might have been worried without reason. That would be senseless. I speak to you now because there are things you must do, to help yourselves and to help the ship.’
Josef Simanyi said: ‘She does not steer – that’s right? The waves do what they like to her.’
‘The main shaft to the rudder went soon after seven o’clock last night,’ Olsen said. ‘That was our first misfortune. A couple of hours ago, the cover to one of the forward hatches was damaged, and then destroyed by the high seas. We have taken a lot of water in the forward hold, and are still taking water.
‘These are the acts of Nature. There is also Man to consider. I have to tell you that the crew of this ship have mutinied and have attempted to abandon ship. Lieutenant Møller has been killed in trying to stop this and I myself’ – he put a hand to the back of his head – ‘I was injured a little.’
‘Then we must abandon her too, eh?’ said Josef.
‘No. We do not abandon the
Kreya
.’
Stefan Simanyi said: ‘But if the men abandoned her – what hope do we have if we stay?’
Olsen said heavily: ‘The men panicked. I say this with shame because this is my ship and these were my ship’s company. But of the two senior men, one was killed in trying to cover the hatch, and the other began to rave about doom and death. A crew is a brotherhood, and it needs a head. Without that, it is a mob.’
‘But they abandoned ship?’ Josef said.
‘They attempted. They did not succeed. Their boat was thrown against the side of the
Kreya
and capsized. Not one of them survived.’
The tones were measured and without emphasis; even knowing this already, Mouritzen felt the horror of it sink into his mind afresh. The faces round the table showed that the others were as affected as he was. Olsen was not sparing them. His next words showed that he was not going to spare them anything.
‘I told Mr Mouritzen to send out a new distress signal, of more urgency. He has found that, before leaving, someone of the crew – most likely the wireless operator – had damaged the transmitter beyond hope of repair. The reason probably was that they feared the details of their crimes would be wirelessed back – as they would, of course. They thought they were leaving us to die, on a sinking ship.’
Jones said: ‘Couldn’t we – can’t we – launch a boat ourselves?’
‘Our chances would be small. And now that we have learned of the smashed transmitter, I think we may find they would be nil.’
Mouritzen started. Jones said:
‘You mean – they may have sabotaged the other boats?’
Olsen nodded. ‘It is quite probable.’
Mary said: ‘And are we on a sinking ship, Captain Olsen?’
‘This is how it is,’ Olsen said, ‘with the
Kreya
. She cannot steer, so she must take what the storm deals to her. She has no crew, and no engineer. She is taking water in her forward hold, and has already taken enough to be down at the bows. There is no sign of the weather improving. We cannot call to other ships for help, and the two that were coming to our aid already, no longer have our signals to guide them. They may find us, but the North Sea is large and our course is as the storm wills us. They may find us; they may not.’
‘Distress signals?’ Jones asked.
‘Yes, of course. But they will not be seen far in this.’
‘You haven’t said,’ Mary reminded him, ‘whether or not the ship is sinking.’
Her voice had a tremor, but she showed no visible signs of fear. None of them did, which Mouritzen thought surprising. He was afraid himself, with a fear that, instead of shaking, clutched and squeezed his inmost being: somewhere, deep inside, that which was Niels Mouritzen tightened, concentrated into a core of anguish and terror. It was something else that made his body move, respond. From far away, Mouritzen listened and watched.
Olsen said: ‘From the moment she is launched, a ship begins to die.’ He moved his head to stare at Mary.
Josef Simanyi said: ‘She does not steer – that’s right? The waves do what they like to her.’
‘The main shaft to the rudder went soon after seven o’clock last night,’ Olsen said. ‘That was our first misfortune. A couple of hours ago, the cover to one of the forward hatches was damaged, and then destroyed by the high seas. We have taken a lot of water in the forward hold, and are still taking water.
‘These are the acts of Nature. There is also Man to consider. I have to tell you that the crew of this ship have mutinied and have attempted to abandon ship. Lieutenant Møller has been killed in trying to stop this and I myself’ – he put a hand to the back of his head – ‘I was injured a little.’
‘Then we must abandon her too, eh?’ said Josef.
‘No. We do not abandon the
Kreya
.’
Stefan Simanyi said: ‘But if the men abandoned her – what hope do we have if we stay?’
Olsen said heavily: ‘The men panicked. I say this with shame because this is my ship and these were my ship’s company. But of the two senior men, one was killed in trying to cover the hatch, and the other began to rave about doom and death. A crew is a brotherhood, and it needs a head. Without that, it is a mob.’
‘But they abandoned ship?’ Josef said.
‘They attempted. They did not succeed. Their boat was thrown against the side of the
Kreya
and capsized. Not one of them survived.’
The tones were measured and without emphasis; even knowing this already, Mouritzen felt the horror of it sink into his mind afresh. The faces round the table showed that the others were as affected as he was. Olsen was not sparing them. His next words showed that he was not going to spare them anything.
‘I told Mr Mouritzen to send out a new distress signal, of more urgency. He has found that, before leaving, someone of the crew – most likely the wireless operator – had damaged the transmitter beyond hope of repair. The reason probably was that they feared the details of their crimes would be wirelessed back – as they would, of course. They thought they were leaving us to die, on a sinking ship.’
Jones said: ‘Couldn’t we – can’t we – launch a boat ourselves?’
‘Our chances would be small. And now that we have learned of the smashed transmitter, I think we may find they would be nil.’
Mouritzen started. Jones said:
‘You mean – they may have sabotaged the other boats?’
Olsen nodded. ‘It is quite probable.’
Mary said: ‘And are we on a sinking ship, Captain Olsen?’
‘This is how it is,’ Olsen said, ‘with the
Kreya
. She cannot steer, so she must take what the storm deals to her. She has no crew, and no engineer. She is taking water in her forward hold, and has already taken enough to be down at the bows. There is no sign of the weather improving. We cannot call to other ships for help, and the two that were coming to our aid already, no longer have our signals to guide them. They may find us, but the North Sea is large and our course is as the storm wills us. They may find us; they may not.’
‘Distress signals?’ Jones asked.
‘Yes, of course. But they will not be seen far in this.’
‘You haven’t said,’ Mary reminded him, ‘whether or not the ship is sinking.’
Her voice had a tremor, but she showed no visible signs of fear. None of them did, which Mouritzen thought surprising. He was afraid himself, with a fear that, instead of shaking, clutched and squeezed his inmost being: somewhere, deep inside, that which was Niels Mouritzen tightened, concentrated into a core of anguish and terror. It was something else that made his body move, respond. From far away, Mouritzen listened and watched.
Olsen said: ‘From the moment she is launched, a ship begins to die.’ He moved his head to stare at Mary.
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