Imagine an ordinary yacht skipper asking for that sort of stuff!'
'Somehow, you must'
I looked at my watch. A quarter to two.
'I've got it! By now the Bureau will have had plenty of time to study this morning's weather satellite picture. That'll give us some idea of what's coming. It isn't the whole answer, as you know, but it's worth trying.'
In the old hotel's musty foyer near a glass case of sea relics — huge conch shells, a medieval ship's bottle, a sea-scarred snuffbox whose vignette had been obliterated by long immersion -1 took the telephone call which was to mean so much to us. Tafline stood looking out to the river, past the massive wooden balcony supports of old ships' beams as I heard the portents.
'What is it, darling?' she asked, when I had finished.
She had paled, and I kissed the bloodless lips. 'It's still too early to say. We must get away to sea. At dawn this morning, the Cape had strong wind and rain, and by ten o'clock it was blowing a gale; the pressure went down like a lift. I think the Bureau was delighted to have a mere yachtsman ask such intelligent questions — they were quite forthcoming. The storm's moving east, at a great rate, towards us. But it could sheer off southwards into the Southern Ocean. Then all we'd get off the Bashee would be some strong wind.'
'Shall we know at all in advance?' She, like myself, knew we "had to go, yet we jibbed before putting the horse to that cataclysmic jump.
'From the signs we can, and the signs are at sea,' I answered. 'Here on the coast we should have a north-easterly wind today, and maybe even into tomorrow. You can tell if it's going to be a real buster because the pressure drops while the northeaster blows. Then suddenly the wind will die. Up goes the pressure. The wind shifts like lightning into the south-west, and before you know where you are it's a full gale.’
‘ A Waratah gale, Ian?' she asked in a small voice.
'The right thing would be to signal Port Elizabeth as we go south. Yet one word of me being here in Touleier, in a gale, and they'd stick me landbound in a desert at the farthest spot away from the sea they could find, if they didn't sack me outright. We must get to sea — now. It might take us all night to reach our target area off the Bashee. We can hope for that freshening north-easter behind Touleier until it drops and gives way to what we're really looking for,'
Our ski-boaters had left the village and gone fishing at Second Beach, an idyllic spot at the back of the huge cliff which is Cape Hermes. We hurriedly hired a car and found them on the rocks. They were surprised at our urgency to get to sea, and it was not until the middle of the afternoon that they put us alongside Touleier. They did not seem to grasp the significance of the yacht's famous name, and I did not enlighten them.
'Get the mainsail and jib on her,' I ordered an equally surprised Jubela.
As we headed away south-west, I explained the weather to him. We crammed on the big spinnaker to make time until dark. Later I intended to clear the decks of all loose gear and snug her down in earnest to meet the gale.
The sun dropped behind the Gates of Port St John's, and the forests were silhouetted. Tafline had been below a long time, securing and stowing the galley things and double-checking all lockers.
She had changed from her summer dress back into yachting sweater and slacks when she joined me. Cape Hermes was still visible astern, although the lighthouse itself was masked. She sat by me at the helm while Jubela worked forward.
We continued to watch the disappearing headland. Then Tafline left her seat and dropped on her knees in front of me on the gratings, scrutinizing me as if we had been parted for years.
'When I listened to you on the phone talking about the ins-and-outs of the weather I wondered, are we not dicing with the devil for our lives. Not the Flying Dutchman, but us? Deliberately, presumptuously — us?'
The headland flared brighter, the sun using the river passage for its last rays.
I tried to soothe her fears with more facile explanations of the safety of a small ship in a gale, and how tried and tested Touleier was, except for the new self-steering gear. I did not confess my misgivings about it, nor about the tall racing mast. I had watched Walvis Bay's short stubby foremast go half-overboard, and it had been steel, not light alloy, nor was it under a press of sail.
She did not take her eyes from mine as I explained. Then, as I faltered to a finish, she made the most telling gesture in all my knowledge of our love. She put her cheeks between my hands, and said something to herself as if her heart would break. Then she spread her arms on my knees and buried her face, so that I saw the last sunlight between her short hair and the polo collar. Did she weep? Did she pray? All I know is that she knelt silent a long time. The yacht drove on.
The day ran out, and the partridge sky became feathered with gold.
We took the racing sails off her at sundown and brought up the tough gale trysail ready for use. Jubela and I worked on the self-steering gear and decided to disconnect it. Both of us had shared the wheel in Walvis Bay's ordeal, and we knew what to expect. Our judgment, in an engineless craft under sail, would have to be finer than any automatic device if the same thing happened again.
When we had cleared the yacht, I sent Jubela below to rest. Tafline stayed with me, waiting for the late-night shipping forecast. It would give us an idea of the direction of the storm. What I wanted, however, was more technical data which I could get only from Port Elizabeth, but I dared not signal the met. office there. I shelved my dilemma. The wind became fresher from the north-east; the stars were numberless over our heads, and the sea was sweet
She tuned in.
'There is a gale warning,' said the announcer. 'Strong north-westerly winds between Cape Town and Cape Agulhas will reach forty to fifty knots, spreading eastwards, with south-westerly forty-five to fifty-five knots later.'
The signs are there, all right' I remarked. Tonight every oil rig will be battened down, waiting for the worst'
'Why does the wind switch from northwest to southwest round the Cape coast?' she asked.
'Because of the land mass,' I replied. 'That's why I'm so desperately keen to know what is happening at Port Elizabeth.'
She went on hesitantly, as she always did when she asked me about sailing matters. 'Phillips was dumbfounded when he saw that old-time ship sailing against the wind. Since Touleier has no engine, how do you intend pushing into the teeth of a south-westerly gale?'
The impending storm still seemed very far away that clear, fresh night with her next to me.
I held her hand tightly and explained. 'Safe tactics in a sailing ship and a steamer caught in this sort of gale are two different matters. Two windjammers — the Johanna and Indian Empire-were, in fact, caught on the same day by the Waratah's gale. Both "hauled out" some seventy miles to sea to get away from the tug of the southbound Agulhas Current. They both crossed the Waratah's course, but they saw nothing, and spent ten days in one position riding the storm. That's what the experts thought Captain Ilbery would have done in the Waratah — beat it out to sea as far as he could, to ride out the storm in safety there.'
'You still haven't told me what you intend to do.'
'If the wind freshens, as I think it will, we'll be off the Bashee by mid-morning. While the weather is fair, I’ll get Touleier as near to Waratah's last known position as I can. Then — we'll ride out the gale. See what happens. We can't do more, we simply don't know more. It's really trailing one's coat in a sailer. We'll have to play the game off the cuff, perhaps even heave to, if the weather becomes too bad.'