Innocent on the run. Part 34.

Chapter 12. Ricky came out of the cinema at eight o'clock after watching the show twice. He went into a burger bar and ate two burgers with a bottle of coke. Then, on his way to the docks he stopped in a delicatessen and bought bread, meat and cheese, and three bottles of coke. He was feeling great, happy to be doing something which might be the start of his trip home. It was nine o'clock by the time he'd walked to the docks, but the ship was still there, which made him feel better still. She was loaded, as all the trucks and dockers had gone. The gangway was still down and there was no one on deck. He waited in the alleyway across from the ship, keeping it under observation, hoping that there was not a watchman on deck somewhere, hidden from view. The cook came out from the after accommodation in his white apron, and leaned over the rails, smoking a cigarette. He was a big black man with a fat stomach, and he puffed away on his cigarette for a few minutes, looking down at the water. After a while he threw the lighted end into the water and went back inside. Ricky stayed where he was for another hour, but there was no further sign of movement on deck. It was getting dusk when he decided that it was now or never. Scanning the midships windows for anyone looking out, he quickly walked across to the gangway and climbed up to the deck. He hoped that to any casual observer, he would appear to be just another crew member joining his ship, carrying his bag. Turning aft, he walked to the accommodation, then crossed in front of the bulkhead to the Port side. He climbed the ladder up to the boat deck and stopped at the Port lifeboat. Untying the canvas cover at one end, he slid his bag into the boat, then hoisted himself up on the gunwale and slid in after it. He peered out from underneath the canopy, but there was no one around, so he fastened the canvas down again as well as he could from inside the boat. There was plenty of room in the boat, and he lay down on the bottom boards, putting his legs underneath the wooden seats. His bag he slid under his head and neck for a pillow, and he could hear the steady growl of the generators, far below him in the engine room, amplified by the thin steel of the decks. He was ecstatic. At last he was on his way. Just a few weeks on this old tub, across the Atlantic, and it would be back to good old U.K. He felt safe at last. The British crew would treat him as a bit of a joke. A stowaway, something of a novelty. He could see them now, gathering around him, slapping him on the back and laughing at his story of getting drunk at the party and missing his ship. The rest of his escapades he would keep to himself, there was no reason to tell them anything. It was quiet outside the boat, and he lay in one position until he became stiff with cramp, so had to change positions to ease the ache in his body. He looked at his watch, it was nearly midnight. He must have dozed off shortly after, because he was awakened by the noise of the crew lifting the gangway and thumping it down on deck. Faint voices came filtering through to him, then a roar which made him jump out of his skin. It was the main engine starting up and after the initial high speed clatter, it settled down to a steady pulsating beat. After what seemed an age, the engine noise increased and the ship got slowly under way, manoeuvring out of her berth. She crept out of the docks and made her way out into the channel, where the engine note increased as the Captain put her into Full Ahead. Ricky was delighted. He almost gave a shout of joy, but stifled it at the last moment. It felt great to be on his way home, and he lay in his cramped position, dreaming of his homecoming. It would be a great shock to his friends and family when he recounted the experiences that he'd been through. Of course, he wouldn't be able to tell them the whole truth, they'd never believe him. How could anyone believe that three desperate criminals had been so incompetent as to get blind drunk, forget to lock him up and then pass out giving him the opportunity to escape. What nonsense! they would say. How could they believe that he'd been chased around Galveston, shot at and nearly killed. Imagination, they would think. Yes, it was too incredible for them to understand. But truth is very often stranger than fiction, he'd heard somewhere. Anyway, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it, and he dozed off again, happy that he was out of danger. He woke with a start ! What was that? A noise of some kind had woken him and he listened , holding his breath. There were voices, and he could hear them plainly. Two men were talking together and laughing at some joke. Ricky looked at his watch, it was eight twenty. He dare not move in case the men heard him. They were very close. By their voices, they were not English. They had the drawl of some West Indian tongue. He'd heard that way of talking many times around the docks of his home town. It was the way the crews from the fruit boats from the Windward Isles talked. It was deep, resonant, and full of humour. They loved life and treated everything as a joke. He remembered going on a banana boat at home to ask if they needed a galley boy, and one of the black men in the crew had shouted `Catch', and thrown something off a shovel at him. It had landed at his feet and it scuttled away on black hairy legs. It was a huge Tarantula spider. He'd looked at it in horror, turned and bolted down the gangway. The crew members had roared with laughter at his panic stricken run off the ship. One of them had leaned over the rails, tears of laughter streaming down his face and shouted,` Hey, Man, you quicker dan de spider, an you got only two legs.' The voices outside the boat tailed off as the men went about their business and it was quiet again. Ricky eased his body into a more comfortable position and opened up the holdall. He could sit up comfortably in the centre of the boat where the canvas formed a tent - like canopy. It was dark inside the boat so he had to get his food out by feel, and he breakfasted on bread and cheese, washed down with coke. The weather was good, that was a consolation. The ship was rolling easily as she steamed along on the gentle swell. Ricky wondered where they were headed, and hoped it was a U.K. port, but decided he didn't really mind if it was somewhere on the continent of Europe. He could easily get home from there. The morning dragged on and about one o'clock he couldn't wait any longer, he had to take a leak. One of the bottom boards moved easily so he dragged it to one side and relieved himself in the bilge. He dozed off in the afternoon and woke at four thirty. It was still quiet outside so he ate the last of his supplies. He worked it out that at ten knots, the ship would have covered about 160 miles by now, so to be safe, he thought he could climb out of the boat about midnight, when they would have gone nearly 250 miles. The hours dragged, and Ricky kept looking at his watch willing the hands to turn faster. To pass the time he started reciting all the songs and poems that he knew, even the Welsh songs that old Griffiths their Welsh teacher had tried to drum into the class. He couldn't remember all the Welsh words, but he couldn't when he was in school, so it was no different. Half way through a Welsh song there was a terrific crashing noise, somewhere on the other side of the ship. It was a metallic screeching, grinding noise that made Ricky sit up in panic. What the hell was it? Voices were shouting, feet were running up ladders, the main engine stopped and a constantly ringing bell sounded the alarm. Ricky quickly untied the rope holding the canvas canopy down and leaned out of the boat, trying to find out what was going on. There was pandemonium on the boat deck ! Dozens of black men were running about in panic. One of them ran to the boat that Ricky was in, looked up and saw his head sticking out, and screamed. Another one shouted at him `Who are you, man.' `Stowaway,' Ricky shouted back at him, as more black men arrived. They started winding the handles to swing the boat out over the side of the ship, which had started to tilt at an angle. `What's happening,' Ricky shouted , starting to panic again. ‘We're sinking,' one of them shouted at him. `Collision.' someone else shouted. The boat was lowered to the level of the ship's side and about a dozen men climbed in. The two men at the winding handles continued lowering the boat to the water then slid down the wires. They cast off from the wires and started getting the oars out, pulling away from the stricken ship. When they got around the stern, they could see what had happened. A large freighter had collided with their rusty old ship, and her bows had cut a huge gash in the side. The freighter had managed to extricate itself from their ship, and the holed vessel was settling stern first into the water as hundreds of tons of water rushed in to her. Two lifeboats had been launched from the ship and were now making their way towards the ship that had sunk them. The only damage to her was a dent in the bows, otherwise she was perfectly sound. The boat that Ricky was in was being steered by a huge negro who was shouting and cursing the other ship and it's captain for all he was worth. `That stupid bastard came right at us,' he shouted. ` I'm turning away from him and he follows me around and crashes into me. He should be driving a pram, not a ship. Stupid bastard.' He looked at Ricky. ` Who the hell are you,' he yelled. ‘Stowaway.' Ricky told him. `Stowaway.' he shouted. ` Where were you stowing away to.' ‘U.K, I hoped.' ‘U.K? That rust bucket wouldn't make it across the Atlantic, man. We were headed for Jamaica.' Ricky's spirits sank. Far from being on his way home, he was going in the opposite direction. He wondered what other disasters could happen to him. Their boat bumped alongside the other ship and they climbed out of it, up the Jacob's ladder that the crew had lowered for them. They stood on deck watching their vessel getting lower in the water, until the other boat came alongside and the rest of the survivors climbed on to the deck. Everyone stood and watched as the bows of the stricken ship suddenly reared up out of the water, exposing the rusted keel, then slid backwards into the water as the weight in the stern pulled her under. There was a huge disturbance on the surface of the sea as the trapped air escaped from her, then she was gone and it was perfectly calm again, with only a few drums and some rope left floating on the surface. The helmsman from Ricky's boat turned from the scene and told them to go aft with the seamen. He was going up to the bridge to see the stupid bastard who'd crashed into them. They were herded into the messroom and given mugs of coffee. The crew of the sunken vessel sat around silently, shocked at the disaster which had befallen them, and the dreadful sight of their vessel sinking. They were given blankets to wear around them, and a seaman came around topping up their coffee with rum. After an hour, their captain came back to the mess room. `This ship's going to Havana, ' he said, taking the cup that he was offered. ` We'll get home from there, but I'll have to come back for the enquiry into the loss of my ship.' `How does he say he came to run us down ?' one of the others asked. `Says it was my fault. Says I turned in to him, the lying bastard. Well, I got plenty of witnesses. The Mate and the Bosun were on the bridge. The enquiry will get the truth out of the bastard. Meanwhile, we take it easy until we get to Havana in two days time.' Copyright Deric Barry 2005.