Chapter 14 - COTTON


Caldwell wasn't sure BALI would stay afloat. She was so sluggish, every wave slammed her, but she was pointing up OK under mizzen alone, so he set Walker to hauling water out of the cabin with the srub pail, and let the big Concordia sail herself. That old saw: "the best pump is a scared man with a bucket," seemed about right. Walker was hotfooting up and down the ladder and dumping bucketsful over the rail. They weren't gaining on the leak, but they seemed to be keeping up. Cyr was working the manual pump like a galley slave. He even started to sing.

"...Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour.
Vive l'amour. vive l'amour.."

"Vive la compagnie," Walker joined in.

Caldwell could almost laugh at these two playboys singing on a sinking ship. But his heart was in his throat, as he sloshed forward in the cold water below. He was unbuttoning the cabin floorboards and pulling them up to see into the bilge. There was no gaping hole to be seen, but the swirling green water, slopping back and forth as BALI slugged into the seas, was an eerie menace.

When Caldwell, now on his knees and soaked to the waist, pryed up the floorboards in the foreward compartment, he got a shock. Gushes of water were pumping up through the hull, making a turbulent roil in the water already in the bilge. But as BALI nosed down a sea, the pumping eased, only to roil up again as she punched into another wave. Beating hard to windward had opened her old seams, and she was working herself open. Maybe if they turned and ran.. but that way was further offshore. If they had to call for help, it would be farther away.

"Let's see if we can staunch it," Caldwell muttered to himself.

"Skee-pair," Walker called from the main cabin. "You fine da someting?"

"She's blown her seams forward of the step," Calwell shouted back.

"Dat no good? Or OK, mon ami?" Now Cyr was playing Frenchman.

"Vive la compagnie," thought Calwell, and he chuckled despite himself.

"At least we know what's up," he replied, as he splashed aft to dig out his toolkit. Setting the box on a berth, Caldwell rummaged out a bundle of loose cotton caulking and the double ought caulking iron.

"I'll try and stuff her mouth with this," he explained, and sloshed back foreward. Got down on his knees, and began jamming cotton into the seams he could see pumping. Every time BALI hit a wave the iron would slip deeper into the widening gaps, driving the cotton in, then he'd yank the iron back as they closed, and jam more cotton up against a seam, starting the iron onto it again. It was frustrating work. The loose hanks of cotton, like soft fat ropes, tried to float when he pushed them into the water, and soaked up immediately, became difficult to handle, breaking at the least tug.

"Come on, you bitch," Caldwell muttered, trying to control the cotton with his left hand as he jammed the iron with his right. But at least he was doing something. Before, when his partners were describing disasters, all Caldwell could do was be frightened. THIS disaster was certain, and he was doing something about it. He hoped. After he'd been at it an hour, he was chilled to the bone, but his shaking hands were into the rhythm, and his shoulder was jammed against the forward berth.

"Cap-ee-tan?" Walker asked.

""Yeh?" Caldwell shouted.

"I think we're winning?" Walker sounded somewhat relieved, but there was still a question in his voice. Caldwell levered himself up, his joints aching, and looked over his shoulder into the main cabin. Indeed, the water level had gone down, maybe half a foot.

"YES!" He exclaimed. "Let me stuff the rest of these seams, and maybe we'll get there yet."

"We pumpeteers keep wi' da pumpage?" Walker asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeh," Caldwell agreed, and turned back to his stuffing.

Another half hour and he was done. He'd crammed as much cotton as he could into the inside of BALI's pumping seams, and he hiked up onto the forward berth, lay there for a minute, stretched out his aching muscles, breathing deeply. Cyr and Walker had changed places, and were joking up each other as they bailed. Caldwell could feel BALI lifting and prancing again.

"I promise to pay more attention to you, sweetheart," Caldwell said to the boat around him. "Next the jib," he announced, getting on his feet.

Caldwell climbed onto the berth, undogged the forehatch, and pushed it open. He hoisted himself onto the foredeck, and was momentarily blinded by the bright sun. The wind cut through his saturated clothes, making him shiver.

"Serves you right," he said to himself, reaching overside, and he began to pull the jib up over the toe rail. Filled with water and pressed up against the hull by the waves, the big sheet of stiff dacron was a bitch to land. But Caldwell was angry at himself now, and wrestling with it made him feel better, warming him.

"Slut, son-of-a-whore..." He chanted as dripping sail came inboard.

"You whisper so sweet in my tender ear," Cyr said, startling Caldweel. The actor had come foreward below, and his head was sticking out of the forehatch.

"Our vessel appears to be fully buoyant again, O Captain," Cyr reported. "Might I lend you a brachiating appendage?'

"Yeh," Caldwell grunted. "Grab aholt on this baby, and pull." Together they dragged the rest of the jib onto the deck, bundled it together, and lashed it to the forebitts.

"Halyard," Caldwell announced, looking aloft.

"Maybe dry garments and a touch of the malt?" Cyr asked. Now he'd stopped struggling with the sail, Caldwell was shaking again in the wind.

"OK," he submitted. "It can wait another minute or two. Thank you." He smiled, and Cyr winked. They both swung down into the forehatch, and closed it behind them.

"You had us a smidge apprehensive, Hacky." Cyr said as they worked foreward below. "We wondered if your nautical carpentry might be like your Andover Latin." Caldwell had barely passed Latin at school, faking his way through his last final before graduation. He'd only gotten away with it because his young Latin instructor was new that year, and didn't have the nads to fail a graduating senior, denying him a diploma.

"Hic. hike. hoax," Walker interjected down the companionway.

"She's a tender old, thing," Caldwell explained. "I thought new caulking would tighten her up, but I guess she needs a complete refastening. They say these old wooden Concordias have leaky garboards and tend to go soft in way of the step."

Cyr and Walker were nodding sagely, lips pursed, eyeballing each other, and trying hard not to laugh. Caldwell finally noticed, and they hooted. Caldwell was on one leg, shucking his wet jeans off, and Cyr gave him a nudge, tumbing him into a berth.

"You saved us, Skipper. Garboards be damned." Cyr said.

"OK, OK. How about some respect from the crew," Caldwell asked, wriggling out of the jeans and briefs.

"Respectfully, sir, your ass is showing," Cyr saluted.

"Arrrgh," Caldwell snarled, smiling.

It was another hour before they'd secured the mainsail and boom, snagged the wayward halyard, and Caldwell had dried out the wet electrics. The engine was back in service. All this time BALI had been riding to her mizzen, like a lobsterboat with a jigger set.

"Decision time, gents," Caldwell said, as they slurped down the last of a tomato and crabmeat bisque Cry had concocted while Caldwell was playing mechanic.

"If we put her back on the tack, she may take more water, but we can probably keep up with the pump." Caldwell said shaking his index finger. "We could motor into it, but the extra shaking probably wouldn't help," he waved two fingers. "Or we could sail across the seas, and she'd probably stay tight." He showed three digits.

"Across means not going to Smithport?" Cyr asked.

"Not today, at least," Caldwell answered.

"She going to open up real bad if we sail that way?" Cyr asked, nodding toward their original course.

"No guarantees," Caldwell replied.

""So lets go see," Walker said. "In fo da dime, in fo da million dollaire."

Caldwell put Walker on the tiller again, as he and Cyr put a double reef in the mainsail and hoisted it.

"Let her fall off," Caldwell commanded, and as BALI filled out on the port tack again, he called, "Main sheet.. hold her there." The Concordia heeled and picked up speed.

They put her storm jib back on, and sheeted all sails tight. BALI leaned into the water and started to sing once more. Caldwell went foreward below, and watched to see if her seams were pumping as BALI shouldered into the waves again. Water was seeping into the bilge, but no more than the electric pump could handle. After 20 minutes of watching, Caldwell sighed, and slumped on the foreward berth.

"Guess we're not going to get away from this deal so easy," he thought.

"Hey Skipper," Cyr shouted. "What's this about?"

Caldwell heard the drone of an aircraft coming down the wind.