Reeve said in wonderment, Hes joking, isnt he?
Im afraid not, Admiral.
No wonder the war wasnt over by Christmas.
Reeve sat on the edge of the bunk, tore open the package and took out two envelopes. He opened the smaller first. There was a photo inside and a letter which he read quickly, a smile on his face. He passed the photo to Jago.
My niece, Janet. Shes a doctor at Guys Hospital in London. Been there since nineteen-forty. Worked right through the blitz.
She had grave, steady eyes, high cheekbones, a mouth that was too wide. There was something in her expression that got through to Jago.
He handed the photo back reluctantly. Very nice, sir.
You could say that and it would be the understatement of the year.
Reeve opened the second envelope and started to read the letter it contained eagerly. Gradually the smile died on his face, his eyes grew dark, his mouth tightened. He folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket.
Bad news, sir?
Now that, son, depends entirely on your point of view. The powers-that-be are of the opinion that the war can get on without me. That, to use a favourite phrase of our British allies, Ive done my bit.
Jago opened a cupboard behind him and took out a bottle of Scotch and a glass which he held out to the admiral. Most people I know wouldnt find much to quarrel with in that sentiment, sir.
He poured a generous measure of whisky into the glass. Reeve said, Something else thats strictly against regulations, Lieutenant. He frowned. What is your name, anyway?
Jago, sir. Harry Jago.
Reeve swallowed some of the whisky. What kind of deal are you on here? This old tub looks as if it might be left over from the Crimea.
Not quite, sir. Courtesy of the Royal Navy. Were only playing postman, you see. I suppose they didnt think the job was worth much more.
What were you doing before?
PT boats, sir. Squadron Two, working the Channel.
Jago? Reeve said and his face brightened. You lost an Elco in Lyme Bay.
I suppose you could put it that way, sir.
Reeve smiled and held out his hand. Nice to meet you, son. And those boys up top? Theyre your original crew?
Whats left of them.
Well, now Im here, you might as well show me over this pig boat.
Which Jago did from stem to stern. They ended up in the wheelhouse, where they found Jansen at the chart table.
And what might you be about? Reeve demanded.
Our next stop is a weather station on the south-west corner of Harris, Admiral. I was just plotting our course.
Show me. Jansen ran a finger out through the Sound into the Atlantic and Reeve said, Watch it out there, especially if visibility is reduced in the slightest. Here, three miles to the north-west. He tapped the chart. Washington Reef. Doesnt it make you feel at home, the sound of that name?
And presumably it shouldnt? Jago asked.
A death trap. The greatest single hazard to shipping on the entire west coast of Scotland. Two galleons from the Spanish Armada went to hell together on those rocks four hundred years ago and theyve been tearing ships apart ever since. One of the main reasons theres a lifeboat here on Fhada.
Maybe wed be better taking the other route north through the Little Minch, sir.
Reeve smiled. I know its a hell of a war, Lieutenant, but its the only one weve got.
Jansen said solemnly, As long as war is regarded as wicked it will always have its fascination. When looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular. Oscar Wilde said that, sir, he said helpfully.
Dear God, restore me to sanity. Reeve shook his head and turned to Jago. Let me get off this hooker before I go over the edge entirely.
Just one thing, sir. Do you know a Mr Murdoch Macleod?
Hes coxswain of the lifeboat here and a good friend of mine. Why do you ask?
Jago unbuttoned his shirt pocket and took out an orange envelope. The Royal Naval officer in command at Mallaig asked me to deliver this telegram to him, sir, there being no telephone or telegraph service to the island at the moment, I understand.
Thats right, Reeve said. The cable parted in a storm last month and they havent got around to doing anything about it yet. In fact at the moment, the islands only link with the outside world is my personal radio.
He held out his hand for the envelope which he saw was open. Its from the Admiralty, sir.
Bad news?
He has a son, sir. Lieutenant Donald Macleod.
Thats right. Commanding an armed trawler doing escort duty on east-coast convoys in the North Sea. Newcastle to London.
Torpedoed off the Humber yesterday, with all hands.
Reeves voice dropped to a whisper. No one was saved at all? Youre certain of that?
Im afraid not, Admiral.
Reeve seemed to age before his eyes. One thing they obviously didnt tell you, Lieutenant, was that, although Donald Macleod was master of that trawler, there were four other men from Fhada in the crew. He passed the envelope back to Jago. I think the sooner we get this over with, the better.
The church of St Mungo was a tiny, weather-beaten building with a squat tower, constructed of blocks of heavy granite on a hillside above the town.
Reeve, Jago and Frank Jansen went in through the lychgate and followed a path through a churchyard scattered with gravestones to the porch at the west end. Reeve opened the massive oaken door and led the way in.
The dead boy lay on a trestle table in a tiny side chapel to one side of the altar. Two middle-aged women were arranging the body while Murdoch and Jean Sinclair stood close by, talking in subdued tones. They turned and looked down the aisle as the door opened. The three men moved towards them, caps in hand. They paused, then Reeve held the orange envelope out to Jean Sinclair.
I think youd better read this.
She took it from him, extracted the telegram. Her face turned ashen, she was wordless. In a moment of insight, Reeve realized that she was re-living her own tragedy. She turned to Murdoch, but the admiral stepped in quickly, holding her back.
Murdoch said calmly, It is bad news you have for me there, I am thinking, Carey Reeve.
Donalds ship was torpedoed off the Humber yesterday, Reeve said. Went down with all hands.
A tremor seemed to pass through the old mans entire frame. He staggered momentarily, then took a deep breath and straightened. The Lord disposes.
The two women working on the body stopped to stare at him, faces frozen in horror. Between them, as Reeve well knew, they had just lost a husband and brother. Murdoch moved past and stood looking down at the German boy, pale in death, the face somehow very peaceful now.
He reached down and took one of the cold hands in his. Poor lad, he said. Poor wee lad! His shoulders shook and he started to weep softly.
3
Barquentine Deutschland, 12 September 1944.Lat. 26°.11N., long. 30°.26W. Wind NW 23.Overcast. Poor visibility. A bad squall last nightduring the middle-watch and the flying-jib split.
Some five hundred miles south of the Azores, Erich Berger sat at the desk in his cabin entering his personal journal
our general progress has, of course, been far better than I could ever have hoped and yet our passengers find the experience tedious in the extreme. For most of the time, bad weather keeps them below; the skylight leaks and the saloon is constantly damp.
The loss of the chickens and two goats kept for milk, all swept overboard in a bad squall three days out of Belém, has had an unfortunate effect on our diet, although here again, it has been most noticeable in the nuns. Frau Prager is still my main worry and her condition, as far as I may judge, continues to deteriorate.
As for the prospect of a meeting with an enemy ship, we are as ready in that respect as can reasonably be expected. The Deutschland is now the GudridAndersen to the last detail, including the library of Swedish books in my cabin. The plan of campaign, if boarded at any time, is simple. The additional men carried beyond normal crew requirements will secrete themselves in the bilges. A simple device admittedly, and one easily discovered by any kind of a thorough search, but we have little choice in the matter.
The Deutschland stands up well so far to all the Atlantic can offer, although there is not a day passes that shrouds do not part or sails split and, this morning, Mister Sturm reported twelve inches of water in the bilges. But, as yet, there is no cause for alarm. We all get old and the Deutschland is older than most
The whole ship lurched drunkenly and Berger was thrown from his chair as the cabin tilted. He scrambled to his feet, got the door open and ran out on deck.
The Deutschland was plunging forward through heavy seas, the deck awash with spray. Leutnant Sturm and Leading Seaman Kluth had the wheel between them and it was taking all their strength to hold it.
High above the deck, the main gaff topsail fluttered free in the wind. The noise was tremendous and could be heard even above the roaring of the wind, and the topmast was whipping backwards and forwards. A matter of moments only before it snapped. But already Richter was at the rail, the sea washing over him as he pulled on the downhaul to collapse the sail.
Berger ran to join him, losing his footing and rolling into the scuppers as another great sea floated in across the deck, but somehow he was on his feet and lending his weight to the downhaul with Richter.
The sail came down, the Deutschland righted herself perceptibly, the continual drumming ceased. Richter shouted, Id better get up there and see to a new outhaul.
Berger cried above the wind, You wouldnt last five minutes out there on that gaff in this weather. Itll have to wait till the wind eases.
But that sail will tear herself to pieces, sir.
A gasket should hold her for the time being. Ill see to it.
Berger sprang into the ratlines and started to climb, aware of the wind tearing at his body like some living thing. When he paused, fifty feet up and glanced down, Richter was right behind him.
There was a foot of water in the saloon, a sea having smashed the skylight and flooded in. Sister Angela went from cabin to cabin, doing her best to calm her alarmed companions.
When she went into the Pragers, she found the old man on his knees at his wifes bunk. Frau Prager was deathly pale, eyes closed, little sign of life there at all.
What is it? Otto Prager demanded in alarm.
She ignored him for the moment and took his wifes pulse. It was still there, however irregular.
Prager tugged at her sleeve. What happened?
Ill find out, she said calmly. You stay with your wife.
She went out on deck to find the Deutschland racing north, every fore and aft sail drawing well, yards braced as she plunged into the waves. Sturm and Kluth were still at the wheel. The young lieutenant called to her, but his words were snatched away by the wind.
She made it to the mizzen shrouds on the port side, the wind tearing at her black habit, and looked up at the ballooning sails. The sky was a uniform grey, the whole world alive with the sound of the ship, a thousand creaks and groans. And then, a hundred feet up, she saw Berger and Richter swaying backwards and forwards on the end of the gaff as they secured the sail.
It was perhaps the most incredible thing she had ever seen in her life and she was seized by a tremendous feeling of exhilaration. A sea slopped in over the rail in a green curtain that bowled her over, sending her skidding across the deck on her hands and knees.
She crouched against the bulwark and, as she tried to get up, Berger dropped out of the shrouds beside her and got a hand under her arm.
Bloody fool! he shouted. Why cant you stay below?
He ran her across the deck and into his cabin before she had a chance to reply. Sister Angela collapsed into the chair behind the desk and Berger got the door shut and leaned against it. What in the hell am I going to do with you?
Im sorry, she said. There was panic down below. I simply wanted to know what had happened.
He picked up a towel from his bunk and tossed it across to her. A line parted, a sail broke free. It could have snapped the topmast like a matchstick, only Richter was too quick for it. He opened a cupboard and reached for the bottle. A drink, Sister? Purely medicinal, of course. Rum is all I can offer, Im afraid.
I dont think so. Berger poured himself a large one and she wiped her face and regarded him curiously. It was incredible what you were doing out there. You and Herr Richter, so high up and in such weather.
Not really, he said indifferently. Not to anyone whos reefed main tgallants on a fully-rigged clipper in a Cape Horn storm.
She nodded slowly. Tell me, do you still think were bad luck? A positive guarantee of contrary winds, wasnt that what you said at our first meeting? And yet weve made good progress, wouldnt you agree?
Oh, were making time all right, Berger admitted. Although she shakes herself to pieces around us just a little bit more each day.
You speak of her, the Deutschland, as if she is a living thing. As if she has an existence of her own.
I wouldnt quarrel with that. Although I suppose your Church would. A ship doesnt have one voice, she has many. You can hear them calling to each other out there, especially at night.
The wind in the rigging? There was something close to mockery in her voice.
There are other possibilities. Old timers will tell you that the ghost of anyone killed falling from the rigging remains with the ship.
And you believe that?
Obligatory in the Kriegsmarine. There was an ironic smile on his face now. Imagine the shades who infest this old girl. Next time something brushes past you in the dark on the companionway, youll know what it is. One Our Father and two Hail Marys should keep you safe.
Her cheeks flushed but before she could reply, the door was flung open and Sister Else appeared, Please, Sister, come quickly. Frau Prager seems to be worse.
Sister Angela jumped to her feet and moved out. Berger closed the door behind her, then picked up the towel she dropped and wiped his face. Strange how she seemed to bring out the worst in him. A constant source of irritation, but then perhaps it was simply that theyd all been together for too long in such a confined space. And yet