Almost immediately Temptress’s stern slewed into the waves. He grabbed the helm and felt the rudder respond. With the anchor and sixty feet of line acting as a drogue, Temptress slowed, and the waves went rushing past. The violent rocking motion eased, and they were coasting down the waves, not accelerating out of control. “I’ll be damned,” Stuart said to himself. “That worked.” A wave passed under them, and they rose up.
Then he saw the dark mass of a ship. For a moment he stared, not believing the sight. It disappeared as they went down a wave, still very much in control and stable. They rose up on the next wave, and again he saw the ship. Were they on a collision course? He forced himself to calm down. “I should see the navigation lights, red light on the left, green light on the right, with two white masthead lights. But I’m only seeing one white light. It’s gotta be the stern light. We’re behind you.”
He checked his watch. “How long have we been at this?” he asked himself. Suddenly the answer didn’t matter — he was going to gut it out no matter how long it took. He tried to start the diesel while he waited for the next wave to lift them up. The engine refused to start, and he gave up, saving the batteries. Then he saw the ship again. Were they overtaking it because the ship had slowed for the storm? He wasn’t sure.
He reached for the handheld VHF radio that was stowed in the steering pedestal and hailed the ship on Channel 16. There was no answer. Twice more he tried to raise the ship with the same lack of success. “Screw you,” he muttered.
His instincts told him to fly a little staysail to control their pitching. He pulled on the staysail sheet, unrolling about a fourth of the small jib. The boat stabilized and was more controllable, but again they were going too fast. “More drag,” he told himself. He reached into the locker under the cockpit seat and pulled out another dock line and a canvas bucket. He punched four large holes in the bottom of the bucket and tied it to the dock line. Then he cleated off the bitter end of the line and threw the bucket overboard. Temptress slowed.
“How ’bout that,” he announced to no one. He engaged the autopilot and allowed himself a grunt of satisfaction when it held. The combination of drag and slower speed was working. Satisfied that Temptress could take care of herself, he considered his next move. He went below to check on Jane. The bilge pump had drained the cabin, and he shut it off. He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a water bottle, surprised at his thirst and hunger. He took a long swig and then worked his way forward to check on Jane. She was awake but still in pain.
He held the water bottle to her lips, and she drank greedily. Carefully he felt her shoulder, not sure what was wrong. She gasped. “It’s dislocated, happened before. Reset it.”
“I don’t know how,” he said.
“Feel it.”
His fingers moved over her shoulder, feeling the dislocation. “That’s it,” she said. “Pull out and push.” He did. At first nothing happened. “Pull harder.” Stuart pulled as hard as he could and felt something give. Then he pushed her shoulder back into place. She screamed in pain and then relaxed, tears in her eyes.
“I’m gonna get you to a doctor,” he said. It was a promise he meant to keep. He told her how he had set the drogues and staysail. He ended with “There’s a ship out there in front of us, and we’re getting pretty close to Cuba.”
“How close?”
“I saw land.”
“And the ship is headed for it?” Stuart nodded. “Check the GPS.”
He went to the nav station to check the Global Positioning System and verify their position. “It’s not working,” he told her.
“The antenna’s probably washed away,” she said. “I’m guessing that the ship is making for port. Follow it.”
Stuart went topside and checked on the ship. Much to his surprise, they were still behind it, going at the same speed. But it had turned to a new course, more to the northwest and parallel to the coast. He released the autopilot and turned to the new heading, surprised that Temptress was responding so well. He thought about the landmass he knew was out there in the dark. “You better know where you’re going,” he muttered. He tried to reset the autopilot, but it was dead. “Steer the boat,” he told himself as they dipped between waves, losing sight of the ship, before rising up so he could see it again.
The hours dragged, and fatigue slowly drove Stuart down, demanding its price. Despair was on the verge of claiming him when the glow of dawn on the eastern horizon sent a jolt of hope through his body. Then, as they rode to the top of a wave, a flashing light winked at him. He counted the interval. “Six seconds,” he mumbled to himself. He watched as the ship headed straight for the light. “It’s got to be a harbor entrance.” The waves were closer together now and steeper as the bottom shallowed out. Without the diesel it was all Stuart could do to keep Temptress headed in the right direction.
The waves grew bigger, and he could hear the crashing of waves as the flashing beacon grew brighter. Ahead the ship rose up on the back of the wave, its bow high in the air. He shook his head in disbelief. The ship was much shorter than he had guessed and very wide, like a wedge or arrowhead. He watched in horror as a huge wave engulfed the ship and it disappeared from sight. Automatically he turned around to see what was overtaking them. Fear claimed him as the enormous wave rose up in the fading darkness, its mass rising well over sixty feet.
At that instant the hatch to the cabin slid open and Jane’s head appeared. She was looking directly at the wave. She pulled herself up and looked forward. Ahead she saw the flashing beacon and the ship’s navigation lights, now motionless in the calm waters of a harbor. “Cut the drogues!” she yelled. “We’re crossing a bar.” But he froze, worn down by fatigue and fear. “Do it!”
Stuart snapped out of it and quickly cut the two drogue lines. Temptress surged ahead as the gigantic wave started to break over them. Now they were accelerating and surfing down the face of the wave. He spun the wheel, shouting like a madman. “Come on, Mama!” They shot past the beacon, and the wave crashed behind them. Stuart was vaguely aware of a mass of black rocks on his port side as the wave pushed them into the harbor. He clutched the wheel as he wobbled, his inner gyros confused by the sudden calm.
For a brief moment a feeling of total elation swept over him. Then it was gone.
“Drop anchor over there,” Jane said, pointing to an open area well away from the ship. Stuart turned in the direction she had indicated, as Temptress coasted to a stop. He went forward to drop the anchor, still wobbling. They set the anchor on the first try, and he staggered back to the cockpit and clambered down the open companionway. Jane was in the galley, heating water.
He collapsed on the settee, instantly asleep.
The aroma of Malt-o-Meal filled the cabin, and for a moment Stuart was back in kindergarten on a cold winter morning. “Here,” Jane said, handing him a steaming bowl laced heavily with granola. He wolfed it down.
“How’s the shoulder?”
“Hurts like hell,” she said. “But I’ll survive.” Her left arm was in a makeshift sling.
Stuart looked around. The cabin was clean and shipshape, a far cry from the chaos he remembered. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Nine hours.”
He finished the bowl and stuck his head out the companionway. They were anchored in a secure harbor. He gulped when he saw the narrow harbor entrance. How had he managed that? The wind was dying down, but waves were still crashing into the harbor entrance. “Being the skipper and all, I should know this. But where the hell are we?”