A Hero for Leanda

alarmingly, and much more water came aboard. He climbed to the coach roof and got the sails off her, fighting the wind. Thalia turned broadside on, bobbing about like a cork. Water was breaking over the deck. Conway fetched the sea anchor and streamed it over the weather bow. Thalia still refused to ride comfortably. Waves were pounding against her side with shattering violence. He tripped the anchor and hauled it in. He’d expected to have to run before it, anyway. He clambered back to the cockpit, with the wind shrieking round his ears, and streamed his two heavy warps from the stern, with cushions and fenders and bundles of old rope tied to the ends. Then he streamed the sea anchor, too.
    By now it was blowing a fresh gale, and more in the gusts. The sea was a wild, tossing waste. The air was thick with flying spray. But Thalia was lying comfortably at last, stern on to the wind and seas. With the long warps helping to check her progress, the strain on the sea anchor was well short of breaking point. If the storm grew no worse, the ship would drive safely before the wind all night. She had nearly seven hundred miles of sea room to leeward, and not a shoal anywhere.
    There was nothing more that Conway could do, and presently he went below to see how his crew and passenger were faring. The noise in the saloon was infinitely worse than on deck. Every few seconds there was a frightful, shuddering jar as the bows fell from the top of a sea into a trough. The incessant shocks were felt almost like physical blows on the body. The clamor of the water against the thin planking was indescribable. Kastella, in the forecabin, was in a pretty bad way, judging by the sounds. Conway hoped he had taken a bucket in with him. Leanda was lying face down on one of the saloon bunks, her head cushioned in her arms. She looked up as Conway entered, and gave him a wan smile. “Are we all right?” she asked.
    “Sure were all right! Why?—feeling scared?”
    “A little... I never imagined anything like this .“
    “There’s nothing whatever to worry about.”
    “I wanted to come out and help, but I couldn’t...
    It suddenly dawned on her that there was no one at the tiller. “What’s happening?”
    “She’s running under bare poles, with the sea anchor out. She’ll be all right... For a moment his hand rested reassuringly on Leanda’s hair. “You don’t look too bad.”
    “My head feels pretty awful—but I could be worse.”
    “Is there anything you want?”
    “I’d love some water. I don’t think I could get up.”
    Conway drew a mugful, and gave it to her. Then he stretched out on the other bunk. There was no question of sleep, or even rest. The roar of the wind was deafening. In the gusts it rose to an insane shriek in the rigging. The little ship kept going up like a lift, and then falling with a crunch into the hollows. The battering ram of the water never ceased. Conway lay listening, noting every change of sound or movement, ready to rush into the cockpit on the instant if necessary. There was a second sea anchor in the forepeak if the first one split or carried away; there were more spare warps. But nothing happened. With luck, nothing would happen. The long night had to be endured, sweated out, and that was all. He had known far worse conditions. It was better down here, running with the gale, than up at the tiller trying desperately to claw off a lee shore, as he’d once had to do in Tara .
    Around three in the morning the wind veered to the southeast again, making the sea even more confused and Thalia’s motion harder to bear. Conway forced his way out on deck and had a look round. The sea anchor was doing its work well—very little water was being shipped, and the self-draining cockpit was dealing with all there was. The gale was still blowing with great fury, but it was no worse. He stood there for a while with his back pressed against the cabin bulkhead, watching the green phosphorescent fire that poured down the slopes of the huge waves. Then he staggered back into the saloon, and drank some coffee from the flask, and stretched out on his bunk again.
    It blew all night without a moment’s respite, and far into the day. Apart from Conway ’s occasional sorties, no one made any move. There was nothing to be done, nothing to be gained by trying to walk about. An occasional groan was the only sound from the forecabin. Conway offered Leanda the rest of the coffee, but she shook her head in silent