Night Wylde

“WHITE SQUALL!”

Every man on deck leaped for something to hold on to. Moments later a thundering sea as tall as the main-mast, crashed down upon the decks, causing men and equipment to burst against the bulwarks with cries of pain and shock. The huge surge of water engulfed the ship and tore at the dogged-down cargo hatches, ripping them upwards and casting them forward to slice through the lines and jib canvas. A ferocious squall could be heard howling through the rigging, instantly shredding canvas and ploughing the bow beneath the surface of the lake—throwing men and gear forward. The loud twang of snapping shrouds were drowned out by the report of exploding timber as the mizzen-mast reached its shear limit. It snapped in two, crashing down onto the larboard rail, dragging rigging, shredded sheets and lines with it.

The initial maelstrom was immediately followed by a second, rapidly moving wall of water that surged across the decks, removing deck fixtures, equipment and men, casting them overboard to disappear into the writhing, boiling waters.

Rambaseck had wrapped both his arms and legs around the capstan, trying to take a breath as the waters rushed over him. He sensed how she had pitched forward, forcing her bow beneath the waters, where she remained for too long. Coming up for air, he caught glimpse of the helm high above him with the stern cast upwards—throwing bodies forward across the decks to crash into raised fixtures and bulwarks. Rambaseck grit his teeth as an enormous bone-jarring shudder reverberated through the hull, testing the fibre in every timber. He remained wrapped around the capstan, tightening his grip as the bow was suddenly released from the water. The hull violently pitched aft and rolled to starboard. Below decks men, crockery, and anything not bolted down was thrown asunder as the Night Wylde rolled over, turning turtle.

Rambaseck’s body went into shock, slowing both his thoughts and movement. He held his breath, faced with bubbling white water and flotsam. He could hold his breath no longer and was about to swim for the surface, when he realised the ship had carried on rolling on her beam-ends.

Moments later she finally settled back upright, her decks half-submerged in the freezing water. Rambaseck was soaked through and found it difficult to breath. He could only stare around in utter amazement, at the scene before him. The fore and main-mast’s were still intact and her companionway remained above the water. Gasping for air, he raised his head to stare at the longboats, which were still tethered to their davits—half-filled with clear lake water, but still afloat.

With his sodden clothing clinging to his limbs, Rambaseck struggled to his feet shivering uncontrollably, his heart pounding. Wide-eyed he stared at the scenes of havoc, knowing he had to act. Over the half-submerged starboard rail, the waters were still writhing and boiling. He turned away, at the sight of bodies floating among items of cargo. Anything that could float was being tossed around in foamy water. Then it was over.