There was nothing to be done. I suppose the first thought of people faced with death is to save themselves. Perhaps when one is young death seems so remote that one cannot take it seriously. It is something which happens to other people, old people at that; one cannot imagine a world without oneself; one feels oneself to be immortal. I knew that many this night would lie in a watery grave but I could not really believe that I should be one of them.
I stood there . dazed . waiting . striving to catch a glimpse of my parents. I thought of Lucas Lorimer. Where was he? I wished I could see him. I thought fleetingly that he would probably still be calm and a little cynical. Would he talk of death as nonchalantly as he did of life?
Then I saw the overturned boat. It was being tossed about in the water. It came close to the spot where I was standing. Then it had righted itself and was bobbing about below me.
Someone had roughly caught my arm.
“You’ll be washed overboard in a minute if you stay here.”
I turned. It was the deck hand.
“She’s finished. She’ll turn over … it’s certain.”
His face was wet with spray. He was staring at the boat which the violent wind had brought close to the ship’s side. A giant wave brought it almost level with us.
He shouted: “It’s a chance. Come on. Jump.”
I was surprised to find that I obeyed. He had my arm still in a grip. It seemed unreal. I was sailing through the air and then plunging right down into that seething sea.
We were beside the boat.
“Grip!” he shouted above the tumult.
Instinctively I obeyed. He was very close to me. It seemed minutes but it could only have been seconds before he was in the boat. I was still clinging to the sides. Then his hands were on me. He was hauling me in beside him.
It was just in time. The boat was lifted up on the crest of an enormous wave. His arms were about me and he was holding me tightly.
“Hang on … hang on … for your life,” he cried.
It was a miracle. We were still in the boat.
We were breathless. , “Hang on. Hang on,” he kept shouting.
I am not sure what happened in the minutes that followed. I just knew that I was roughly buffeted and that the velocity of the wind took my breath away. I was aware of a violent crash as the Atlantic Star seemed to rise in the air and then keel over. I was blinded by the sea; my mouth was full of it. We were on the crest of the waves one moment, down in the depths of the ocean the next.
I had escaped from the sinking ship to a small boat which it seemed certain could not survive in such a sea.
This must be the end.
Time had ceased to register. I had no idea how long I was clinging to the sides of the boat, while only one thing seemed important: to stay on.
I was aware of the man close to me.
He shouted against the wind.
“We’re still afloat. How long …”
His voice was lost in the turmoil.
I could just make out the Atlantic Star. She was still in the water but at an unusual angle. Her prow seemed to have disappeared. I knew that there could be little chance of anyone’s surviving on her.
We continued to rock uncertainly, waiting for each wave which might end our lives. All about us the sea roared and raged . such a flimsy craft to defy that monster sea. I found myself wondering what would have happened to me if this man had not come along when he did and made me jump with him. What a miracle! I could scarcely believe it had happened. I thought of my parents. Where were they? Could they have escaped?
Then it seemed as though the storm was a little less fierce. Was it my fancy? Perhaps it was a temporary lull. But it was a small respite.
One of the lifeboats was coming close to us. I scanned it anxiously in the hope that my parents might be in it. I saw the strained white faces . unrecognizable . unfamiliar. Then suddenly a wave caught the boat. For a second or so it hung suspended in the air and then it was completely enveloped by another giant wave. I heard the screams. The boat was still there. It was lifted high again. It seemed to stand perpendicular. I saw bodies tipped into the sea. Then the boat fell back and was overturned. It was upside down in the water before it rose again as the sea tossed it aside as a child might have done when a toy it had been playing with suddenly bored it.
I saw heads bobbing in the water for what seemed interminable minutes and then disappearing.
I heard my rescuer shouting: “Look. Someone’s drifting towards us.” It was a man. His head suddenly appeared close to us.
“Let’s get him on board … quick … or he’ll go under and take us with him.”
I stretched out my arms. I was overcome with the emotion which assailed me then for the man we were attempting to haul into the boat was Lucas Lorimer. It was a long time before we succeeded. He collapsed and lay face downwards. He was very still. I wanted to shout at him: You’re safe, Lucas. And I thought: As safe as any of us can be.
We turned him over onto his back. Recognizing him, my companion caught his breath. He shouted to me: “He’s in a bad way.”
“What can we do?”
“He’s half drowned.”
He bent over Lucas and started to pump the water out of his lungs. He was trying to save Lucas’s life and I wondered then how long he would be able to keep at it.
It was helpful to have something to do. He was succeeding. Lucas looked a little more alive.
I noticed there was something odd about his left leg. Every now and then one of his hands would move to it and touch it. He was only half-conscious but he was aware that something there was wrong.
“Can’t do any more,” murmured my rescuer.
“Will he be all right?”
He lifted his shoulders.
It must have been two hours or so before the wind started to subside.
The gusts were less frequent at first and we were still afloat.
Lucas had not opened his eyes; he lay at the bottom of the boat, inert. My other companion was tinkering with the boat. I did not know what he was doing but it seemed important and the fact that we had kept afloat told me that he must have some knowledge of how the thing worked. He looked up and caught me watching him. He said:
“Get some sleep. You’re exhausted.”
“You too …”
“Oh … there’s enough to keep me awake.”
“It’s better now, isn’t it?
Have we a chance? “
“Of being picked up? Perhaps. We’re in luck.
There’s a can of water and a tin of biscuits here . shut away under the seat. Put there as emergency rations. That will help us to keep going for a bit. Water’s most important. We can survive on that for a while. “
“And him …” I pointed to Lucas.
“In a bad way. He’s breathing though. He was half drowned … and it looks as though his leg’s broken.”
“Can we do anything?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing. No supplies. He’ll have to wait. We’ve got to look for a sail. Nothing you can do so try to sleep. You’ll feel better.”
“What about you?”
“Later, perhaps. Nothing more we can do for him. Have to go the way the wind takes us. Can’t steer. If we’re lucky we’ll hit the trade routes. If not…” He shrugged his shoulders. Then he said almost gently: “Best thing for you is to get some sleep. That will work wonders.”