rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter Nineteen
‘Secure the rigging.’ The Captain’s voice was half carried away by the wind, his orders sounding like an exaggerated whisper.
Will slipped across the treacherous deck as the ship rolled from side to side, trying desperately to keep his feet, knowing one mistake would be all it took to plunge him into the stormy sea.
‘More hands to the wheel,’ the First Mate shouted.
Will was close by. He struggled up the few steps and grabbed hold of an empty spoke, immediately feeling the power of the sea beneath them.
‘Hard to starboard.’
He responded immediately, throwing his body weight against the wheel with the two other men. The wheel barely budged. He dug his heels in and pushed against the sturdy spokes until he thought the muscles in his arms would burst.
‘Merciful Lord,’ the First Mate whispered.
Will looked up and knew he was about to die. They were heading into the biggest wave he’d ever seen and they were side on. There was no way a single man was going to survive this.
‘Brace yourselves men,’ the Captain shouted. ‘Brace for impact.’
Will gripped the wheel tightly and watched as the wave began its descent. Thousands of tons of water against one insignificant little ship.
When the water hit, the force knocked all the breath out of him. His hands slipped from the wheel and he was tossed into the blackness as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. His lungs burned as his body screamed for air, but Will knew one single inhalation would be the death of him. Instead he tried to orientate himself, allowing his body’s natural compass to turn him the right way up before swimming for the surface. He broke through and immediately sucked the vital oxygen his body so sorely needed into his lungs before being buffeted by another wave and disappearing once again under the water.
He struggled back to the surface and started kicking off his shoes, knowing the extra weight could be the difference between survival and a watery grave. A good distance away he could see the boat, resting at an unnatural angle and sinking lower into the water every second. Nearby men were screaming in fear and shouting for help—most of the sailors could not swim despite a lifetime spent in such close proximity to the water. One man was only a few feet from him, panicking and thrashing around. Will knew if he got too close the man could take him down with him, but he couldn’t leave a fellow human being in such fear. He grabbed a piece of driftwood and swam the few strokes over to the drowning man.
‘Take this,’ he shouted, thrusting the plank at the sailor.
The sailor grabbed hold of it gratefully and stopped shouting for a few seconds.
‘We should strike out for land,’ Will said when his new companion was a little calmer.
‘It’s miles away. We’ll never make it.’
‘We have to try.’
‘The Navy will send a boat. They’ll come to rescue us.’
They probably would send a boat, but it would be far too late. Everyone who had survived the initial storm would be dead from exposure by then. The Caribbean waters might be balmy during the day, but at night with stormy skies they didn’t make for comfortable swimming.
‘Land’s only a couple of miles away. We’ll make it, I promise. It could be hours before the Navy even knows the ship has sunk.’
‘I’m staying here. If you’re mad enough to try and swim for it, then good luck to you.’
Will recognised the obstinate look in the sailor’s eyes and decided to try to persuade the other men. He swam slowly back towards the boat, carefully dodging the bobbing debris washed from the deck when the wave had hit. He thought there were maybe a few more than a dozen men visible in the water and silently hoped the rest of the crew hadn’t suffered before they had died.
‘We need to swim for shore,’ Will called as he approached a group of four men. They were all clutching on to buoyant pieces of wood, the colour drained from their faces. At first he got no response and wondered if his suggestion had been carried away by the wind.
‘We can’t stay here.’ He tried again, ‘We’ll die.’
The men all looked at him as though he were mad.
‘Shore’s miles away,’ one sailor said, ‘We’ll never make it.’
‘You’re mad,’ another shouted, ‘We wouldn’t be able to cover even half the distance.’
‘We can’t stay here, I honestly think we can make it. If we don’t start moving, the cold will get to us and we’ll die of exposure before anyone comes to rescue us.’
Will could see his pleas were not getting through to the group of men, but he didn’t want to give up, knowing if he left them behind the sailors would all be dead in a couple of hours.
He swam closer to one of the sailors, a man he’d shared a few conversations with on the voyage, hoping to reason with him individually.
‘Jim,’ Will said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.
He wasn’t expecting the reaction he got. Jim lashed out, his hand catching Will on the forehead. Luckily it was a glancing blow, but he felt stunned all the same.
‘Leave me alone,’ Jim yelled, pushing Will even further from him. ‘Go off and die if that’s what you want, but don’t insist on bringing us along to drown with you.’
Making sure he was out of arm’s reach from all the men, Will raised his voice and called out, ‘I’m going to try to swim for shore, I’m sure we can make it. If anyone would like to come with me, I promise I will do my best to get us to safety.’
There was no response. He could see everyone had heard him, their faces were turned towards him as he spoke, but no one moved.
He was torn. Deep down Will knew if he stayed there with the rest of the survivors they would all die. Soon the cold would seep in and slowly their bodies would start to shut down. One by one they would slip unconscious, then slide under the water. He knew he had a chance of survival if he swam for the shore. Telling himself he’d given the crew the option of joining him, he reluctantly