Jack let go of the spar and dived out of the block-and-tackle's path.
He arced across the sky, Ginsel straining to hold him on the other end of
the tie-rope. Jack crashed into the rigging on the far side of the foremast and
looped his arm through the ropes, holding on for all his life was worth.
The block and tackle now dropped straight towards Ginsel. Barely
missing him, it struck Sam who was standing right behind him. The
unfortunate sailor was sent spinning into the sea.
'Sam…!' Jack cried out, hurriedly clambering down the rigging after
him.
Back on deck, he ran to the rail but could only watch helplessly as Sam
struggled against the mountainous waves, disappearing and reappearing
until, with a pitiful scream, he was dragged under for a final time.
Jack turned despondently to the Bosun, who had joined him at the rail.
'There ain't nothing you can do, boy. Grieve for him in the morning, if
we make it,' said the Bosun.
Noting the look of despair in Jack's face, the Bosun softened slightly.
'You did well up there, boy. Now go and see your father – he's in his
cabin with the Captain.'
Jack bolted for the companionway, thankful to escape the raging tempest.
Within the belly of the ship, the storm felt less of a threat, its unrestrained
fury above becoming a muffled howl below. Jack weaved his way through
the bunks to his father's berth in the stern and quietly entered the small,
low-beamed room.
His father was bent over a desk, studying a set of sea charts with the
Captain.
'Pilot, it's in your hands to get us out of this!' barked the Captain,
pounding the desk with his fist. 'You said you knew these waters! You said
we'd make landfall two weeks ago! Two weeks ago! By the hand of God, I
can sail this ship in any storm but I've got to know where to damn well go!
Perhaps there are no Japans, eh? It could all be legend. A cursed Portuguese
deception designed to ruin us.'
Jack, like every other sailor on board, knew about the fabled islands of
Japan. Full of unfathomable riches and exotic spices, a trading mission to
the Japans would make wealthy men of them all, but so far only the
Portuguese had ever set foot on the islands and they were determined to
keep the route secret.
'The Japans exist, Captain,' said John Fletcher, calmly opening a large
leatherbound notebook. 'My rutter says they exist between latitudes thirty
and forty north. By my calculations, we're only a few leagues off the coast.
Look here.'
John pointed to a crudely drawn map on a page within the rutter.
'We're in striking distance of the Japanese port of Toba – here. That's
several hundred leagues off our trading destination, Nagasaki. So you can
see, Captain, the storm has blown us way off course. But that's not our only
problem – I'm told this whole coastline's rife with pirates. Toba's not a
friendly port so they'll probably think we're pirates too. And worse, another
pilot in Bantam informed me that Portuguese Jesuits have set up a Catholic
church there. They'll have poisoned the minds of the locals. Even if we
made it ashore, we'd be slaughtered as Protestant heretics!'
There was a deep boom from within the bowels of the ship, followed by
the groaning of timbers as a vast wave peeled along the side of the
Alexandria.
'In a storm such as this, Pilot, we've little choice but to make for land,
whatever the cost. It may be a choice between the devil and the deep blue
sea, John, but I'd prefer to take our chances with a Jesuit devil!'
'Captain, I've another suggestion. According to my rutter, there are some
sheltered bays two miles south of Toba. They'll be safer, more secluded,
though their access is made treacherous by these reefs.'
Jack watched as his father pointed to a small series of jagged lines etched
on to the map.
The Captain's fierce eyes bored into John's. 'You think you can get us
through?'
John put his hand on the rutter. 'If God be on our side, yes.'
As the Captain turned to leave, he caught sight of Jack. 'You'd better
hope your father's right, boy, the life of this ship and its crew are in his
hands.'
He swept past, leaving Jack and his father alone.
John carefully wrapped a protective oilskin round his rutter and walked
over to a small bunk in the corner of the cabin. He lifted the thin mattress
and slid back a hidden compartment into which he placed the rutter and
clicked it shut.
'Remember, Jack, it's our little secret.' He gave Jack a conspiratorial
wink as he patted the mattress back flat. 'This rutter's far too valuable to
leave lying around. As soon as anyone hears we've reached the Japans, they
will know there's one on-board.'
When Jack didn't reply, he studied his son with concern. 'How are you
holding up?'
'We're not going to make it, are we?' said Jack bluntly.
'Of course, we are, son,' he replied, drawing Jack to him. 'You got the
foresail down. With sailors like you, we cannot fail.'
Jack tried to return his father's smile, but he was genuinely scared. The
Alexandria had met storm after storm, and even though his father claimed
they were close to their destination, it seemed like they'd never feel land
under their feet again. This was a darker fear than that which he had felt in
the rigging, and at any other point on the gruelling journey so far. His father
bent down to look him in the eye.
'Don't despair, Jack. The sea is a tempestuous mistress, but I've been
through storms far worse than this and survived. And we will survive this
one.'
Making their way back on to the quarterdeck, Jack kept close to his
father. Somehow he felt protected from the worst of the storm by his
presence, his father's unwavering confidence giving him hope where there
appeared to be none.
'Nothing like a good storm to swab the decks, eh?' jested his father to the
Third Mate, who was still valiantly wrestling with the wheel, the exertion
sending his face as red as his beard. 'Set a course for north by north-west.
But let it be known there are reefs ahead. Warn the lookouts to stay sharp.'
Despite his father's faith in the direction they were heading, the ocean
stretched on and on, wave after wave pounding the Alexandria. Jack's own
confidence began to ebb away with the sand in the binnacle hourglass.
It was not until the sand had run dry a second time that the cry of 'Land,
ho!' come forth. A wave of elation and relief ran through the entire crew.
They had been battling the tempest for close on half the night. Now there
was a glimmer of hope, a slim chance they could ride out the storm, tucked
behind a headland or within the shelter of some bay.
But almost as quickly as their hopes had been raised, they were dashed
by a second cry from the lookout.
'Reefs to starboard bow!'
Then shortly after…
'Reefs to larboard bow!'
Jack's father began to shout bearings at the Third Mate.
'Hard to starboard!… Now hold your course. Hold… Hold… Hold…'
The Alexandria rose and fell over the churning waves, skirting reefs as it
ran headlong for the dark mass of land in the distance.
'HARD-O'-LARBOARD!' screamed his father, throwing his own weight
behind the wheel.
The rudder bit into the churning sea. The deck heeled sickeningly. The
ship swung the other way… but too late. The Alexandria collided with the
reef. A halyard snapped and the weakened foremast cracked, crumpled and
fell away.
'CUT THE RIGGING!' ordered the Captain, the ship lurching
dangerously under the drag of the foremast.
The men on deck fell upon the ropes with axes. They hacked away,
freeing the mast, but the ship still failed to respond. It was apparent her hull
had been breached.
The Alexandria was sinking!