A Sea-Chase by Roger McDonald

Author:Roger McDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia
Published: 2017-05-05T04:00:00+00:00

It was still dark when Judy felt Wes leaning over her. ‘Stay there,’ he said, ‘keep warm, we’re on our way.’

She was hardly likely to stay where she was with the delicious shock of departure sprung so unexpectedly. Wes was engineering an escape.

Judy went up to the cockpit with a blanket and crouched on a locker lid. The starter motor whined, the engine lurched, thumped and burped. Pungent exhaust smoke hung in the clean night air. Linton pulled up the anchor by hand and used the windlass for the last length of chain. Wes helped him stow the anchor while Judy held the tiller. There was no wind. Wes came back and they held hands. It was the stars and the muted, glowing, sleeping city that drew them out, leaving a world behind as they passed through the rolling Heads in company with early morning fishing boats. Wes wanted to put miles under the keel before the next lot of questioners delayed them. Were they quite ready to go? Maybe no boat ever was. There was a job to do. A date to meet. Leaving before time as they were, they could already be running late. It was cold and Judy went back to bed.

When she woke a while later it was still dark but there was a change in what felt like everything. The engine was off. The freshness of early morning blew into the saloon. She pulled the sleeping bag up to her chin. They were at sea. The saloon was tilted. An insistent, slapping, rushing sound came past her ear pressed to the side planks. It was the bow wave ribboning by. They were under sail on a starboard tack.

When Judy came up onto the deck at daylight Wes and Linton were yawning. They passed her a mug of tea poured from last night’s filled thermos, loaded with sugar.

‘Isn’t this great?’ said Wes.

‘Ken will be furious,’ said Judy.

‘We’re perfectly trimmed on this tack,’ said Wes. He showed her the compass heading. ‘If she wanders just bring her back, but if you can’t, give me a call.’

Rattler went on, lifting and falling to the swell. Wes showed his head through the companionway, looking around for shipping. ‘Everything all right?’ He looked around again and went below again and stayed there. Rattler in ten knots of southerly was a baby elephant. Judy prodded her along.

Late morning Wes brought up the sextant, ready for taking the noon sight. He cradled the box under his arm like a baby. ‘If this goes overboard we’re done.’ The New South Wales coastline was still hazy behind them, so they knew where they were out from Port Jackson, but after a while, when the coast receded, the matter would be debatable and Judy intended knowing exactly where Rattler was the whole way through, a feeling she had that it was important she did. She liked the way they had slipped anchor early but some sort of antidote was needed to Wes’s impulsiveness. Coming down the coast from Yamba the sextant had stayed in its box.

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