through.”
The first squall ripped at the ocean’s surface as if it were being raked by machine-gun fire. The wind puffed a strong chilled gust just then, died for a moment, and came roaring at the boat like an icy avalanche. The seas dropped away from under them like the first big dip at a Coney Island roller coaster and rose again in a spine-compressing swoop just moments later. After that, the rain came in earnest, slashing in every direction including up when the wind twisted into spiraling vortices. As the men and the storm raced at each other, the sky overhead grew steadily darker until it was as if they were in deepest twilight and Grimm’s only sense of how the seas were running was by watching the lines of white spume that rode on the crest of each black wave.
Thirty minutes into the teeth of the storm, Grimm was forced to admit a mistake. He’d called for the larger of his two storm jibs, thinking he’d prefer to have better steerage, but the wind was just too strong, and it was only a matter of time before the storm tore it away.
“Sorry, men,” he said with rumbling reluctance. “That jib has to come down.”
“You want the white one up instead?”
“Aye.”
Bell and the young mate exchanged a look, one that said it was a tough job, but both felt confident of their abilities. Caleb pulled the sail from a locker down below. It was smaller than a twin bedsheet, but incredibly strong. The two men already wore rain jackets and pants. They each tied on their sou’wester hats, nodded to each other again, and Bell opened the door to the deck. The wind tried to wrench it from his hand as rain filled the small enclosed cockpit. He pushed through, shoulders hunched, knees flexing with each wild gyration of theAlice N.’s hull. Caleb came out on his heels.
The wind pressed against them like a solid force and when it gusted it was like being shoved by a football lineman. They stayed low, their chests against the deck as they slithered toward the bow. Rain and salty spray found every chink in their protective clothing, sending icy fingers across their skin. The sound of the storm was a visceral presence that made their bones vibrate. Maintaining a grip to the boat’s deck was like riding an unbroken stallion, a wild unpredictable series of bucks, kicks, and lunges.
It took several minutes to crawl the thirty feet to the forestay, where the too-large storm jib was as tight as the head of a drum because of the storm’s intensity. Bell turned his back to the bow and remained seated. He took the smaller sail from theAlice N.’s mate. Caleb uncleated the sail running up the forestay and started lowering it. Bell gathered it up as it came down the wire brace, twirling his arms around each other like a mechanical mixer so the wind never had a chance to snatch it away. He switched the sail he’d been sitting on with the new one and tied on the head of the smaller storm jib.
He had just finished tying the tack of the sail to the line when a wave came over the bow like a runaway locomotive. Bell managed to keep hold of the stay, the thin wire digging into his palms until they bled. Caleb lost his footing and washed across the deck, slamminginto the railing with his back. He was pressed there for many long seconds until the boat heaved itself out of the wave’s trough and water drained off the wooden plank deck.
Bell let momentum carry him over to check on the young New Englander. Caleb was soaked through and moaned when he straightened his limbs, but was otherwise all right. They waited for the boat to rock again and returned to the unfinished task of raising the small storm jib. The wind took it as soon as it could, billowing the cloth with a sound like a cannon. It took both Bell and the mate to raise it against the wind as it bellied out.
Once up and secured, they ran the jib sheet back from the clew corner of the sail to the protected cockpit. Bell ran it through a jib block and secured it to a sheet winch.
“Are you okay, boy?” Grimm asked as Caleb dumped water out of his waterproof hat.
“Aye, Cap. Breath knocked out of me is all.”
Grimm turned a weathered eye to Bell. “Fine job you done, Beacon Hill. I guess you know how to sail after all. That was a neat trick to bundle the sails. Very efficient. Where’d ya learn it?”
Despite the compliment and what sounded like a touch of grudging respect from the captain, Bell couldn’t help digging at Grimm’s belief in a working class/upper class false equivalency and said with a smile, “Oh, that. The sailmaster at the Boston Yacht Club.”
—
The storm raged for atotal of thirty hours, pushing all four men to their physical and mental limits. They partnered off in four-hour shifts, Bell and Caleb as one team and Captain Grimm and Zane Grey the other, but when it was all over the four were as tight a crew as had ever sailed together.
Luck or Grimm’s skills at estimating their course had been with them during the storm. It had pushed them only a hundred or so miles off course. That small miracle did nothing to allay Bell’s concerns. TheSaarlandmight have been slowed some by the storm, but not nearly as much as theAlice N. The battleship’s lead had widened incalculably.
Bell had explained to Grimm and Caleb the stakes of their mission on their first day at sea and so they wasted no time setting progressively heavier sails as the storm abated. Rain was still falling and the wind remained fierce when they hoisted a tightly reefed mainsail, only to keep letting more and more of it out as the storm continued to peter out.
Grimm kept their tacks crisp and precise, and eked every knot out of his trusty boat as he drove her ever westward. By this point, he trusted Bell to take the helm when he was off watch down in the salon, so it happened to be Bell who spotted the tip of Long Island just as dawn cracked behind them. He’d been steering for it by the pulse of the Montauk lighthouse for some time. Not only was Grimm an amazing sailor—they’d made the crossing in just under ten days, averaging an astonishing nine knots despite the storm—he’d proved himself to be a master navigator as well. They’d arrived exactly where they’d intended.
