it.’
‘What Carling said is true, Captain,’ Stövring said. ‘After the first sign, he told us about the other two. He’s not made it up. He told us about the signs before they happened.’
‘Guesses!’ Olsen said. ‘The kind of guess any maniac might make. All right, we’re in trouble. No one’s denying that. Horses that swim like fishes! There was always a chance, after the steering went, that we should start taking water in the hold. That’s all it amounts to – no more than that.’
‘He told us,’ Stövring said. ‘And after the third sign, death by drowning. We’ve got to get off this ship, Captain.’
Olsen moved forward across the swinging deck.
‘Give me that gun, Stövring, This is an order.’
Stövring brought the gun up. It was only a small movement – the action was still less than threatening – but it was unmistakable.
Stövring said: ‘Tell us first, Captain – do we abandon ship?’
In the back of his mind, Olsen knew that it was the moment to temporize. The key to the situation did not lie with Stövring or himself nor even with the weapon in Stövring’s hand; it lay with the men that were grouped around them. In winning or losing them, he would win or lose control of the
Kreya
; and he had only to temporize to win.
The act was beyond him. He shouted:
‘This ship is sound, Stövring, and I am its Captain! The
Kreya
will not be abandoned. I will take this ship into Copenhagen harbour and it depends on me whether you go above deck or below deck, in irons.’
‘You call Carling a maniac,’ Stövring said. ‘You are the maniac, Captain Olsen. This ship isn’t going to Copenhagen any more. She’s going where the first
Kreya
went, and the second. She’s going to the bottom. But we’re not going with her.’
Olsen had been making his way slowly towards Stövring; the gun now was pointed roughly towards his knees. The
Kreya
listed to starboard again, and the new wave hung over her. As it came down, Olsen half sprang, half flung himself forwards, to wrest the weapon from Stövring’s hand. But Stövring was alert to the move, and on balance. He caught Olsen easily, held him with one hand, and then threw him back. Olsen’s head hit the edge of the hatch, and he lost consciousness.
----
Water lapped against the back of Olsen’s head; discomfort preceded identity. The sense of pain came afterwards, spreading a cold fire at the base of his skull. The ship rolled, and the water lapped away from him. He struggled to get up. The cold fire sharpened, but he made it.
At the other end of the deck a tall figure was searching in the shadows. Olsen recognized Mouritzen, and called to him. Mouritzen came down to him along the sloping deck.
‘I was looking for you,’ Mouritzen said. ‘I thought they’d pitched you overboard.’
‘Where are they?’ Olsen asked. ‘What’s happening?
‘They’re launching the No. 2 boat.’
‘How many?’
‘All the hands. Stövring’s in charge. They’ve rounded them all up. They’ve taken Ib with them, too.’
‘Thorsen? Møller?’
Mouritzen shook his head. ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Bernard is dead.’
‘How?’
‘He tackled Stövring when he went down to the engine room, I suppose. I found him there with a bullet in him.’
‘He was a bigger man than I,’ Olsen said. He brooded on this for a moment. ‘The passengers?’
‘They’ve left the passengers.’
Olsen roused himself. ‘They may not have got her off yet.’
They had not. The davits were swung out, though, and all but two of the men were aboard. One of the two was Stövring. He flourished the automatic as Olsen came up on the launching deck, with Mouritzen behind him.
‘Keep away, Captain. You may be less lucky next time.’
Olsen spoke, not to him but to the men in the boat.
‘Stövring is guilty of mutiny and murder,’ he shouted. ‘You still have a chance to disown him. It’s that or prison.’
The large figure of Carling stood up in the
‘What Carling said is true, Captain,’ Stövring said. ‘After the first sign, he told us about the other two. He’s not made it up. He told us about the signs before they happened.’
‘Guesses!’ Olsen said. ‘The kind of guess any maniac might make. All right, we’re in trouble. No one’s denying that. Horses that swim like fishes! There was always a chance, after the steering went, that we should start taking water in the hold. That’s all it amounts to – no more than that.’
‘He told us,’ Stövring said. ‘And after the third sign, death by drowning. We’ve got to get off this ship, Captain.’
Olsen moved forward across the swinging deck.
‘Give me that gun, Stövring, This is an order.’
Stövring brought the gun up. It was only a small movement – the action was still less than threatening – but it was unmistakable.
Stövring said: ‘Tell us first, Captain – do we abandon ship?’
In the back of his mind, Olsen knew that it was the moment to temporize. The key to the situation did not lie with Stövring or himself nor even with the weapon in Stövring’s hand; it lay with the men that were grouped around them. In winning or losing them, he would win or lose control of the
Kreya
; and he had only to temporize to win.
The act was beyond him. He shouted:
‘This ship is sound, Stövring, and I am its Captain! The
Kreya
will not be abandoned. I will take this ship into Copenhagen harbour and it depends on me whether you go above deck or below deck, in irons.’
‘You call Carling a maniac,’ Stövring said. ‘You are the maniac, Captain Olsen. This ship isn’t going to Copenhagen any more. She’s going where the first
Kreya
went, and the second. She’s going to the bottom. But we’re not going with her.’
Olsen had been making his way slowly towards Stövring; the gun now was pointed roughly towards his knees. The
Kreya
listed to starboard again, and the new wave hung over her. As it came down, Olsen half sprang, half flung himself forwards, to wrest the weapon from Stövring’s hand. But Stövring was alert to the move, and on balance. He caught Olsen easily, held him with one hand, and then threw him back. Olsen’s head hit the edge of the hatch, and he lost consciousness.
----
Water lapped against the back of Olsen’s head; discomfort preceded identity. The sense of pain came afterwards, spreading a cold fire at the base of his skull. The ship rolled, and the water lapped away from him. He struggled to get up. The cold fire sharpened, but he made it.
At the other end of the deck a tall figure was searching in the shadows. Olsen recognized Mouritzen, and called to him. Mouritzen came down to him along the sloping deck.
‘I was looking for you,’ Mouritzen said. ‘I thought they’d pitched you overboard.’
‘Where are they?’ Olsen asked. ‘What’s happening?
‘They’re launching the No. 2 boat.’
‘How many?’
‘All the hands. Stövring’s in charge. They’ve rounded them all up. They’ve taken Ib with them, too.’
‘Thorsen? Møller?’
Mouritzen shook his head. ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Bernard is dead.’
‘How?’
‘He tackled Stövring when he went down to the engine room, I suppose. I found him there with a bullet in him.’
‘He was a bigger man than I,’ Olsen said. He brooded on this for a moment. ‘The passengers?’
‘They’ve left the passengers.’
Olsen roused himself. ‘They may not have got her off yet.’
They had not. The davits were swung out, though, and all but two of the men were aboard. One of the two was Stövring. He flourished the automatic as Olsen came up on the launching deck, with Mouritzen behind him.
‘Keep away, Captain. You may be less lucky next time.’
Olsen spoke, not to him but to the men in the boat.
‘Stövring is guilty of mutiny and murder,’ he shouted. ‘You still have a chance to disown him. It’s that or prison.’
The large figure of Carling stood up in the
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