Lifeboat! (20 page)

A brawl followed, with both men's hands clamped on the bottle, swaying together, flung from one side of the bridge to the other, they were locked in a macabre dance, whilst the ship heaved and plunged. Out on the wave-lashed, windswept deck, Droysen was flung against the timber and then back again to the deck rail. Clinging to the handrail he glanced towards the bridge, but through the rain he could see nothing. Huge waves were coming at them now and the ship was turning abeam to the waves, in danger of being bowled over by the next wave. Droysen, soaked and gasping for breath, grappled his way back towards the bridge and hauled himself up the ladder. He arrived in time to see the Captain wrestling with the Turk, the bottle of brandy between them.

A thirty-foot wave struck the ship side on and she rolled even further over to starboard, the deckrail almost dipping momentarily beneath the waves. Schlick and the Turk were flung to one corner, the bottle crushed between them. Droysen felt himself slithering across the floor. For what seemed an eternity—though in fact it was only a few seconds—the whole world seemed one of confusion—of flailing arms and legs, of roaring seas and lashing rain and howling wind and the noise of the ship creaking and groaning under immense stress.

This is it, Droysen thought, amazingly clear-headed. The ship is going to capsize and go down.

But with a miraculous instinct for survival, the
Hroswitha
rolled upright again, the heavy cargo in her hold giving ballast to the stricken vessel.

Droysen scrambled up. Over his shoulder he looked down at the two men extricating themselves from the corner. The bottle had smashed into four pieces. Schlick's hand was bleeding and the Turk's cheek as well as his injured arm now oozed blood. Schlick swore in guttural German but the oath ended in a grimace of pain and he clutched his stomach and rolled backwards and forwards on the floor. The Turk eyed Droysen warily.

‘You—out!' Droysen commanded, shortly, the pale grey eyes in his pale-skinned face glittering menacingly. In contrast the swarthy Turk slunk away, still half-crouching and making a great play of his injured arm.

Droysen glanced down cynically at his Captain, marvelling that when he had first come aboard the
Hroswitha
he had feared this man who now brawled with a deckhand over a bottle of brandy and rolled about on the floor of his bridge.

Droysen squinted through the glass screen of the wheelhouse. The anchor was no longer holding them, they were being dragged relentlessly by the wind and the heavy seas towards the sandbank known as Middle Bank off the north-west coast of Norfolk.

Then, through the murk, Droysen thought he saw a boat to starboard—a lifeboat, but then it plunged from view and he thought he had wishfully imagined it, his eyes playing cruel tricks.

Then, as the
Hroswitha
was borne aloft on a wave, he saw below in the trough, the lifeboat battling its way towards them. If he had had the strength left, Droysen would have cheered. As it was all he could do was to cling on and wait. Only moments before he had been sure he faced death, now as the courageous lifeboat approached, he was just as certain that now he would be saved.

At the same moment that Droysen first spotted the rescue boat, aboard the
Mary Martha Clamp
Chas Blake in the bows glimpsed the coaster.

Macready sent a radio message to Jack Hansard in his landrover on the seafront at Saltershaven and to Breymouth, asking them to relay a message to the Harbour Master at St Botolphs that a coaster obviously making for his port was in distress near the Lynn Well Lanby. The westerly wind and the tidal flow were driving the helpless vessel, bows foremost, towards a sandbank off the Norfolk coast known as Middle Bank.

Macready took the lifeboat around the stern of the coaster and approached it cautiously on the starboard side. The coaster was listing heavily towards them and the only way to get the crew off would be for Macready to put his lifeboat alongside almost directly under the heaving, tilting ship. He could see that part of the deck cargo had already gone and that the remaining packages had shifted and were straining at the ropes. The loose tarpaulin flapped about on the deck and ropes snarled and snaked in the gale-force winds.

He could see no one on the ship. The loudhailer in these conditions was useless. If radio contact was also impossible, it would have to be morse signalling.

‘See if you can raise anyone on her, Pete,' Macready said. Already his crew were taking up their stations and securing themselves to the lifeboat by clipping a line on to the deck rail.

Pete made the call but when he flicked the switch only crackling and interference filled the cockpit of the lifeboat. He tried again and this time, amidst all the noise came a faint reply in English but with a distinctly German accent.

‘Lifeboat, lifeboat, this is the
Hroswitha
. Engines—out of action. Captain …' There then followed a blur of words and the final word … ‘ injured.'

‘What was that?' Macready asked.

Pete spoke into the phone. ‘
Hroswitha
, this is Saltershaven lifeboat. Say again, please. Over.'

‘… Captain—sick. One deckhand—injured.'

Macready's face was grim. ‘Can they receive a breeches-buoy?'

The reply came back that there was only himself—the First Mate—to receive it. He had no idea where the three deckhands and cook were. Nor could he raise a reply from the engine-room. As the message came piece by piece into the lifeboat's cockpit, Macready saw four figures appear on the deck of the coaster, clinging to the superstructure and attempting to make their way to the starboard side of the ship nearest to the lifeboat.

‘Four of his crew seem to be looking after number one,' Macready murmured. Then aloud he said to Pete, ‘Ask him if the Captain can walk.'

Pete relayed the question and Droysen hesitated and then replied negatively.

Macready again shouted to Pete above the howl of the wind and the sea. ‘Ask Breymouth if we can have the helicopter.'

The lifeboat's responsibility was the saving of life and the coxswain's one aim was to get the injured and sick members of the crew off the coaster and to hospital as quickly as possible. If he could get the crew aboard the lifeboat and then the helicopter could air-lift the sick captain and the injured deckhand, they would reach hospital so much quicker than if he had to take them all the way back to Saltershaven.

Pete Donaldson requested Breymouth for the assistance of the Sea King helicopter, but their immediate reply was that it was already out assisting another lifeboat off the east coast of Norfolk on a service.

‘We're on our own, then,' Macready murmured as he received the news. ‘ Right—we're going in!'

Grim-faced, the lifeboat coxswain inched nearer and nearer, desperately trying to control the bucking Oakley and bring her close to the stricken vessel.

Above the upturned faces of the lifeboat-men, the ship's four crew members clung to the sloping deck.

Macready's hands gripped the corded wheel firmly, coaxing, guiding the boat he knew so well. But the wind and the sea seemed determined to wrest the craft from his control, to throw him and his crew into the depths that it took all Macready's strength, both physical and mental, all his years of experience, all his instinctive feel for his boat to hold her steady and bring her inch by uncertain inch to the side of the crippled ship.

With supreme confidence in their coxswain, the lifeboat crew waited calmly, without a hint of fear on their faces, until he had manoeuvred the boat into the right position.

Only Fred Douglas, the second coxswain, glanced at Macready from time to time, just to be certain he was not needed to assist at the wheel.

The wind hammered at their ears, the salt lashed their eyes and stung their cheeks. There could be no word of command because of the noise of the storm and the ocean. The rescue would be conducted because each man knew his job so thoroughly.

Only young Tim Matthews on his first service kept his eyes darting from one to the other of his senior crew colleagues, anxious not to miss a signalled command, determined to do the right thing at the right time. So long he had waited for this moment and now it was here his only fear was not of the danger but of his failure to do what was expected of him.

Above them, as they moved in towards the ship, audible even over the lashing rain and blustering wind, was the pistol crack of a snapping cable and the rumble of shifting timber.

‘Bloody 'ell,' Fred Douglas muttered. ‘That lot's gonna come down on top of us!'

But Macready slammed the controls to full astern and the rudder, chewing at the foaming water, inched the boat away from the ship.

Briefly he saw the agonised expressions on the faces of the desperate crew above him. They thought he was leaving them.

Another cable snapped and two of the remaining packages of timber came hurtling down the slanting deck and into the water. The sea heaved, bringing the stricken vessel nearer to the retreating lifeboat. Another package rolled loose, teetered on the edge of the shifting deck and then toppled into the water dangerously close to the Oakley. Then a fourth rolled off, catching the bows of the lifeboat with a glancing blow making Chas Blake leap back smartly out of the way, swift enough to avoid injury but not quick enough to avoid a drenching from the spray as the heavy package splashed into the sea.

The lifeboatmen watched, waiting until all the loose timber had come away, but, frustratingly, one package slithered backwards and forwards across the deck, refusing to be pitched into the water. Macready waited a few minutes more, but all the time he was aware that the strength of the ship's crew, hanging desperately on to the side of the ship, was giving out.

They could not hold on much longer.

Falling timber from the listing ship or not, Macready knew he must go back in.

As he began to inch forward again, nearer and nearer the
Hroswitha
, even in this moment of crisis that demanded all his attention, refusing to be ignored, refusing to be clamped down, the ugly thought kept pushing its way to the forefront of his mind.

Where was Julie?

The storm showed no sign of abating and Macready knew he had no choice but to attempt the rescue right now. Skilfully he manoeuvred the
Mary Martha Clamp
towards the
Hroswitha
, bringing the Oakley lifeboat almost under the listing starboard side of the ship.

Perilously close to the vessel, a huge wave brought the coaster towards the lifeboat with a lurch. The lifeboatmen did not waver from their stations but each and every man held his breath.

A collision seemed inevitable. The sides of the two boats touched and grated together and the crew braced themselves. Then miraculously the same wave that had pitched the
Hroswitha
towards them now carried the lifeboat forward and away from the looming coaster. Above them the three deckhands and the cook were on the point of exhaustion. Macready brought the lifeboat in again.

‘Tim,' Macready bellowed above the roar of the sea and the wind. ‘Get the loudhailer. Tell them as we go in when the boats touch to jump.'

Tim shouted the message through the loudhailer but the three men hanging by their arms gave no sign of having understood. The noise of the storm was such that they could probably not hear.

‘Let's give it a try anyway,' Macready said.

On the port side of the lifeboat, four crewmen stood with arms outstretched to grab the seamen as the lifeboat went in. The water beneath them swelled and the two vessels rose, first one and then the other, crashing together with more force this time, but at the moment of impact the three deckhands and the cook launched themselves towards the arms of the lifeboatmen. Three men landed relatively safely, with bruises and a twisted ankle, but they were aboard. The fourth—the deckhand who had injured his arm—jumped awkwardly, thudded against the outside of the lifeboat and slithered into the water. Tony Douglas had made a grab at him, but the man had slipped from his grasp.

‘Man overboard!' Tony roared.

In these seas there were now two dangers for the man in the water. Being crushed between the lifeboat and the coaster or being sucked beneath the Oakley and cut to pieces by the propeller. Anxious faces peered over the side of the lifeboat as Macready at once thrust the control to stop.

A black head bobbed up in the small space of water between the two boats and a hand clutched at the empty air.

Tony unhooked the safety chain across the opening where they boarded the lifeboat at the launch and unfastened his own safety chain from the rail. He lowered himself down the scramble net.

‘Watch out, Tony!' Alan Gilbert shouted a warning.

Tony glanced up and saw the vessel towering above them, a huge menacing bulk tossed mercilessly by the unlimited power of the heavy seas. The coaster heaved upwards on a wave and began to surge towards him, whilst the lifeboat unaffected as yet by the oncoming wave scarcely moved.

In that instant before the boats collided Tony bent down, crooked his arm and slid it beneath one of the seaman's armpits. The man clung on and Tony hauled him out of the water, every muscle in his body straining at the enormous effort. Alan leant over and grasped the Turk as Tony dragged him towards the scramble net and the sailor was pulled aboard.

‘Quick, Tony. She's coming!'

The great ship lunged towards them as Macready rammed the control into full astern. Tony was up the nets and clambering on to the deck when the two boats clashed, trapping his left leg. He gave a howl of pain and then the lifeboat was borne away on the wave and by the thrust of its own engines. Tony collapsed on to the deck of the lifeboat. Alan and Tim carried him to the covered foredeck.

‘Don't bother about me,' Tony gasped as Alan knelt and seemed about to pull off Tony's boot. ‘Leave it. It'll be okay. Get back up there. Cox'n'll need you.'