A Ship's Tale (35 page)

As I stood up, the sound of the wind took on an ominous pitch, and with a roar came through the ship like an express train passing. I looked round the horizon but it had disappeared. Without warning a squall started beating down on us, filling the scuppers in seconds and drumming on my sou'wester and oilskin. It passed just as quickly as it arrived, but working aloft was going to be even more dangerous with water streaming on all lines.

It soon became evident that during Edward's wanderings, he'd decided to go by way of the main cargo hatch to check on things below. Harris had cautioned him earlier about this being Boris's domain, that he was very territorial about the compartment, but these words he'd clearly ignored and went on below.

Above the din of the storm, I heard an ominous cry of terror. It seemed so close that I said aloud, “What the bloody hell was that?”

I looked aloft and hoped that none of our boys had fallen. Then I heard the shout again sounding, if possible, more terrified than before.

Someone was yelling as if he'd just seen a banshee. I glanced round the deck but saw nothing. By now all work had stopped and everyone else was looking about for the source of the cries. Suddenly I saw Edward coming up through the hatchway from the main cargo hold with his arms flapping about before him and running pell-mell down the deck as if he'd seen the devil himself. In fact, in his view, I'm sure this was nearly what was happening, for directly behind him, there came lumbering out a certain very large brown bear who seemed not at all annoyed at finding himself free, but by God he was noisy!

Once on deck, he slowed down and then stood looking shortsightedly about. The noise of the storm, with the continual flying spray and the waves breaking over the gunnels must have been quite confusing, not to mention alarming, to him, poor fellow. He stood up as well as he could and gave a roar of mingled defiance and bafflement. With that, everyone made for the ratlines. The deck was now empty with the exception of Edward, the bear, and me.

“God Almighty, A BEAR!” came another roar, this time from Harris, who was still aloft. Looking at me dangerously, he started to clamber back down. The bear shuffled slowly round the deck.

“You had a hand in this, didn't you?” he growled.

“I swear—” I began, but just then I was interrupted by Boris.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” said Boris as he descended the mast Tarzan-like on a long rope. He glared angrily at Edward, who was crouched down behind a stanchion.

“I told everyone stay out my place!” Then he turned and walked towards the bear without a trace of fear. On the way he managed to unclip a boat-hook from the bulwark. Holding the boat-hook, he advanced cautiously upon the great beast.

As he came closer the bear gave a low rumble of disapproval, but Boris began talking to him in very kindly sounding singsong Russian. The animal clearly didn't know what to do. He shuffled round the deck, sniffing the air, trying to find something familiar. He stood up again, but then decided there was no land to run about on and began to retreat. He made his way back in the direction of the hatch from which he'd emerged. At the hatch, he sniffed about in a puzzled fashion, not seeming to know how to proceed.

Boris darted in and opened the hatch as far as he could, surveying the cracks and damage done by such a big animal getting through such a small space. Now the most immediate—and daunting—task was to persuade the bear that he was to go back down there. Harris came along the deck to assist. “Brown bear,” he said softly. The bear turned, stood up just a little, and smelt the air. “Brown bear, what have they done to you?”

Robert spoke up. “Well you see Harris, Boris and I thought—” but Harris cut him off.

“Just what the bloody hell were you idiots playing at? Not only do we have sails made from circus tents, now we have a performing circus animal! What the bloody blazes is he doing here anyway, and who or what else do we have lurking down there? This isn't bloody Noah's ark,” he roared in a crescendo of furious wrath. “So tell me, how many other stowaways have you brought along?”

“Only this one,” Boris started to explain, “Your old friend, we bring him. They treat him badly, remember?” He fixed Harris with an appealing look. “All of us, fresh start.”

“Yes, the bear is an old friend, but I don't expect him to come and share my bunk,” Harris snapped in a rising tone.

“We couldn't exactly leave him in such poor conditions,” Robert chimed in, “I mean, think of it, he could have died there. At least he has a chance with us. Clearly something needed doing.”

Harris scratched his beard from one ear all the way to the other, looking thoughtful. “Well yes, it all sounds right, something needed doing. But it was you that made up that story about him being transferred back to his original trainer and all that bit. Oh, and I suppose that's why you two have been so fond of fishing as of late, eh?”

Edward looked up from his hiding. “Now I know why it smelt like a bloody circus here. 'Tis himself down there,” he scowled indignantly.

Robert quickly added that they were keeping the hold extremely clean. The bear now had some broken-up straw bales serving as his bed and since Boris had removed his leg irons, the old fellow actually had it better than before. Harris didn't know whether to laugh or cry at that point. He muttered something about bloody madmen, and then he and Boris began walking round the deck. The bear followed like a friendly dog, attempting to satisfy his curiosity as to where exactly he was, having never seen the sea before. Boris and Harris spoke to the old fellow a good deal, but who could say exactly how much was understood by him? Still, when Boris started down the ladderway the bear tried to follow.

After much pulling, pushing, and coaxing, Boris managed to get the front half of the great beast down the ladder just as Bowman came out on deck. His eyes opened wide at the picture before him.

“And just what the hell is going on up here now?” he exploded. “Harris, is this yer doing?”

“No!” protested Harris, “but let's get him back down in the hold before we go into all that.”

The bear's rump was now sticking out of the hatchway and it took the combined efforts of Harris, Robert, and myself to push him through the rest of the way. The cage had slid at some point and broken open at one corner where it had hit the bulwark. Since the bear had no intention of going anywhere at present, no serious restraint was really needed now. At least he was back in the hold again.

Harris drew himself up sternly and said, “This is one case where there's going to be a post-mortem, so everyone had better have his story straight!” Then he roared over the wind and crashing water, “To your stations, everyone! Get back to work. Be at it now!” The boys who were not supposed to be in the rigging quickly scrambled back down to the deck now that they were assured that they weren't fated to be dinner for the gigantic hairy beast.

For some reason, the storm wasn't increasing in strength. Maybe we were running before it on our diagonal course across the Channel. Maybe the air masses were simply jostling each other before fixing on the direction they wanted to fly. Whatever the reason, it gave us a respite and a chance to get some food for the boys before their watch came up. Robert and Boris had been sharing the helm for some time and doing a good job of it, despite the wind and the mountainous seas. Every now and then calls would ring out for the sails to be hauled closer or slackened out.

Harris was still looking dangerously agitated and it appeared he was looking for somewhere to vent his anger. He came up to stand by the wheel.

“Well, somebody had better tell me something, and quickly too,” he said, looking menacingly at Robert.

“Just as soon as Boris gets back up on deck,” Robert responded with his most innocent look. Harris walked over to the ladderway where the bear had disappeared. Inspecting it, he could see how the wood had been cracked in several places.

Harris returned and turned to me. “All right then, Flynn, go below and get some spare lumber and caulking because when water pours over the side, you know damn well it's going to go below. We've no way of knowing precisely how the pumps will manage with any extra work, so see to this immediately.” He slid the hatchway open a few inches, “Boris! Get your arse up here instantly!” he yelled.

Noticing several lads observing him, Harris turned, “This isn't a sideshow. Get on with your work.
NOW
!” They very briskly got on with it.

A moment later Boris reappeared in the hatchway. Harris's face was red as a beet, a most alarming sight. “Well then,” he began in an ominously gentle tone, “tell me about our newest crew member.”

Boris just shrugged his shoulders, as was typical of his response to any questionable situation.

“I see you at circus, you are much unhappy your friend look so bad.”

At this juncture Bowman came up. He glared at Harris, who took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. Bowman turned to Boris.

“Oh, and that's yer excuse, is it? So were ye planning to save him as a Christmas present, eh? That's the bloody stupidest scheme I've ever heard of!

“And you, Mr. Harris. What d'ye propose doin' about it now? That's your damned bear! Unless ye'd care to go shares with this daft Ruskie!” Bowman yelled.

Harris shifted uncomfortably, darting a resentful glance at Boris. “I'll go down and see him later. But Boris, I'd like to know just how you managed to get him on board without anyone knowing about it? Won't the circus consider the fact he's gone missing?”

“Oh, was easy.” Boris said with an ingratiating smile. “They come with big truck to get anchors, I pay them bring big box. They are not knowing what was in there and they not care. You and Bowman busy about anchors. Nobody notice what I do.”

Harris raised his arms with fists clenched, speechless for the moment.

Then Bowman spoke up, “So now we're not only the proud possessors of an illicitly procured ship, stolen circus tents, and a crew of orphan runaways, but we have a bear for a mascot into the bargain!”

“Never mind, never mind,” Boris said, “everything will be all right.”

“Fortunately for ye,” continued Bowman in a more collected tone, “I don't have time to consider the best judgment on this just now,” and he pointed towards the whirlwind of activity taking place all around them. Everyone was preparing for the storm and the bear only added to his worries. His first concern was the coming storm, and how his unseasoned crew members would fare. With a stiff nod to Harris and Boris, he turned and walked aft to join Robert at the helm.

Boris shrugged and went back up into the rigging, and I set to work repairing the damaged hatchway, while Harris set out on another round of inspections. As he went he passed Edward still crouched behind a stanchion, looking very sorry for himself.

“Are you all right?” Harris asked.

“Oh quite,” Edward said bitterly. “'Tis not often one gets to be chased about by such a large beast aboard ship. Oh, but wasn't it invigorating, though,” and he reached into his coat pocket, producing a flask which he upended and drank dry. He moved away very disgruntled with a wary glance at the hatch.

After I'd finished what I modestly thought a first-rate patch job on the hatchway, Harris came by and motioned me to follow him.

“Have you noticed that she isn't pitching so heavily?” Harris asked as we went forward.

I stood for a moment, adjusting my body to the heaving of the deck and said, “Not only that, the wind seems to be slackening as well.” We both stood and concentrated. The smack of the bow into the waves was definitely less heavy and the spray was much finer now than it had been even half an hour before. We were so busy that no one was taking notice. We also became aware that we didn't have to shout so any longer in order to make ourselves understood.

“Let's get back to the wheel and see what Bowman thinks,” Harris said. Robert called out he was sure the wind had slackened up because it was much easier to maintain course since the sideways kick of the aft section had died down.

“If that's the case,” Harris said, “stand down the boys not on watch. If we need to reset the sails, I'm sure the duty watch can manage.” Going below into the chart room, he asked Bowman the latest on the weather.

Bowman thought it had been too local in developing and probably there was no weather ship close enough to pick it up. “There was nothing on the radio,” he mused, “unless ye take ‘Storms are expected in the areas of Fastnet, Irish Sea, and Channel' as a forecast. It would help if they could be a wee bit more exact. The Channel's a big place. The glass has been rising steadily so I suppose we're moving out of this one anyway.”

Edward came in at that point, a little flushed but much calmer, and showed us our position on the chart. To my eye we were getting too close to France, something we were trying to avoid, and it was already dusk. I left the others to decide the next move and went outside to stand with Robert. The break-up of the storm showed in the lessening sea and the clouds opening up. We could see some stars, and the moon appeared occasionally, casting a silvery light to the sea. The noise of the wind in the rigging had changed from its normal roar. Every now and then a sail would give a smart crack as it flapped from loss of the wind.

Robert said, “You'd better tell them that the wind is turning, and we can't hold this course much longer.”

Boris got ahead of me as we went into the chart room. “Need more sail now,” he said, “we get ready bear north-west when wind ready.”

The storm had been beating in on us from the north-west and we'd been close-hauled on a sou'sou'west course, but it seemed as though the wind was backing round to the north-east, so we didn't need to change tack, only to turn the stern through the wind and brace the yards as we went. After more discussion, it was decided that in order to avoid the Cherbourg Peninsula, our new course would be west-north-west, but first the sails needed to be set.