Chapter Nine: Redbird Down
Pam was about to begin crying for lost Muskijl when Gerbald and Dore emerged, so she held back her tears to show courage to her friends. Each was carrying a variety of baggage. Pam wasn't sure how anyone could haul so much stuff.
"The captain says we may have to abandon ship. Wait beside the ship's boat while I go get my things."
"I will go!" Gerbald told her.
"No, you stay with Dore! I'm smaller and I can move faster—three minutes!" Pam ran to the hatch, and somehow made her way to the deck below without falling.
Pam was thrown against the wall of her cabin as Redbird listed hard again. She hit her elbow right on the funny bone, which is never very funny at all. Gasping with pain, she pushed herself toward her desk. "I have seconds, only seconds," she muttered.
Her trusty rucksack was there already holding her most precious gear. Good thing I thought of that. I wish I wasn't right about things so much. She stuffed her notes from the desk and her pencil box in; everything else was replaceable. Her flashlight was on her bed; she grabbed it just as the boat listed again, this time throwing her to the wet and sloshing floor. She saw her grandmother's walking stick lying on the bed against the wall; sadly it would have to be left behind, there was no way she could hang onto it and get herself back topside. She would need both hands to navigate the dangerously tossing path. She shoved the flashlight into her rucksack, zipped it shut, and shrugged it onto her back. Seawater slapped hard against the small portal. She realized she was standing in eight inches of sloshing seawater now, the ship must have sprung a leak from one of the cannon hits. It was well past time to go!
Back on deck the scene was mayhem. The waves were driving them closer and closer to the rocky shores of the island. Dore was clutching a large wicker basket as if it were a darling infant, while Gerbald helped load the ship's boat, a long pinnace, along with several of the marines while the sailors struggled to keep Redbird alive. Pam could barely see the captain through the rain and darkness. She thought she heard cannon fire again but it was the impact of massive waves on cliffs. Mauritius towered over them like an unfriendly giant, illuminated by eerie flashes of blue lightning.
The bosun arrived, his usually cheery face grim and lined with worry. "We are abandoning ship! All hands to the pinnace!"
The sailors grimly dropped whatever they were doing to make ready for launch. Pam couldn't imagine how this was going to work in these wild seas. She told herself to breathe, and to trust in these good souls who had befriended her on their long voyage together. She was angry, too, but there was no time for that now. She knew she must focus on each moment or it might become her last.
"Come, my friends, get in, get in!" he ordered them. The first mate was holding tight to the line, his face gray with the strain, trying to keep the pinnace steady.
"The captain!" Pam cried, looking back at the man who now stood alone at the nearly useless wheel, buying them what time he could before the rocks could take her. "Captain!" she shouted, louder, frantically trying to get his attention.
He waved them off frantically. "Go! Go now!" His words were barely audible over the crashing seas.
"He will do as he must; you can't help him! Now get in or we all die here!" the bosun shouted. With a firm hand, he half pushed, half helped Pam into the swinging pinnace. The small craft bucked and leaped on its lines. She and Dore collapsed into the boat's bottom on top of the baggage. Gerbald arched himself over Pam and Dore, trying to stay out of the way of the sailors as well as using his own bulk to prevent the women from being pitched out.
They were lowered swiftly into the fast-moving water, which caused them to bounce even more crazily. Around them, the sailors and marines climbed in, readying themselves at the oars, their movements fluid and confident despite the raging waves. Pam looked up at the first mate who was still on deck, having seen them safely lowered. He favored her with a smile, the first she had ever seen upon his thin lips.
"May God be with you, Frau Miller." With a swipe of his knife he cut the pinnace loose.
Suddenly understanding the risk he was taking for them Pam shouted "Thank you, Herr Janvik!" as loudly as she could. The first mate granted her a sketch of a wave before hurrying to join his captain at the wheel.
The nimble craft moved rapidly away from Redbird, more steady now that she was free of the ship and fully manned. They rode fast, carried by the marching swells, surfing along like the canoe in that old TV show Hawaii Five-0. The show's dramatic theme song began to play in Pam's mind, and she wondered for a moment if she would wake up on her sofa in front of the TV, all of this just an awful dream.
"Thank the Lord! The cliffs stop here, there's a beach. Make for it!" the bosun shouted. The sailors and marines rowed for their very lives, silent and determined to beat the hungry sea.
Pam forced herself out from under Gerbald's protective weight to grasp the gunwale. She could see Redbird through the sheets of rain; some of her lanterns were still lit despite the gale. As the ship spun about and rolled precariously, she caught a glimpse of where the enemy cannon had punched a jagged hole just beneath her water line. No wonder she had grown so sluggish. It was a bullet through the heart of her. The captain and first mate were still trying to steer the badly damaged craft away from the rocky point toward the same possible safety the pinnace was fleeing to, but an unseen rock caught her, and sent her over on her side. Pam couldn't see if they had time to leap free or not. The Redbird rolled completely over; the sound of her wood scraping and splintering against the rocks was the screeching music of hell itself. Pam screamed over the gale, her voice lost in the curtains of rain that now mercifully hid the wreck of the Redbird from view.
Their troubles were not over. Sweeping twelve-foot rollers pounded against the narrow beach they were aiming for. Landing would be dangerous.
The bosun shouted to the frightened passengers and crew, "We are going to try to bring her all the way in but it's ugly—if we go over, you'll have to try to make it on your own!"
Pam looked down to see Dore's face was white and filled with fear, a sight that Pam would have given anything never to have witnessed.
"I can't swim!" Dore blurted out, a trace of sob in her voice that brought a gush of fresh tears from Pam's eyes. Thankfully, Dore couldn't see them as they were lost amongst the ceaseless raindrops.
"I can swim for both of us, don't worry!" Pam shouted back, injecting a tone of confidence she didn't really feel. Pam was in the grip of clutching fear, fear of an intensity she hadn't felt since the time she had stood between a badly wounded Gerbald and an evil man wielding a bloodstained sword, herself with just her grandmother's walking stick to defend them. She had lived through that; maybe she would live through this, too. The thought helped quell the worst of her terror.
The pinnace and her frightened passengers sped toward the shore, the white sands intermittently lit by cobalt lightning like some haunted dance floor beneath a spectral strobe. The bosun ordered the men to row harder as he used the tiller to guide the craft over the treacherous waves. Pam clutched Dore, and Gerbald clutched them both, grimly ready to swim if they must. The bosun let out a whoop that had something of joy in it as he turned the pinnace quickly to starboard. Through the rain and darkness Pam could see that the shore at that edge of the wide cove was somewhat protected by a jutting wall of rock, another arm of the same rocky point that had destroyed the Redbird farther out. If they could make it in to the calmer waters behind that, the chances of landing the boat safely would greatly improve; and if they didn't, they would crash against the very rock that could save them.
"Get ready to jump if I say so. It's going to be close!" the bosun bellowed over the storm and hollow booms of the waves slamming onto the shore. The sailors heaved mightily on their oars at the bosun's hoarse commands, now surfing again along the face of an awesome wave, growing menacingly taller as it reached the shallows. The rock wall loomed ahead of them, waves crashing against it in foaming white fury.
"Steady . . . steady . . . Now, hard to starboard, men, heave!" The nose of the pinnace jumped to the right, well away from the fast approaching rocks. The boat bounced dangerously across an area of roiling, white-streaked water deflected from the rock face. "Now, hard port!" the bosun shouted with all his might to be heard over the crashing waves. With a roller coaster flutter in their stomachs they slid over the hump of a smooth swell and into a patch of relatively calm water in the lee of the rock wall. "Brace yourselves!" The prow of the pinnace hit this gravelly section of beach hard, but stayed upright. "Jump to shore, hurry!"
Gerbald pulled Pam and Dore up by their arms and guided them to the prow, Pam leaping first. There were larger rocks amongst the gravel, she felt one scrape the side of her leg, and knew it had drawn blood. She turned to help Dore, still clutching her wicker basket. She landed with a heavy "Ooomph," but managed to stay upright. They were up to their knees in clutching, fast-moving water that almost knocked them over, but Gerbald had arrived, and used his solid strength to keep them on their feet. Pam was towed along by the still very fit retired soldier, her arm in his powerful grip. Soon the three of them were above the tide-line, standing amongst driftwood and the hearty kind of low brush that thrives along the edges of beaches. Gerbald ran back across the gravelly sand to help the men secure the pinnace. The sailors had gotten lines out and were dragging the boat safely up and away from the angry sea.
Pam squinted through the rain at Gerbald and the sailors at work, almost grateful for the ghostly flashes of lightning that played across the scene. She wanted to help them, but how? She realized with relief that she still had her rucksack on and quickly doffed it, fumbling around within until she found the flashlight. She handed the bag to a stunned-looking Dore and said, "Try to find some shelter in those trees just above the beach!" Then she ran down to the waterline, following the narrow but powerful beam through the driving rain. Reaching the men, she tried to aim the flashlight at places she thought would help the most. Eventually, they had the boat nearly to the high tide line, and were tying her to the sturdiest trees and rocks they could find. After securing the craft as best they could, they opened up water-tight compartments containing emergency supplies.
Pam found Dore huddled in a relatively flat area of grass among the wind-twisted shrubs and small trees that lined the shore beneath rows of towering palms swaying like hula dancers in the howling wind. They did their best to help the sailors set up camp, using the pinnace's sail draped over lines tied between trees as a rain tarp. An oil lamp sprang to life, lighting the surroundings in a heartbreakingly warm glow. Pam could now see the faces of the sailors and soldiers she had come to count among her friends. They were exhausted and fearful, but there was relief there, too. They would live to see the dawn. Suddenly, Pam remembered the captain and the first mate left behind. She came to her feet quickly, feeling saltwater still sloshing in the toes of her boots.
"Get up! Get up! We have to search the shore for the captain and the first mate!" Pam told them. The weary men looked at her for a long moment; there was little hope in their eyes. Some of the marines started to stand even before their officer, Löjtnant Lundkvist could growl at them. The sailors stirred, but it was plain they were exhausted.
The bosun's gravelly voice cut through the noise of the raging storm. "Frau Pam is right. Move your arses, you lazy sots! We have a duty to perform." As one, the sailors rose to their feet, stifling groans. If there were any chance of finding the first mate and the captain alive, it must be now.
Dore also stood. "Herr Bosun, do you have any kind of foodstuffs in the boat's stores?"
"Yes, but not much, I'm afraid."
"Then I will stay here and make us a supper. You will all need something to eat to regain your strength after a night like this."
The wet, weary men gave her a grateful murmur of thanks as they shuffled back out into the night's cold rains. Pam favored her friend with a grateful smile as she ducked out from under the tarp. Her doughty Dore was back and working, a glimmer of good in all this night of loss and pain. Better to be like Dore and stay busy, Pammie, because if you start to think too much about what's happened here you will lose it, and not be of any help to anyone. The thought of the captain, her friend, and possibly the beginning of something more, sent a knife of regret into her heart, but the painful slap of the cold, rain-filled gale made her keep moving. Please, oh please let him be alive!
****
The cove was about half a mile long. The gravel turned to softer sand as they left the rocky edge where they had landed. The waves had calmed somewhat, but were still dangerous. They made their way slowly through the darkness, fighting the fierce wind, forming a line from as near the pounding surf as they dared, up to the highest elevation the storm waves had reached. Two men carried lanterns, one up at the high tideline, and one halfway down to the water. Pam, walking between Gerbald and the bosun, stayed as near the rushing waters as they could, scanning the surf with her flashlight. Pam tried not to think about the long-handled spade the bosun carried, and what its purpose might be.
Flotsam and jetsam from the wreck of the Redbird were beginning to wash up on the shore. Anything that might possibly be useful, such as planks and pieces of rigging, the men dragged up to relative safety. A brief cheer went up as they recovered a large cask of potent Swedish schnapps liquor. Upon reaching the far end of the beach they found it ended in a jumble of massive volcanic rocks, making further exploration this night impossible. On the way back to their camp, they found a few more odds and ends, but no bodies, much to Pam's relief. Maybe the captain and the first mate had escaped the wreck and survived, ending up somewhere safe elsewhere up the island's coast. It was a faint hope, but better than none at all.
At their makeshift camp, they were surprised to find a roaring driftwood fire blazing a safe distance from their shelter. The storm had mostly blown itself out, and the rain had stopped. Dore was busy clucking over the old cast iron skillet Pam had given her so long ago. It sizzled delightfully on a bed of coals. The heavenly scent of pancakes wafted toward them, mingled with the fine perfume of wood smoke.
"Good gravy, Dore, how on Earth did you get a fire started in that rain?"
"Oh, that was nothing, Pam. Remember that I was once a camp follower. I have lived outdoors for months on end thanks to that oaf there." She gave a haughty tilt of her chin to Gerbald who returned it with his usual shrug of guilty-as-charged resignation. "I always keep flint and steel in my apron pockets, and I found plenty of dry tinder under all that driftwood. It was a snap!" The last line was in English, and she snapped her fingers loudly to punctuate her American vernacular. "Now, you men gather round and get dry, but don't kick sand on my cakes or I'll have your hides!" There was a murmur of assent as the exhausted men gratefully encircled Dore's bonfire. Soon they were eating the simple pancakes Dore had concocted with the help of that big wicker basket, and the other mysterious baggage she had brought along. Dore was not a woman to be caught unprepared! The pancakes were a little brown on the outside, and a little mushy on the inside, and absolutely delicious.
After dinner, the men with weapons huddled in a group under the sail's shelter to begin a rigorous cleaning process of their weapons and metal tools. It was vital to remove any sea salt from the firearms right away. From somewhere in the infinite secret pockets of his sage-green soldier's longcoat, Gerbald pulled out an up-time gun cleaning kit, which he shared with the grateful Swedes. Pam watched him deftly clean the "Snakecharmer" pistol-grip shotgun her son Walt had given him. His touch was noticeably tender. Pam had seen it before, the fanatical love men had for their guns, but this time, as she listened to the wind whisper through the fronds of the shore palms, she was glad to see it.
The important ritual of gun cleaning accomplished, and with a hot meal in their bellies, they all found places on the matted grass beneath the sail tent to curl up. Despite the chill damp, most soon slept the deep and silent sleep of those who have faced death and lived.
Pam lay awake, watching the fire dance in the wavering breeze still blowing in from the unquiet sea. Under decent circumstances, she would have reveled in spending the night on an exotic island, but now she just felt lost, a castaway in a hostile environment. Even surrounded by her closest friends and a group of highly trustworthy men, a desperate loneliness overtook her. Deep down in her heart she felt she was a woman out of time and out of place.