Innocent on the run Part 11.

The Llanerin ploughed on through the night and the weather got steadily worse. She was out into the Atlantic now, heading South South West for the Gulf of Mexico, to pick up a cargo of grain to take to Russia. The swells were coming from the Southwest and hitting her on her Starboard Bow, with waves between ten and twelve feet high. The wind was also from the Southwest, blowing 25 knots, but increasing hourly, by the anemometer in the bridge. The ship behaved quite well with the weather as it was, but if the wind shifted around further to the West as it was forecast to do, then things could get very uncomfortable, as the sea would build up with the force of the wind behind it and hit the ship on the beam. At around Three o'clock in the morning the wind swung more to the West! It gradually increased to 40 knots, and the ship started ploughing in to the seas, and rolling heavily. As the bows crashed down into the troughs, the stern came out of the water with the propeller racing, and she slid down the backs of the huge waves, before digging herself in to the seas at the bottom of the troughs. The propeller then drove her forward again and she'd come corkscrewing back, the bows reaching upwards, clawing herself out of the trough, as the wind on the beam forced her over to Port and tried to dip her rails under the seas. Seawater came cascading off the forecastle, racing down the length of the decks before bursting out through the scuppers and back over the side. During the next four hours, the wind increased to 50 knots, occasionally gusting to 60. When Doc came to call Ricky at six o'clock, he couldn't keep himself upright. He hung on to the door jamb as he shook Ricky awake. When Ricky tried to put his trousers on, he hopped around on one leg for a while until he learned how to time the rolls, while bracing himself against his locker. He made his way up to the galley, feeling dreadful. His mouth was dry and it felt as if it was full of fur. Although he had been in bed for eleven hours, he didn't feel at all rested. He had been awake for a lot of the night, sliding about in his bunk. There was a bit of damage in the galley as one of the cupboard doors had sprung open, and some sauces had flown out and smashed on the floor. Doc gave him a cup of milk to drink and it tasted like nectar. He cleaned up the mess and started on his jobs. Doc still had to prepare the same breakfast, even though the weather was so bad and he clattered about, cursing the wind, the sea, the ship, and anything else he could think of.  Nigel came in at his usual time and tried to cheer Doc up with his banter, but all he got was a glare. 'Be like that if you like you old crosspatch, he said. 'I'm sure Ricky will talk to me, won't you Ricky?' Ricky nodded at him. 'He hasn't got time to talk,' Doc shouted. 'There's work to be done.' Nigel flounced out, his feelings hurt. 'Bloody stewards,' Doc muttered. A big sea hit the side of the ship and she gave an almighty roll. Ricky heard water slosh in the mess room and he looked through the hatchway to see what had caused it. He was just in time to see Pete disappearing through the mess room door carrying a bucket of steaming water. There was a puddle on the deck under the tea boiler. Suddenly the frying pan on the cooker slid off under the bars and landed on the deck with a crash spilling fat on the galley floor. 'Keep the bloody thing steady up there will you,' Doc shouted at the deckhead. He bent over and wiped up the mess with a rag before throwing the pan in the sink for Ricky to wash. 'Why do I do it,' Doc asked the cooker. 'Why do I keep sailing on these bloody death traps, cooking food for people who don't appreciate it, and most of the time don't want it. Because you don't know how to do anything else, you silly old sod,' he answered himself. 'You wouldn't last a month ashore, Doc.' A voice said, and Ricky turned to see the Bosun bracing himself in the doorway. 'Morning Bosun,' Doc replied 'what's the weather forecast like?' 'Not good ,' he replied. 'Now then, boy,' he said to Ricky. ‘What’s the most important job in the mess room?’ Ricky grinned. This was easy. ‘To keep the tea boiler topped up, Bosun.’ The Bosun scowled and shouted, ‘Then why haven’t you done it?’ Ricky was stunned! ‘But I did do it. It was full.’ ‘Don’t lie to me,’ he bellowed. ‘I can forgive a genuine mistake if you forget, but I can’t stand a liar.’ Ricky suddenly remembered seeing Pete carrying a bucket of water out of the mess room. He must have done it on purpose to get Ricky into trouble. Ricky mumbled, ‘Sorry, Bosun.’ The Bosun glared at him. ‘Get in there and fill it up now.’ The lad did as he was ordered, fuming to himself. So that was the way Pete wanted to play, was it? When he got back to the galley the Bosun said, 'As it's too rough to go on deck unless there's an emergency, we'll work inside today. There's plenty of washing down to be done.’ Ricky didn't really care if he worked or not, and he was getting to the stage where he didn't care if he lived or died. He washed up the cups and plates as the men used them and balanced them on the draining board before wiping them up. The ship gave a terrific lurch to Starboard, and the last two cups and plates that he'd washed jumped off the drainer and smashed to bits on the deck. 'Don't smash them after you've washed them,' Doc shouted. 'Do it before.' After breakfast, they started washing down the bulkheads around the Port and Starboard alleyways, on the mess deck level. Ricky hadn't realised that there was an alleyway on the Port side, the same as on the starboard. A doorway at the far end of the mess room opened on to the Port alleyway. But he didn't know very much about the ship yet, and in this bad weather, he didn't want to know. If he could have stretched out on the deck where he was, never to get up again, it wouldn't have bothered him at all. How he got through that morning, he would never know. The ship heaved and crashed through the weather, she rolled and pitched, scattering anything that was not firmly tied down or wedged in. One man had to hold the bucket, wedging himself in somewhere, while another man washed down the bulkhead. Water was slopped everywhere, and it became slippery and dangerous underfoot. At 1130, the Bosun called a halt and they stowed the gear away and knocked off for lunch. Doc looked at Ricky's chalky white face and sweaty brow and told him to go and lie down for a while. He staggered to his bunk and lay on it, fully clothed. He was instantly asleep, and some time later, feeling chilly, he got under the blankets. He was awakened by Doc shaking his shoulder.