Appleby yelled back to him and the man appeared to accept his terms, as he threw him a line. One of the crew caught it and secured the boats together, and the wreck was ours. Mason closed on the boats, and my jaw dropped as I stared across the void at the captain who had taken Rory.
39
Appleby’s crew ran his launch back and forth removing the men stranded on the wrecked boat and bringing them to his. I scanned the worried faces waiting by the rail, looking for Rory, but saw no sign of her.
“That’s the boat I put the girl on,” I said to Rhames, who stood next to me.
He squinted into the sun. “Don’t see her now,” he said, and leaned over to grab the rope a crewman from the launch below us was about to toss up.
Communication was difficult between the boats, but Mason knew what Appleby wanted and we were prepared to receive the line in order to tow the wreck off the reef. He had just returned from evaluating the damage with Appleby and several of his crew. The men had conferred and agreed that in its present state, the boat would be torn apart by the coral before the cargo could be offloaded. Their plan was to tow the boat into deeper water, where a temporary repair could be made and the rest of the crew safely evacuated. I had to admit that, although fascinated by the process, quite a bit of what he said was lost on me, as we had more experience sinking boats than saving them.
The boats were drifting apart. Rhames grabbed the line and took a few turns around the winch used to raise the anchor. The mechanical advantage provided by the winch took some of the load off the line, allowing us to gain enough slack to tie it off. Appleby was in the process of fixing another line to his stern. He signaled to us, and we followed as he changed his course to keep the boats parallel. We followed suit as he raised his mainsail. Mason yelled from the helm to stay clear as the tow line became taut, shedding a spray of water on the deck as it stretched. The boats stalled, and again we followed Appleby’s lead as he raised his topsails. With the additional canvas, the tension in the line felt like it was about to tear apart our boat, and I looked for the ax in case we needed to cut it. The entire boat shook and groaned, but finally began to move. I looked back and saw the wreck shift and then follow us into deeper water. Now that it was free, we continued what I guessed was a quarter mile before dropping our sails.
Both boats had all hands pulling the wreck toward us using the tow lines and winches. When the wreck was within a hundred feet, Appleby gave the command to tie off the lines. We were drifting together, but the water was deep, and he dropped his anchor before turning his attention to the sinking ship.
I had nothing to do but watch and hope that Rory would appear. Ever since she had boarded the boat, her screams had still echoed in my head, and she hadn’t been far from my thoughts since we had escaped the harbor in Key West. I couldn’t wait any longer to see if she was still aboard and jumped over the rail. The waves battered me as I swam toward the foundering ship, and I struggled to keep my head above the water as several large swells tried to submerge me. I reached the boat, swam to a section of rigging lying in the water from the downed foremast, and used it to haul myself aboard. The deck was a flurry of activity as Appleby’s men worked to keep the boat afloat.
I looked around and didn’t see her, and the captain stared at me with a malicious grin on his face as he went over the side with the last of his crew. I looked down into the hold and saw much of the cargo floating in the building water. The companionway was aft of the hold, and I went to it, hoping the damage was to the hold and that the cabins would be free of water.
I descended the ladder to the living compartments and found myself in knee-deep water in the galley, its entire contents floating in the water around me. “Rory,” I yelled several times as I moved toward the crew cabins. There were no doors on either and both were empty. I yelled her name again and moved back through the galley, noticing the water was higher on my legs than when I first entered. The door to the captain’s cabin was ajar, and I called her name again before entering. It was empty as well and I feared I would have to go into the hold.
I climbed the companionway stairs two at a time and reached the deck. Four men were gathering the fallen mainsail and called for my help, but I kept moving toward the hold. The water was high enough here that it was not worth using the ladder, and I jumped blindly into the darkness. Chest-deep in water, I swam forward toward the hatch leading to the forward hold, the same compartment where I had found Mason and his men on our ship. I reached it and tugged on the door, but it wouldn’t move. I called her name again, and this time thought I heard a response, but the water pouring in around me was too loud to be certain.
A timber floated by and I reached for it. Barely able to stand, I grasped the board and butted it into the door. Wood splintered, and I hit it several more times, creating a hole large enough to crawl through. I released the board and squirmed through the hole, trying to avoid the jagged edges of the shattered wood. I gained my footing and looked around. It was dark inside, but I saw movement off in a corner.
“Rory,” I yelled, and was sure I heard a voice in return. This hold had not been damaged by the reef and held half the water of the main hold but, with the hatch broken, the water flowed in freely.
“Over here,” she called.
I found her in the same position as the men aboard the ship we had taken, her wrists and ankles manacled to the hull. Furious she had been left to die, I found a loose bar and pried the restraints from the deck.
“Well. Look who it is. My favorite pirate saving me again,” she said as she rose slowly.
“We have to get out of here,” I grabbed her arm and pushed her ahead of me toward the door. “Can you get through the hole?”
She laughed and launched herself through the opening, able to swim through as the water continued to rise. I followed and guided her to the cargo rope hanging from the boom above. I climbed first and then hauled her onto the deck where she sat.
“Can you give us a hand here, mate?” one of the men working the downed sail called.
I looked at Rory, and she nodded. The men were rolling the mainsail, its length parallel with the rail. Two lines long enough to reach around the hull were stretched out by it. A crewman took one end and went forward to the bowsprit, where he passed it under the strut. Another man was there to grab the end and, with one man on the starboard rail and the other the port, they walked the line stretched under the boat until they reached the stern end. Another man called for me to help him do the same, and we stretched a second line below the damaged section of the hull.
The bitter ends of the starboard lines were tied to the rail, and the ends of the lines on the port side were tied to the sail. We hauled on the starboard lines while two men fed the sail overboard, stretching it under the hull. It was hard work and the crew was tense as we tried to keep it tight against the boat. If we allowed it to fill with water, the weight could pull us to the bottom of the sea. I looked at the water below and saw the edge of the sail was now visible above the water on our side. I followed the other men’s lead and tied the lines off. With the patch finally in place, we caught our breath and waited to see if it would take hold.