i
“Snow’s starting to clear,” said Martin.
Evans looked up from the chart table. “We’ll see Arunga when the snow clears.”
A high wind had sprung up during the afternoon and snow flurries swept by them constantly. For a while Martin had been afraid there would be another williwaw, but now that they were so near to Arunga it made no difference. A williwaw near port was much different from one at sea.
Martin watched Evans as he measured distances on the chart with a pair of dividers. Already he was relaxed. He was whistling to himself.
“Looks like we’re going to make it,” said Martin.
“I guess so.” Evans did not look up from his chart.
“That williwaw, that was pretty close, wasn’t it? I mean we were almost knocked out.”
“I’ll say.” Evans stood up straight and stretched himself. He looked at the barometer and smiled. “We’ll have sunshine soon,” he said.
“That’ll be the day.”
“It could happen.”
Evans walked over and looked at the compass. “Five degrees to port,” he said.
The man at the wheel began to swing the ship over.
Martin looked out the window at the whiteness. He thought of Duval. His name had not been mentioned since the service early that morning.
“What’s the procedure when somebody dies aboard ship, when somebody disappears?”
“An investigation.”
“Just a routine one?”
“Usually. It’s different if they disappear and nobody sees them.”
“What happens then?”
“Still an investigation; a little more so, maybe.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“Just what I know. Last anybody heard the Chief was out on deck. Then he fell overboard.”
“I wonder what they’re going to think happened.”
“Nothing happened except that. What makes you think anything else happened?” Evans spoke sharply.
“I don’t think anything different happened,” said Martin. “It’s what they’ll think, that’s all.”
“This thing’s happened before. They know what to do. They’ll be routine.”
“I hope so.”
Evans looked at him a moment. Then he looked out the window.
Martin yawned and watched the small gray waves splatter against the bow. Then the snow was suddenly gone. Weather was like that here. A snowstorm would stop in several minutes. A gale could blow up and be gone in five minutes.
“There it is,” said Evans.
“What?”
“Arunga, off the port bow.”
Martin looked and saw, for the first time, the black bulky coastline of Arunga.
“See that cape?” asked Evans.
“Yes. That the port?”
“That’s the port,” Evans said happily. “Go down and see what shape the lines are in.”
“How long before we’ll dock?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Fine.” Martin went below. Outside on deck the wind was cool and direct. The air was clear and he could make out details of the island mountains.
One of the deckhands came out of the focs’le, the ship’s dog with him. The dog sniffed the air suspiciously and then, satisfied, headed for the galley.
“Is that Arunga, Mate?” asked the deckhand.
“That’s Arunga.”
“I guess we really made it. I guess it was pretty close some of the time.”
“I’ll say. We had luck.”
“That’s no lie.” The deckhand walked back to the galley. Martin examined the lines. They seemed to be in good shape. He walked to the afterdeck and checked the stern line: undamaged. He walked into the salon.
The passengers were talking loudly. Their baggage was piled on the deck of the salon and they were ready to go ashore.
“Somebody would think you people wanted to get off this boat,” said Martin.
The others laughed. “We’ve enjoyed it, of course,” said the Chaplain charitably. “But, we are, ah, land creatures, if you know what I mean.”
“I thought it was pretty interesting,” said Hodges. “Not everybody sees a wind like that.”
“At least not many people get a chance to tell about it,” agreed Martin.
Hodges and the Chaplain began to talk about the trip. Major Barkison, looking almost as young as he actually was, turned to Martin. “I hope there’ll be no trouble about the accident.”
“You mean Duval?”
“Yes. If I can be of any help at all just let me know. Tell Evans that, will you? I feel sure that nothing happened for which any of you could be held responsible.” Having said this, the Major joined the Chaplain and Hodges.
Martin sat down. He knew what the Major thought. He knew what some of the crew thought, too: that Bervick had had something to do with Duval’s death. No one would say anything about it, of course. The crew would be loyal to Bervick. Evans would pretend that the thought had never occurred to him. Of the passengers only the Major appeared to suspect anything. The Chaplain would never think of it. Hodges might.
“When are we docking?” asked Hodges.
“Around an hour or so.”
“Isn’t that marvellous,” exclaimed Chaplain O’Mahoney. “I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “We’ve all appreciated what you’ve done.”
“I know how you feel,” said Martin. “It’s too bad we had to have so much excitement.”
“That,” said the Chaplain, “is life.” There was no answer to this. Martin went into the galley and watched Smitty fixing supper.
“We going to Seward next, Mate?” asked Smitty.
“Some place like that. We’ll have to go to drydock somewhere.”
“Well, I want to get off somewheres. I don’t like this stuff.”
“That’s too bad.” Martin was getting tired of Smitty’s complaints. He went slowly up the companionway to the wheelhouse.
Bervick and Evans were talking. They stopped abruptly when Martin entered.
“How’re the lines?” asked Evans.
“Good shape.”
“We’ll be docking soon.”
Martin looked out the window. Ahead of them he saw the string of tombstone-like rocks that marked the entrance. They were a little over five miles from the rocks.
Bervick opened one of the windows and the wind cooled the hot wheelhouse.
“Look,” said Bervick, pointing at the sky.
“What do you see?” Martin asked.
“Gulls, lots of gulls. Can’t you see them?”
Martin strained his eyes and with much effort he was able to see dark specks moving in the cloudy sky.
Evans looked at the sky, too. “Well, here we are,” he said, almost to himself.
They drew closer and closer to the rocks of the entrance.
“We’ll dock in about fifteen minutes,” said Evans. “We’ll be inside the harbor then anyway. You two go below and get the crew together. Remember we haven’t got a guardrail.”
“O.K., Skipper,” said Martin. He and Bervick went below to the galley. The crew was gathered about the galley table. They were talking casually of the williwaw and somewhat less casually of Duval.
“Let’s hit the deck,” said Martin. “We going to tie up soon. Stand by on the lines.”
The deckhands went out on deck; Martin and Bervick followed them.
Bervick took a deep breath. “When the weather’s good it’s really good here.”
“It’s appreciated anyway.” They watched the men move about the deck, uncoiling lines, arranging the lines for the landing.
They entered the bay of Arunga.
The bay was several miles long. Mountains sloped down to the water. On the steep slopes were the buildings of the port and the army post. They were spaced far apart along the water edge. There were many brown, rounded huts and large olive-drab warehouses. There were cranes on the shore for unloading ships and there were many docks.
“Looks good,” said Martin, “looks good. I never thought I’d be glad....”
“Neither did I,” said Bervick.
The ship glided at half speed through the nets. They were still over two miles from the docks.
“Is the radio out?” asked Martin.
“What? No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it is. No, I heard Evans tell the signalman to contact the shore.”
“I’ll bet they’re plenty curious on shore.”
“Because we haven’t got a mast?”
“Sure, what did you think I meant?”
“I don’t know. We’re pretty late arriving.”
“They know there was a williwaw. They probably knew it here all along.”
The windows of the wheelhouse were opened. Evans leaned out of one.
“All ready to land?” he yelled.
Martin nodded.
“We’re going to the East dock. Tie up on this end. Port landing.”
Martin nodded. Evans disappeared from the window.
Bervick went aft to handle the stern lines. Martin walked forward to the bow. He turned on the anchor winch.
“We’ll put the bow line on the winch,” he said to the deckhand who was handling that line.
The man tossed one end of his line over the revolving winch. When they docked he would draw the bow into shore with the winch.
A crowd was gathered on the dock. They were pointing at the ship and talking. Martin felt suddenly important. He always did when he was at the center of things. Every eye was on their ship. What had happened to them would become one of the many repeated stories of the islands. They were part of a legend now. The ship that had been smashed in a williwaw and had lost her Chief Engineer in a mysterious fashion.
Evans slanted the ship hard to port. They were headed for the dock. Martin saw that he was going to do one of his impressive landings. For a moment he hoped that Evans would foul up the landing. He didn’t, though.
Just as they seemed about to hit the dock Evans swung the ship hard to starboard. Easily, gracefully she glided along parallel to the dock.
One of the crew threw the heaving line onto the dock. A man caught it and pulled their bow line out of the sea. Then he threw it over a piling.
Evans cut the engines off.
“Pull the bow in,” Martin shouted to the deckhand beside the winch. Quickly the man obeyed. The ship stopped moving. Several officers who had been standing on the dock climbed aboard. Martin walked slowly toward the afterdeck. The sea gulls began to circle about the ship.