Passage by Night

Dark Waters (#u9fdb3ba5-1a24-52a4-8420-5ee4dd0c9725)

It was raining hard as the Grace Abounding left the shelter of the harbour and turned out to sea. Manning opened the throttle wide and she lifted to meet the waves with a surge of power that left Joe Howard in his old police launch far behind.

Manning felt strangely calm, pushing all other possibilities from his mind except the one that they would get there in time to do some good. He fumbled for a cigarette and Morrison handed him one quickly and offered a light.

‘What kind of a chance have they got?’

‘Pretty good,’ Manning said. ‘It’ll take a lot to sink that old Walrus and Jimmy carries a full complement of dinghies and so on in case of ditching. He was strict about things like that. Came from his R.A.F. training, I suppose.’

‘What about the reef where they came down?’

‘The one thing I’m worried about.’

Old Saunders removed his pipe and nodded. ‘The sea can play strange tricks out there when the weather gets rough.’

As the Grace Abounding rose to the crest of a wave, a sudden squall hit her broadside and the whole boat shuddered and slid sideways into the valley below.

Morrison and Saunders were thrown violently to one side and Manning grabbed for the wheel as it spun and brought her round in time to meet the next wave as it lifted to meet them.

In the light from the binnacle, Morrison looked sick and frightened. ‘Does that happen often?’

‘Usually not more than once.’ Manning said dryly.

The door of the saloon opened, light flooded out, and Seth came up the companionway carrying a jug of tea and a mug. ‘Man, but there’s a sea running tonight.’

‘You can say that again,’ Morrison told him. ‘How’s Viner?’

‘Sick to his stomach as usual. We might as well have left him on dry land.’

Manning swallowed some of the scalding tea and passed the mug to Saunders. The red and green navigation lights cast a strange glow over the deck and beyond, nothing existed except the sea and the night.

A few moments later, it stopped raining and the moon appeared in a patch of clear sky between clouds that moved smoothly across the sky. The wind died and the squall was over as suddenly as it had begun.

In the moonlight, the sea stretched to the horizon and the Grace Abounding slid across great heaving swells smoothly, her prow biting into the water. Above the roar of the engine, a hollow booming sounded and a white fountain of water lifted fifty feet into the night.

‘What in hell was that?’ Morrison demanded in alarm.

‘A blow-hole,’ Saunders said. ‘Always happens in bad weather. The reef’s hollow underneath.’

Conversation died as they approached. Waves rolled in to dash upon the great, jagged black rampart that towered thirty feet above the sea. An undertow sucked at them as Manning started to turn to port and there was a hollow slapping sound against the keel of the boat. At one side, the water broke into spray, foaming high into the air, while all around, white patches appeared as jagged rocks showed through.

As he throttled down, the steering became increasingly sluggish and they drifted in towards a great green slab of rock. Manning and Seth heaved on the wheel together and they were round the southern tip of the reef and into the comparative shelter of the lee side.

The sea stretched away into the night, surrounding rocks and cays clearly visible in the bright moonlight. There was no sign of the Walrus. Seth opened the front window and Manning switched on the spot and turned it slowly, the beam splaying across the water towards the reef.

Saunders called out excitedly and pointed. Caught in the light of the beam was a section of silver fuselage. Seth ran to the stern to throw out the anchor and Manning switched off the engine. Morrison and Saunders had gone up on deck. As Manning followed, the American gave a cry of horror.

Manning climbed on top of the wheelhouse and turned the spot and his stomach heaved. In the harsh white light, the sea boiled as dozens of sharks plunged and fought like mad dogs over a piece of meat. One great ugly head lifted out of the water, a human arm clamped between its teeth, before plunging down to escape the attentions of three others.

Manning jumped to the deck and ran into the cabin. When he came back he was carrying a Garand automatic carbine. He stood at the rail, bitter, impotent anger rising inside him, and pumped round after round into the gleaming bodies.

It was all to no purpose. The sea boiled over in a white cauldron as those who struggled in their death agony, thrashing the water in fury, became in turn the victims.

Blood fountained up, lumps of raw flesh drifted on top of the water, the sharks twisted and turned until the whole thing was like something out of a terrible nightmare and the sea itself seemed to cry out in agony.

As the last shot echoed flatly across the water, Manning threw the useless carbine to the deck and stumbled below. For a little while, the others stood there looking helplessly at each other and then Seth went into the wheelhouse and turned off the spot.

Manning sat at the table in the saloon smoking a cigarette, an empty glass in front of him. He reached for the bottle and the door opened and Viner came in. He closed it quickly and slumped down in the opposite chair. His hair was soaked by the rain and he looked very pale.

‘What’s it like out there?’ Manning said calmly. ‘Have they finished yet?’

Viner shook his head and buried his face in his hands. Manning half-filled his glass with rum and pushed it across.

‘Drink some of that. You’ll feel better.’

Viner shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I’d rather have a cigarette.’

Manning gave him one and the German lit it carefully, coughing as the smoke caught at the back of his throat. It was very quiet there in the saloon with the spray spattering lightly against the windows.

After a while, Manning said, ‘Where was she going – Miami?’

Viner nodded. ‘She had a letter from the Cuban refugee people there. They wanted her to go on tour in the States to raise money for their organization.’

‘But why go without telling me?’

‘She thought it would be best that way. A clean break.’

Manning shook his head. ‘I don’t get it. I don’t get it at all. There must have been some other reason. Something that makes sense.’

‘All right, Harry,’ Viner said. ‘I’ll give it to you straight. Ever since you arrived on Spanish Cay you’ve been drowning in a sea of self-pity. You seemed to think you were the only one to take a knock over the Cuban affair. And then Maria came along. At least she managed to stop you from drinking yourself into the grave, but ever since, you’ve used her like a crutch. She decided it was time you learned to walk on your own two feet again.’

Manning sat there staring at him, a slight frown on his face and then he emptied his glass, got up and went outside. Saunders, Morrison, and Seth were talking quietly in the wheelhouse and he brushed past them and went and stood at the rail, thinking about her down there in the dark water, knowing that everything Viner had said was true.

Gradually a faint pearly luminosity appeared and he was able to distinguish the greyness of the mist curling up from the water and the dark, silver lances of the rain.

The nightmare was over. The sea lifted in a slight swell, creaming against the base of the reef. The blowhole was silent. The sharks were gone.

The police launch was anchored twenty or thirty yards to port and Joe Howard emerged from the wheelhouse and raised an arm. He dropped over the stern into his dinghy, cast off and sculled across.

When he climbed over the rail, his normally good-humoured face was grave. ‘I’ve radioed Nassau. They’re sending a salvage boat and a couple of divers. Should be here about noon.’

Manning shook his head. ‘There was no need. I’m going down myself.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Harry!’ Viner said sharply as he emerged from the wheelhouse followed by the others.

‘It’s my neck.’

Seth shook his head and said softly, ‘Nothing for you down there, Harry. Maybe a tiger shark or two hoping for something the others missed, but it ain’t likely.’