'Okay, okay,' replied Scannel. 'Let's go and have a look. I have an idea. .' He glanced derisively at Feldman's back where he stood peering through the bridge screen windows. 'You won't be wanting any more speed for the next half-hour or so, will you, skipper? I'm going with these boys.'
He grinned and winked. One could almost see the wince pass up Feldman's back.
I didn't want to have to bluff and fence with Feldman once the others had gone.
I said, 'Please make a round of the ship, No. 1, and check all lashings. Double-check the radiosonde hut. Smit rigged some extra stays to prevent any movement.'
Feldman eyed me oddly. For a moment he glanced uneasily through the bridge windows as if to say something, but then stopped himself.
'Aye, aye, sir.'
He left without speaking. Jubela and I had the bridge to ourselves. Living close to anyone in a small ship at sea throws a heavy psychological burden on one; with Feldman, the burden was double.
Walvis Bay gave a series of three heavy crashes, slewed slightly to starboard and then, under the weight of water, listed sharply over towards the land.
Jubela grunted. The wheel whipped and spun. 'Hold her!'
It was involuntary from me; Jubela needed no coaching in wheel orders.
He said, 'It is as bad already as the night you came back for me — Umdhlebe.'
Twice on this short voyage he had called me that. Twice, since I had met Tafline.
I was tempted to tell Jubela then about the Waratah and the lost airliner. Should the skipper confide to the seaman? I think Jubela would have understood. We talked the same language, he and I.
I began lightly, an appeal to the sense of fun which lies so close beneath every Tonga's skin.
'Those boots of yours are so worn now they're not worth coming back for any more,' I laughed. 'Look, it's only a few miles to the shore. I'd really let you swim this time.'
But Jubela did not respond. He gazed stonily ahead, pretending he could see through the streaming water which deluged the bridge windows.
A curious tense silence came between us.
What strange prescience had choked the Tonga's usual ebullience to sullen refusal to talk? Were we indeed in the presence of that ill-omened, fated ship? Was the influence clearer to Jubela with his highly-developed intuitive faculty?
For the next half-hour Walvis Bay laboured and plunged. Jubela and I said nothing.
Feldman came back, nodded, clasped his hands behind his back, standing correctly where a first officer should stand in a storm. He gave no report of the ship, and I asked for none. The silence became tighter.
The radio warning buzzer went. Since there was no full-time radio operator, the device signalled the bridge when a message was due; if on watch, Feldman would answer.
Feldman nodded again perfunctorily and went.
Even before he handed me the signal on his return, I could tell by the smug, tight purse of his lips that it was of moment, and that I wouldn't like it.
From Weather Bureau and C-in-C South African Navy, Simonstown. Advise storm of unusual intensity south Port St John's and Bashee Mouth towards East London and approaches. Anticipated Force 10 gale, south-west, 60 m.p.h. All shipping northbound from Port Elizabeth to Durban is hereby ordered to seek shelter at nearest port; all southbound shipping from Durban is ordered to make for open sea and deep water clear of Agulas Bank a best possible speed.
I looked up from my first reading of the message, carefully avoiding Feldman's gaze. I saw the light reflect the veneer of sweat on Jubela's neck as he spun the wheel to maintain Walvis Bay's course. He had discarded his leather jacket and there were patches of wetness on his shirt
I read it again.
When .
Waratah's secret lay perhaps within my grasp an hour or two away, I was ordered to get right out of the area as quickly as I could. It wasn't only advice the signal offered: the fact that the C-in-C was included meant business.
'Acknowledge, sir?'
I hesitated. If I said I had received it, they could pin me down later..
I pointed to the superscription. 'It's not addressed specifically to Walvis Bay. It's a general warning …' 'And order,' added Feldman.
‘. . to all shipping. There's no reason why we should acknowledge.'
'We're a weather ship, and we belong to them,' went on Feldman, eyeing me. 'The Bureau would probably appreciate an on-the-spot appraisal from their own people. It could be extremely valuable.'
'They took the decision without asking us,' I replied. 'If we're as valuable as you say, they'd have signalled us before sending out that general warning.'
Feldman was silent for a moment. Then he gestured to the signal in my hand and said, 'What new course and speed, sir?'
I took the decision which had been crystallizing in my mind from the moment the warning message came in, the decision which was to have such momentous consequences for her life, for someone whom I had met for only a few minutes, whose name I did not know.
I said harshly, 'Course, south-west true. Hold her that way.'
I stepped over quickly to the voicepipe. 'Nick? Revolutions for thirteen knots. Hold her that way.'
'I wasn't thinking of doing anything else,' said the surprised engineer. He had heard the tone in my voice. 'Anything wrong up there, skipper? That gyro's not gone, is it -1 fixed it with an improvised spring to hold the platform down against the roll…'
'No, Nick, nothing wrong,' I replied. He was the man I wanted with me tonight, not this lily-livered civil servant behind me. Smit, too, I could count on-already my mind was on what lay ahead.
I turned to challenge Feldman. He indicated the signal.
'Would you mind signing that, sir?'
I scrawled my signature at the bottom. 'You've left the "h" out of Agulhas,' I said sarcastically.
'It's very difficult to write plainly with this sea running,' he answered. Feldman had cleared his yardarm all right. My signature on the message told me what his attitude would be if he were questioned afterwards.
He took the paper from me. 'No reply then, sir?' He was being meticulously correct I could imagine him going to his cabin and logging our conversation, word for word, just to keep the record straight.
'No, Number One, thank you. Nothing at present'
I could detect Jubela's puzzled expression at my change of tone. Feldman must have no more ammunition than he already had.
The sea would give the answer tonight.
Walvis Bay crashed towards the heart of the storm.
I kept her remorselessly at thirteen knots.
The bridge remained tense. None of us spoke.
The tumult inside me grew. Would Alistair come? Would the Air Force risk flying? The warning sent out by the Bureau contained no mention of aircraft. Were the commercial jets flying, or grounded? My guess was that conditions were reasonable over the land; the sea held the key to the weather tonight. Had it not been for Feldman's attitude I would have used the ship's radio to listen in on the passenger jets' frequency to lay the ache in my mind; if I tried it now, it would be another black mark against my name.
Only the event would tell. I must be at the rendezvous in case Alistair came.
Somehow, too, I must warn off the Buccaneer. How? An ordinary signal lamp would be useless. A pilot approaching at nearly the speed of sound would not be able to read it, even if I could train it on a plane travelling so fast and keep it aimed. He would be past before the shutter had clattered out more than a letter or two.
A distress rocket? Walvis Bay carried some big four-inchers which would light the whole sea in red. But could a rocket get into the air quick enough to intercept that speeding jet? Say it rose a mere 100 feet before exploding-how long did that take? How close would the jet be before I spotted it? The Buccaneer might leave the thing half a mile behind by the time it became effective.