6

The Sailor Who Feared the Sea

The Charon was lifted by the heaving water, and then slammed down into a trough between two waves. The sea thumped against her hull and she shuddered like a dog shaking itself. On the bridge, Tree-Trunk looked out through the thick glass of the window, a cigar clenched between his teeth. The huge, tattooed Samoan was wearing a yellow oilskin and had a woman’s fur hat jammed on top of his head.

This was the worst storm he’d seen in the Mediterranean for many years. The waves were 15 to 20 feet high and rain thrashed relentlessly down on to the surface of the water, tearing at it, and throwing salt spray into the wind. All the colour had been drained from the day; sea and sky were the same ugly slate grey. It was four in the afternoon but it was almost as dark as night. The temperature had dropped to winter levels.

All in all, it was a filthy day.

Another wave reared up and the vessel turned into it, sending a wall of water crashing over her bows.

To an ordinary man the churning sea would have seemed to be a formless mass, but the Samoan could read shapes in it. He had learnt to paddle a canoe when he was four years old and had signed on to the crew of a whaling ship when he was eleven. Salt water was in his veins. He understood the sea and could predict its furious movements. An even bigger wave took the ship now, and he braced himself as the Charon lurched beneath his feet, seeming to hang in mid-air for a moment before thudding down against a solid mass of water. Tree-Trunk made a small adjustment to the controls and shifted his cigar to the opposite corner of his mouth, all the while staring dead ahead. The gusting wind now changed direction and rain whipped against the windows with a noise like rattling pebbles.

Tree-Trunk scratched his armpit and yawned. She could take it. The Charon was built to withstand anything the elements could hurl at her. She was small and tough and easily shouldered the storm, chugging resolutely through the boiling water. But they were making slow progress. Tree-Trunk had been standing here battling the storm for several hours, and it looked like he might be here for several more. As fast as they moved forward they were battered back and they would be using up a lot of fuel.

The noise of the wind was deafening as it howled all about the ship, drumming against her sides as if it was trying to get in. But beneath the cacophony the Samoan could hear the ship’s engine steadily throbbing down below. And that was a very reassuring sound. From the outside the Charon looked like a clapped-out old tramp steamer. But it was a deception. She was fitted with a fast and powerful steam turbine engine and could reach a top speed of 35 knots. The turbine had enough muscle to drive a vessel twice this size. The Charon may have looked fat and slow and solid, but she could outrun almost any other ship in the deep ocean.