Free The Sea Between by Carol Thomas Page B

inkwell again, then looked up as he heard approaching footsteps. They stopped outside his cabin and two sharp raps sounded on the door. Gathering up the sheets of Charlotte’s letter, he pushed them into the drawer then glanced at his fob watch, which was lying on top of his desk. It was just after nineo’clock. ‘Let this not be something that will keep me from my bed,’ he muttered beneath his breath. Tonight would be the first proper night’s sleep he’d had in days.
    ‘Come in,’ he called hoarsely. He’d shouted so much over the past three days to make himself heard above the roar of the wind and sea, that he had all but lost his voice.
    The door swung open a crack and Dan Lithgow’s battered face appeared. He was sporting two black eyes and a very swollen broken nose. ‘Can you come below deck, cap’n?’ he said in thick nasal tones. ‘Some of the cargo’s shifted.’
    With a sigh, Richard scraped back his chair and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Which cargo, Dan?’
    ‘The cast-iron machinery parts—three or four big crates.’
    Richard gave Dan a puzzled look, then said sharply, ‘I checked those crates only yesterday.’ The holding ropes had slackened off and he’d issued orders for them to be tightened up. ‘Who re-roped them?’ Whoever had done it hadn’t done a very good job by the sound of it.
    ‘Nobody did, cap’n,’ Dan admitted apologetically. ‘I told Enoch to do it, but before he could make a start he was summoned on deck to help secure the sail that was breaking free. It took every man aboard to secure it, as you know, and in the bedlam the crates were overlooked.’
    Richard breathed out a long, weary sigh. Dan was right—it had been bedlam. Men rushing back and forth, hauling on ropes, straining against the fury of the wind, desperately trying to save the blustering sail, while huge seas swept over the decks. It was a miracle no one had been washed over the side. It had taken close on two hours to make the sail fast, by the end of which every man aboard was thoroughly spent, himself included. It was easy to see how the crates had come to be overlooked.
    ‘All right, Dan.’ Richard nodded and limped over to him. ‘No harm done, I expect.’ Save the loss of a few more hours’ sleep.
    ‘How’s the leg, cap’n?’ Dan asked.
    ‘Sore,’ Richard replied. ‘Is there much water in the hold?’
    ‘It’s awash,’ Dan said.
    Richard nodded. It was the answer he’d expected. ‘Who’s manning the pumps?’
    ‘Robert and Enoch.’
    ‘Is the block and tackle below?’
    ‘Aye, and some chains.’
    ‘Good,’ Richard said. Dan was a good man, the best first mate he’d ever had.
    Two hours later, the displaced crates had been successfully manoeuvred back into place and the ship was on an even keel again. One of the pumps, however, was being bloody-minded and refusing to work properly.
    ‘Shall I try dismantling it?’ Tom suggested.
    Richard nodded. ‘I think you’ll have to.’ He glanced down at the water slopping around his boots and mentally ran through his cargo list, assessing how much the load would suffer if the seawater got to it for any length of time.
    While Tom Smith, the ship’s carpenter and general maintenance man, set about taking the pump to pieces, Richard moved over to the wall and leaned against it, taking the weight off his right leg. It was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and every now and again a needle-sharp pain would shoot through it and bring him out in a sweat. He watched Tom for a while, then, giving in to weariness, closed his eyes. He was feeling slightly dizzy, partly from the pain in his leg but mostly from lack of sleep. His thoughts started to drift to Hobart Town, the last port of call before Auckland. Should he anchor there for two nights, perhaps? He’d been planning on stoppingfor only one, just long enough to take on fresh supplies, but maybe he should make it two nights. The ship was in need of a few minor repairs and the