The Gale of 1929 Page 6

  “What do you think this something you’re so sure of was?” asked the captain. Davis had patience with young recruits. He remembered all too well how afraid he had been to speak to his first captain.

  His easy tone encouraged the younger man. “Well, sir—well, it looked like a small ship, sir! With bare poles . . . I mean masts, sir!”

  “Bare poles is a fine nautical term, young man. I know it well.” Davis picked up the heavy binoculars and scanned the horizon for several minutes. Daylight was coming slow and grey as it had done for days. Seeing nothing but endless seas marching toward his ship, he put down the glasses.

  “We are crossing the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. It could have been a fishing schooner, although she’d be hard-pressed to be here in such a storm. Nevertheless, keep a sharp eye. Keep all her lights on, aloft and a-low even after daylight.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said the man at the wheel, and Davis left the bridge.

  * * *

  Rex Parsons hauled himself up the stairs to the forecastle door. A wan light showed low in the sky. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it was evening or morning. He thought the wind had lulled a bit since last night—morning, then, he knew. He was feverish. He longed for a drink of fresh water. As if to mock his thirst, a cold rinse of water blew over the deck, across his face, and down into the cabin. He never bothered to wipe the salt water away. It cooled his skin.

  Rex stepped outside and closed the door. They had rigged a spanline or manrope the full length of the schooner for safety. The men had to cling to it in order to get about. He would spell one of the others at the pumps. Three men were already there and he could see two more at the helm. No one had called him. He must have dozed off. They had been pumping for days trying to keep against the sea water that kept coming through opened seams. A shiver ran down his back so violently his knees buckled.

  Two days ago his father and some of the others had told him to stay below and try to keep warm. They were sure he had pneumonia or the flu, but Rex kept appearing on deck and kept pulling his weight. His will and the fierce spirit born from generations of seamen kept him going.

  He staggered once as he walked along the lifeline, half twisting around and almost falling to the sluicing deck. Pulling himself erect with the lifeline clenched in his hands, he looked astern of the schooner. Was that a light he had seen in the sky? He walked farther aft, clinging to the line and staring toward the steel grey skyline as he went. He saw nothing. It was his eyes, he figured. How could there be a light in the sky?

  “You should ’ave stayed below, Rex,” his father said when the young man reached him.

  “Dere’s other fellers aboard sick as I am, Fadder, b’y,” said Rex.

  “I’ll go along wit you dere, me b’y. We’ve a sick crew, a’right. Dey’ve lost most of deir strent fer shore. Fer all dat, though, you are the worst of ’em.”

  Rex pointed. “I t’ought I seen a light, Fadder. Off to the nar’wes’, seemed like. I ent seen it again, though.”

  Peter stood by his father’s side. His young face was tanned and burnt with the wind. His full head of dark curls was hatless. He looked in the direction his brother had indicated but could see nothing.

  Thomas turned, too, and saw nothing. “I’ve never seen the likes of this starm, b’ys. Dere’s no let-up a’tall. It just keeps on comin’. The schooner is takin’ an awful poundin’, as you can see, an’ the bite seems to be goan out of the gale, but by gawd, just look at the swells.”

  The boys looked at the scene before them as if for the first time. Their father was right about the wind. It seemed to have a few luns among the gusts, so it had to give out soon. The prolonged wind had disturbed the sea surface for days. The swells humped and rose higher than the schooner, some of their tops foaming white as they passed by. At times they lifted the Northern Light to the very top of the swells as though it were weightless, and the huge seas rolled under her aged keel. And when the schooner settled down in the troughs, it seemed as though the grey canyon walls would surely fall upon her. Even if it stopped blowing now, it would take many more days for the swells to lessen. Even though there appeared to be a break in the wind, it was still blowing hard. The Northern Light had taken a ceaseless battering. The pumps had to be manned constantly now, and the schooner was settling by the stern.

  “I never told anyone before about the dream I ’ad the night before we left S’n John’s,” Thomas said. His voice was lower than usual. His two sons stood closer to hear.

  “You both knows I’m not a believer in dreams an’ tokens an’ such.” Thomas pulled the sogged woollen cuffs from his hands and began wringing the water out of them. “I saw everyt’ing dat’s after happenin’ to us, schooner and crew.” He pulled the mitts back onto his shaking hands and continued. “Not only dat, b’ys, I saw one of the men—”

  Suddenly, an excited yell from Peter cut him off. The young man was looking astern.

  “Dere’s a light, Fadder, look! Oh my God, look! ’Tis a ship. Big as Baccalieu Island, she is!”

  The startled shout from young Peter had turned every head his way. Now all could see. It was a ship, indeed, and a big one, sure enough. She was still a ways off, though, and didn’t appear to have sighted the ailing schooner.

  “Quick, Carty, get below an’ grab a blanket an’ the big kettle!” Thomas Parsons wasn’t about to let their one chance for rescue pass them by.

  Carty Halloway was soon back on deck with a blanket and the black kettle. “What good is a blanket and kettle, Skipper? What’s it fer?”

  “Tie the blanket to the gantline, the one runnin’ up the mainmas’. Tie it on like you would a flag. Tie the kettle to the middle of the blanket an’ hois’ the lot aloft!” Thomas cried. He had no time for explanations. “Fred, get a drop o’ kerosene and douse anudder blanket. Be ready to set it afire on my order!” Thomas said. He was very excited, but outwardly calm. “Get dat distress flag alof’—now!”

  Within minutes the blanket and kettle were pulled to the top of the mainmast and the strange-looking flag straightened in the wind. The black kettle swung back and forth on its handle hanging from its centre.

  “She’s turnin’, Skipper! The ship, she’s turnin’! She’s comin’ our way, by gawd! I can’t believe it, look at the size of ’er!” yelled Dick.

  All hands gathered around the skipper.

  The ship coming toward them rose and climbed the swells, huge and black with a snow-white superstructure. When she reached the pinnacle she was skylined—big as Baccalieu—only to fade away in the sea valleys, till all to be seen were her faintly twinkling top lights struggling with the coming day.

  * * *

  Davis needed a good long sleep, but he knew this would not be the time. He would settle for a couple of hours for the time being. High above the waterline this part of the ship rolled and swayed like a sumo wrestler stalking his adversary. Davis never noticed it. He had removed his jacket and was debating whether or not he should get out of the rest of his clothes. In heavy weather he usually slept on top of his blankets while still wearing most of his clothing. The captain leaned over and turned back the top blanket from his bed. He would try for a couple of hours of decent sleep beneath the covers for a change.

  His tired head had just made contact with his pillow when the intercom above his bunk crackled to life, startling him. Davis pushed a button.

  “Captain—bridge, sir. Sorry, sir.” Davis recognized the voice of his first officer.

  “This had better be good, Number One.”

  “Yes, sir—sorry, sir. We’ve spotted a schooner! Derelict, looks like!”

  “I’m on my way.” He clicked the voice box to silence.

  * * *

  Back on the bridge, Davis stepped lively to the bow windows and peered out.

  “About four points off the port bow, sir.” His mate ha
d anticipated his captain’s unasked question.

  At first Davis saw nothing, even with the powerful glasses. He was about to turn and demand an explanation when two naked, crazily swaying masts appeared on the horizon.

  “Bare poles, indeed, young man!”

  The shoulders of the young man at the wheel straightened with pride at his captain’s affirmation.

  The Baltic rose to meet another oncoming sea. Her great bulk was almost tipping back down when Davis finally saw her. A small, black schooner was settled deep between two grey waves, almost broadside to the gale. She looked tattered and beaten. Remnants of brown sail fluttered from her torn rigging. The Baltic wallowed down the side of another wave and the schooner disappeared from his sight.

  “You may be right, Number One! She does look like a derelict. Steady on the helm.”

  Every member of the watch was at the windows now, staring to see what the captain and mate had seen. The ship took a long time cresting another wave. When she did, the young helmsman was the first to spot the schooner again.

  “There she is sir, and she’s flying a funny flag, sir!”

  “Nothing funny about that flag, my boy. It is a distress flag! Square, with a ball hanging from it.” He thought of reminding the young sailor that he should already know that, but now was not the time. “Skeleton she may appear, but there is life on her yet, thank God! Alter course to keep her on our lee side.”

  “Aye aye, sir!”

  The wheel was spun to port, and taking the brunt of the seas on her starboard side and rolling even more, the Baltic pointed her black, steel bows toward the stricken schooner.

  * * *

  There was jubilation aboard the Northern Light. No one ever voiced it, but within the heart of every man had been a serious doubt of surviving their ordeal. But now this big black ship was heaving into view and their joy of being rescued knew no bounds. Their bodies didn’t feel as cold and their hunger and thirst were forgotten with the sudden rush of adrenaline. The pumps were forgotten as the crew jumped and waved at the approaching ship.

  Thomas Parsons was glad he hadn’t revealed all he had seen in his dream that night in St. John’s. He was about to tell his boys that, in his dream, he had seen one of his crew drown in the open sea. Thank God it had only been a foolish dream. They were all about to be rescued! He looked around his schooner, suddenly realizing he would have to desert her. She would go under in an hour or two with no one manning the pumps.

  Turning his back on his prize possession was a hard thing for a man to do. Parsons couldn’t remember how much sea time he had spent aboard this vessel. He had provided for his family aboard her, had spent wondrous days and many splendid moonlit nights as master on her deck. He had loved it all. The skipper would miss this old schooner. Almost everything he owned was aboard: woodworking tools that had taken a lifetime to purchase; charts of the entire coast of Newfoundland; personal items so numerous he couldn’t even remember them all right now, but which would be missed when they didn’t come to hand later. In the main hold were supplies, many of which could probably still be salvaged given the opportunity. How would he get by without the Northern Light? What would he do next spring when it came time to go north to the fish again?

  The shouts of his crew brought Thomas out of his reverie.

  “Dey’re bawlin’ out to us, Skipper! Wants to know who we are.”

  Thomas had not realized the ship was so close. Standing to windward in an effort to shield them from the worst of the wind, the huge ship rolled from side to side. She was less than two hundred yards away. He could see what he figured were hundreds of people lining the decks. There were several decks. A bellow came from the top one.

  “What vessel are you, and where from?”

  Thomas cupped his hands and yelled into the wind. “The Nordern Light, out of S’n John’s, sir!”

  There was a pause, then: “Are you the captain?”

  “Yes, sir, I am Thomas Parsons be name, sir!”

  Another pause. The ship loomed closer. “Can you launch your lifeboat, Captain?”

  “No, sir, she’s ’oled, sir!”

  The Northern Light’s lifeboat had broken free of its lashings days ago and had suffered severe damage before they secured it again. They hadn’t the materials nor the opportunity to repair it since.

  A longer pause this time before the voice came back. “Very well, Captain Parsons, stand by for rescue!”

  The Baltic was allowed closer to the Northern Light. It wasn’t easy to manoeuvre a ship of her size so close in conditions such as these.

  “Dere’s calm streaks comin’ out of dat ship, Skipper, just look,” Carty shouted.

  Sure enough, patches of water free of scurrying wind stretched between the two vessels.

  “’Tis oil, Skipper. Dey’re pourin’ oil out of ’er. ’Tis smoodin’ the water, by gawd. Must be cod oil,” said Dick.

  Dick was right. The Baltic’s captain had ordered more than 150 gallons of cod oil thrown overboard in an effort to calm the seas, and it lessened the wind action on the water. A lifeboat was readied. Third Officer Walker and nine crewmen were hoisted over the side. A tricky operation, indeed! The ship swayed and fought the heavy swells as the ocean rose up quickly to meet the lifeboat. They were in danger of being crushed against the side of the steel ship, but, looking like a huge hanging spider whose web had just broken, they made it to the water and quickly freed themselves from their davit lines.

  Walker shouted orders to his men. They came to within a few feet of the schooner, but they could get not get close enough for the men aboard the schooner to jump to the lifeboat. The seas were too rough and the lifeboat dipped rail in and rail out of the water. Only the skill of her crew kept her from being crushed against the schooner. Shouts were exchanged between the two vessels. Ideas were considered and shouted. Only one would work. The men of the Northern Light would have to jump into the terrible sea. There was no other way. But only Rex and Peter could swim.

  The lifeboat swung astern of the schooner till she was no more than twenty feet away. A line was thrown connecting the two.

  Passengers safe aboard the Baltic watched in fascination. Some of them shouted encouragement. Some of them took photographs. One of them actually cranked a brief movie scene of the rescue.

  Young Peter was the first to go. He tied the rope around his waist, grabbed the line, stood on the taffrail, and jumped into the ocean. The sailors aboard the lifeboat hauled him alongside and over the gunnels. He was safe. They threw the line back aboard the schooner and the others followed, one by one, tying the line around their waists. All were pulled to the lifeboat.

  Now only the captain and his son Rex remained on the after deck of the Northern Light. Rex grabbed the rope and stepped to the rail.

  “Tie the rope round yer waist, Rex!” his father yelled to him.

  Rex stood on the rail, ready to jump. He hadn’t tied the rope. His father was at the wheel, where he’d been trying to keep his schooner as stable as possible.

  “Don’t be so foolish, Rex, my son! You knows you’re weak. Fer gawd’s sake, listen to me, b’y!”

  Rex jumped without speaking and disappeared from his father’s view. Thomas left the helm and rushed aft. Rex was under the thrashing stern of the schooner and the rope was not in his hands. Only his head showed above the water.

  “Grab the rope, Rex! Oh, sweet Jesus, grab the line, my son!” Thomas yelled in agony.

  The men in the lifeboat shouted. Women from the Baltic screamed.

  Finally, Rex heard and obeyed—he grabbed the thick rope! The sailors pulled and Rex was headed toward safety. Someone aboard the ship cheered.

  Then, suddenly, the rope was pulled out of Rex’s weakened hands and he disappeared beneath the sea. The rescuers frantically pulled the rope back and threw it again. The schoon
er’s stern dipped low. Thomas peered down in disbelief, his face as white as snow.

  The lifeboat rose and fell. Rex Parsons stayed below the sea.

  * * *

  It took twenty minutes of yelling and reasoning from the crew of the Northern Light as well as the men from the Baltic before the grief-stricken father could be persuaded to jump into the sea. He had the rope tied securely about his waist and was pulled, limp and coughing water, to the side of the rescue boat.

  The survivors of the schooner were soon alongside the Baltic. The ship rose and canted above the tiny boat as if at any minute she would crush the puny object seeking her refuge. A ladder was lowered, as well as a cargo net. Men climbed the swaying, webbed steps. Clothing was torn. Bodies were scraped against her steel sides and came away bleeding, but the Baltic took the crew of the Northern Light into her warm, safe bosom.

  All but one, who would forever stay at sea.

  They tried to retrieve the lifeboat, but the seas were too high. After several unsuccessful attempts, Davis ordered her to be set adrift and the Baltic resumed her course for New York City. The rescued crew were warmly received aboard. Captain Davis told them their small schooner was going down just fifty miles from where the Titanic had gone under. Thomas Parsons stood high on the after deck of the Baltic. He refused to change his wet clothes. He even refused a hot cup of tea, his favourite drink. Wisely, his rescuers left him to his grieving.

  There are times in a man’s life when sorrow grips his guts and pierces his very soul. At times like these even the touch of a pitying friend only increases the terrible agony. It is times like these when a man must be alone. This time had come for Thomas Parsons.

  He watched until he was sure the naked masts of the Northern Light wouldn’t rise again. She had gone under. He wondered if she would settle near his son and it gave him some comfort. The Baltic’s lifeboat, which had been set adrift, seemed to be circling the spot where the Northern Light had gone under, as if the small craft was not yet done with her task. Then a huge breaking wave seemed to reach up and claim the settling life boat for its own, and bore it down to join the old Northern Light. Unexplained events like this sometimes happen and are the stuff of sea tales.