The Boat Who Wouldn't Float by Farley Mowat

Author:Farley Mowat
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, Sea Stories, Canadian
ISBN: 9781551992310
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2009-01-13T06:00:00+00:00

We were then travelling at about four knots, which is no great speed, but that shark was very nearly an immovable object and when we hit him, just behind the dorsal fin, we did so with a rubbery jolt that almost catapulted me off the foremast. Happy Adventure’s curving cutwater slipped up over his broad back until her bowsprit pointed skyward, then the monster sounded and the little ship sailed on.

Mike was all contrition but since as far as I could tell no harm had been done to anyone, I graciously forgave him. We sat and talked about the encounter. We were both much affected, for it is not often given to modern men to meet such a colossus from the alien sea world. Eventually I decided to go below and brew a pot of coffee.

When I stepped off the bottom of the companion ladder I stepped into several inches of cold water….

Even in that first shocked moment I knew exactly what had happened. The collision with the shark had sprung a plank below the waterline. As I leapt for the pump I yelled at Mike to tell him we were holed; we were sinking! With vivid memories of the awful night spent outside Trepassey crowding in upon me I went at the pump with a sort of insane ferocity. Again! It had happened again! It was just too bloody much to bear!

Oh, how I pumped. Sweat filled my eyes. The pump itself grew warm to the touch. But I saw nothing, felt nothing, except a foul and consuming rage. I had no breath for words, but the oaths I mentally lavished on Happy Adventure, on Mike, on the Old Man, and even on St. Christopher, should have doomed me forever, even if the leak did not.

Then the pump sucked dry! The handle wobbled loosely in my hand.

I looked into the bilge opening beside the engine. The bilge was dry except for its usual coating of oily siime. There was no flood of cold green water pouring aft along the keelson.

I did not believe it. I stayed below watching the bilge for almost an hour and in that time the vessel took exactly as much water (it was quite enough, to be sure) as she usually took. There was no new leak.

Baffled but infinitely relieved I went back on deck and took over the helm and we resumed our voyage toward St. Pierre. I pondered the mystery of the flooded engine room but could form no idea of what might have happened.

After a time Mike went below to make the coffee. A few moments later he popped his head out through the companionway.

“Farley,” he said, “there’s no water in the fresh water pump. Can’t get a drop.”

Here was a new mystery. We had filled our fresh water tank before leaving Burin. It was an immense tank for so small a vessel, because Jack and I intended it to hold enough fresh water to last us clear across an ocean if need be.

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