Chapter 52 - KNOCKDOWN

Sidearm and Nicky had just pulled away from BALI with Marianne and Jesse when the sky went black and the wind flunked out. The big Concordia stood upright, tossing fitfully in the residual swells. now topped by a confusion of conical waves. Her sails flapped and her rigging creaked.

"Whachu tink, pardner?" Walker asked.

"Perchance Zepherus ache with his sweet breath, mon ami," Cry stated grandiloquently. "Mayhap we shouldst douse sail, as the absent Hackmaster would have it." Cyr uncleated the main and jib sheets and let the tiller toss back and forth.

Neither of the classmates acted concerned. The play was out of their hands for now, and they would amuse themselves with posturing. Both men casually went forward as lightening flickered and rumbled in the fog. Walker was on the foredeck ready to bundle in the big jenny, and Cyr was just uncleating its halyard when the sky exploded overhead.

A heavy gust sideswiped BALI, and solid rain pounded down, bouncing off the boat and water. The yawl was knocked down on her beam ends, sails touching the ocean surface. The sailors clung desperately to the nearest rigging as BALI struggled to recover.

That old dog of a Howland had designed the Concordias well, however, and the overburdened yawl was pointing up as she knocked down. Her ballast and lateral buoyancy brought her half up before another gust slammed her. Cyr was flung on the port shroud, and he clutched it, the wire biting into his hands. As BALI struggled to rise he scrabbled across the wet deck to the mast, and grabbed the main halyard wire before she heeled hard over again. He fumbled frantically with his left had to uncleat the jib halyard, and managed to let it run free as the yawl rose back up the second time. The jenny blew out to leeward, its foot dragging in the water.

"Pull it down," Cyr yelled over the downpour. Walker embraced the sail and hauled it hand over hand. Then BALI was knocked down again.

When BALI rose the third time, the reduced windage helped her point higher, and there was more water in her sails, slowing her righting. Cyr yanked repeatedly at the main halyard release, and finally the damned thing let go. Heeled half over, the wind was fighting gravity to keep the sail from falling, and CYR tugged wildly on the luff to make it accordion down. Suddenly Walker was beside him. They grabbed and pulled alternately, wrestling the sail down. The boom still trailed in the water, but BALI was eased, and the mizzen, still set and sheeted turned the big boat so it angled into the roaring rainstorm.

"EEEyow!" Walker chortled. He'd lost his trademark Stetson, and was soaked to the skin, but his grin was charismatic. A bolt of lightening snapped and KABLAMed close by.

BALI was still heeled to port by her drowned sails, and Cyr scrambled aft along the high side with the cowboy at his heels. He quickly loosed the mizzen sheet and put the tiller over so the Concordia could turn downwind to port, bringing the immersed boom closer aboard, then he began yarding in the main sheet fast as he could. Walker got the idea and between them they managed, after some exertion, to bring the mainsail and boom aboard, out of the water.

Cyr doused the mizzen as Walker kept BALI running off, then Cyr took the helm and the cowboy went forward to get the jenny aboard. Not an easy task with the boat trying to surf. Cyr would try to slow her by rounding to, to relieve the pressure for Walker, but every time another heavy puff would heel them, he'd put her back to running under bare poles. It took them most of a half hour to get both sails aboard.

The actor had no idea how far they'd run in the fog, or where any surrounding islands or ledges were, for that matter. Coming out he'd been happy just to put distance between them and the mobsters. But now, running at hull speed or better without sails before the squall he realized they could easily slam onto something and sink, without much control. Like Marianne, Cyr had done some dingy sailing, but what little he knew about sailing yachts he'd learned from Caldwell during the last week.

"Was it only a week?" Cyr thought. "We sure could use ol Hackie now."

The fog was breaking up, and Cyr began to see an island looming out of the dissolving mist ahead. Very close ahead. Walker, who'd just rejoined him in the cockpit saw it at the same time.

"Into da fie-yair, non.. skeepair?" Walker observed, more amused than anything. "What we do now?"

Cyr was already throwing the tiller hard over. BALI swung broadsides to the wind, rolled briefly, then swung back, running straight for the resolving island. Cyr put the helm amidships, and BALI commenced to pick up speed on a collision course.

"Throw that hard over again, when I say," Cyr commanded, giving Walker the tiller. He grabbed at the mizzen halyard. "OK, now," he said.

As BALI rounded to again, Cyr yanked up the mizzensail, and sheeted it hard home. The mizzen filled with a snap. BALI never hesitated. She kept swinging all the way round, then hove to, pointing away from the island, but still drifting down the wind. Did they have time to make sail and claw off?

The rain had stopped. Skys were clearing, except for racing puffs of cumulus, but the wind was still blowing a gale. Cyr looked anxiously over the stern as the island came out of the thinning murk. High pink granite cliffs with white spumes flashing at their feet, dark spruce woods fringing their top, with that careless blue sky above.

"You no like da motaire, you?" Walker asked, half chuckling. Cyr's mouth dropped open, and Walker laughed aloud.

"Fuck me," Cyr said, dropping the tiller and diving into the companionway. He'd never once thought about using the engine.

"But no, skeepair," Walker said, taking the helm. "Dat would be to fraternize, non?"

Cyr at least had the good sense to run the blower motor before cranking the gas engine. Caldwell had drummed that lesson home, having seen a pretty little Crocker explode and burn to the waterline in Northeast Harbor as a teenager. Having been knocked down three times, there was enough escaped gas in BALI's bilge to make a pretty blaze. But Cyr vented the engine compartment before switching on the engine. Wonder of wonders, it caught. And died. And caught. And died again.

The sailors looked over their shoulders at the island. It was only 30 yards away now, and they could hear the breakers pounding against it. The motor caught again, and purred into life. Cyr revved it carefully, idled back, and put it into gear. BALI began to edge her way back into deep water, bucking like a bronco in the deep chop.