Then he heard a cry behind him. One of the crew had been carried overboard and wailed for help. Who had they lost? Barker just closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the sailor. They couldn't launch a boat in these seas in any case, and now, he thought, looking over at the twisted, empty davits, they had no boats ready to launch.
He turned around and gasped to see the cabin skylight crushed and open to the sky. He ran to the cabin ladder. The salon was flooded. He threw open the door to the stateroom where his wife and children were strapped in their bed. The water was up to his knees. From the moonlight streaming in through the gaping hole in the deck above, he could see that the bed was covered with broken glass and wooden framing.
He shouted, "Mary," but there came no reply. He frantically pulled the wood off the bed, digging down to reach the blankets. Then he heard his wife's soft sobbing. He pulled the blanket back. She was holding both children, who looked frightened beyond tears or speech.
“James?”
“Thank God that you are all alive.”
“Is the ship sinking?”
“No," he replied, not sure that it was true either. "We'll be all right." He ran to the locker and pulled out dry blankets and spread them across the bed. He had to try to keep Mary and the children warm.
“Walter," he yelled, calling for steward, and was both gratified and a bit surprised when he heard the steward's reply.
“Yes, captain?”
“Get some hot soup or tea for Mrs. Barker and the children. And more dry blankets.”
He turned back to Mary, pale and shivering, beneath the blankets, her eyes wide with fear. "Walter will tend to you now. I must tend to the ship.”
As he left, he heard Amanda begin to scream. Little Tommy followed his sister's example as their mother tried to calm them. He could hardly blame the children. If he could have, he would have broken into tears himself, but he had no time for emotion until he knew whether or not his ship would survive.
Fred was asleep when a deep roll to leeward nearly pitched him out of his bunk. Shaken awake, he grabbed the bunk boards to stop from falling when, a moment later, there was a deafening roar, the moan of bending steel and the crack of fracturing timber. The ship rolled back to windward and Fred was thrown violently against the bulkhead. Icy water cascaded into the fo'c'sle, as if they were suddenly all beneath a cataract. As the roar and the deluge subsided, men sputtered and shouted in bewilderment and rage. Fred was sure that he was going to drown. The torrent subsided but he was still pressed against the bulkhead.
Then, finally, the ship began to roll back. Several feet of water, sloshing on the deck, was draining out through the cabin door, which was sprung and hung weirdly by a single hinge. Everything seemed twisted and out of shape. The outboard fo'c'sle bulkhead, heavy wood planks over steel frames, was bowed in and broken. Moonlight streamed in through the broken planks in the overhead casting weird light and shadows across the cabin. Sea chests were scattered, some knocked open, their contents floating in the sloshing brine.
Fred rolled from his bunk, knocking into Donnie.
“What hell was that?" Fred asked.
Donnie just shook his head as they both stumbled out on the deck.
The deckhouse was stove in. The boats were gone. Santiago had been lookout on the deckhouse by the boats. Fred closed his eyes and shook his head. Santiago would never make it home to see his mother or sister. Fred suddenly wondered if any of them would make it to Chile alive.
Will hung in the futtock shrouds just below the main top, where he had scrambled after hearing Captain Barker shout. He had seen the wave and was sure that he was going to die. His eyes were closed. His arms and legs were wrapped tightly around the heavy steel cable. The world was rolling over. He no longer hung from the shrouds. Gravity was pressing his body against them. The ship was capsizing. They would all drown. He was sure of it.
Then slowly the world began to right itself again. Up and down returned to their rightful places. He slowly opened his eyes. In the moonlight, the deck was a shambles. Nothing was in its place. Waves were still breaking across the deck. He knew that he wasn't dead only because his muscles hurt and the howling wind was bitterly cold and raw. He still wondered how he could possibly be alive, how the ship could still be afloat.
“Back down to the deck everyone" Mr. Rand yelled. "Work to be done. No skylarking.”
As he climbed down the ratlines, he looked along the deck edge and saw a large lump of canvas that seemed to be blocking the freeing port in the bulwark. In an instant, he realized that the lump was a man. He jumped on deck and yelled, "Help me. Somebody's hurt.”
It was Jerry the Greek. Most of his body was inboard but one leg had washed through the freeing port and the heavy steel flap was slamming down viciously on his leg as the ship rolled. He wasn't conscious but was moaning, which meant he had to be alive.
Will was shoved aside by the mate. "Get a wedge to block the damn flap. Now haul him out. Easy.”
Will staggered back as they carried Jerry to the fo'c'sle.
Captain Barker climbed on number three hatch with the sail maker, Pugsley. The wave had ripped the tarpaulins from the hatches and shifted the deal boards. With every wave that broke aboard the ship, more water flowed into the hold. Number three hatch was the worst.
“Get every tarp we have. We need to seal the hatches or we will all go to the bottom.”
“Captain," said Gronberg, the carpenter, standing at the hatch coaming.
“How bad is it?" the captain asked.
“Close to three feet of water in the holds, sir.”
Pugsley swore behind him.
“Are you sure?" The captain preferred not to believe what he just heard.
“Yes, sir. Threaded a hose down the pipe to block the water flowing down. Got the same sounding, three times at three hatches.”
Three feet meant many hundreds of tonnes of water. It meant the ship floated deeper and had less freeboard. Lower in the water, she was easier for the seas to break over and had less buoyancy to rise up again. She could act more like a half-tide rock than a cork.
“Very good, Mr. Gronberg. If you should see Mr. Rand, send him to me.”
In a few minutes, the mate appeared.
“Mr. Rand, get your crowd to stretch the tarps and make the hatches tight. That is our first order of business. Put any free hands you have on the pumps.”
“Aye, sir," Rand responded. "Captain, I think the starboard fo'c'sle house is stove in. May have to double up on the port house. And the portside pump is sheared clean off the deck. Not sure about the starboard.”
Barker shook his head. "Very well. Get the hatches tight first.”
“And a man has been injured. Jerry the Greek is hurt bad. His leg.”
“Broken?”
“No, sir, crushed. We got him strapped in his bunk.”
“Who did we lose overboard?”
“Santiago, sir. Lookout on the cabin top. He was washed away along with the boats. Wave stove in the deckhouse and swept the cabin top clean.”
“The boats . . . ?" He didn't need to finish the sentence. So now they had no boats at all. All swept away by a single wave.
Once back in the cabin, Captain Barker wondered if Santiago hadn't heard him shout his warning or whether the sailor thought he was safe on top of the fo'c'sle cabin. It didn't matter. The man was dead regardless. No one could survive those icy seas. Barker tried not to think of Santiago or anything other than the Lady Rebecca.
The enormity of the damage was still sinking in. Three feet of water in the holds and one pump gone. All four boats gone. One man lost and other crippled. Who knew how much damage to the deck and the rigging. He'd find out soon enough once the sun rose. In the mean time he would see to his family. The children were still upset and Mary was doing her best to be stoic, but could only do so much. Why had he brought them along on the voyage? It was a pointless thought which he pushed from his mind. They were with him and he would have to do all he could to keep them safe. He wondered if what he could do would be enough.