Black wind

layer of the handyman’s favored duct tape.
    As Mcintosh sifted through the remaining pieces of scrap wood, a sudden rushing noise drifted up from the bowels of the ship. In a few minutes, the sound doubled in intensity, resembling the rumbling waters of a turbulent stream. Mcintosh stood slowly and addressed the captain in a somber, matter-of-fact voice.
    “Sir, they’ve opened the sea cocks. They mean to sink her.”
    Several unseen voices gasped in horror at Mcintosh’s words and numerous cries of “No!” echoed through the hold. Morgan ignored them all.
    “Looks like we’ll have to make do with three spars,” the captain replied calmly. “I need seven men on each pole. Let’s get them up now.”
    A rush of men moved forward and grabbed the spars as the first drops of seawater began trickling into the hold through a half-dozen small bilge drains mounted flush on the hold’s deck. Within minutes, they were sloshing around in ankle-deep water as the men positioned the ends of the spars against the forward corner of the hatch, next to the entry ladder. On the top step, a man stood with a two-foot-high triangular block of timber, his job to insert it under the open hatch lid and keep it wedged open.
    “Ready … lift!” Morgan shouted.
    In unison, the three teams of men pressed the tips of their spars against the hatch cover eight feet over their heads and pushed up with all their might. To everyone’s surprise, the hatch cover burst open several feet, letting in a spray of muted light from the deck lights, before its weight shifted and the heavy cover slammed back down.
    The forlorn man at the top of the ladder froze an instant before trying to insert the block wedge and was too late. The hatch crashed down about his head as he tried to shove the wedge into the open gap, the lip nearly taking off the fingers of his right hand. The shaken man took a deep breath, then nodded at Morgan that he was okay to try again.
    “All right, let’s give it another try,” Morgan commanded as water now swirled about his knees, the salt water stinging his open leg wound. “One … two … three!”
    A loud crack ripped through the hold as the top joint on one of the spars broke clean in two, the loose section falling into the water with a splash. Mcintosh waded over and examined the damaged end piece, finding the grooved joint had broken completely off.
    “Not good, sir,” he reported. “Will take some time to repair.” “Do what you can,” Morgan barked. “Let’s continue with two spars … Heave!”
    The remaining men shoved at their spars but it was a lost cause. There was no way of getting enough manpower behind the two spars to apply enough leverage. Additional men crowded in to try and help, but there was simply not enough room to put more hands on the timbers and push. Twice the men strained with the additional force and were able to pry the hatch open a few inches, but it was not nearly enough to block it so that a man could escape. The surging seawater was now up to Morgan’s waist and he could see in the faces of the crew that the terror of drowning was about to incite panic in the hold.
    “One more try, men,” he urged on while somewhere in the back of his own mind he morbidly calculated the estimated duration it took for a man to drown.
    With adrenaline pumping, the men jammed the two spars against the hatch cover one last time with all their might. This time, they seemed to find their strength and the lid began to creak up. But just as they pressed their leverage, another crack echoed through the hold. A second spar splintered at the joint and the hatch cover clanged back shut. Somewhere in a darkened corner a voice blurted out, “That’s it, we’re finished.”
    It was enough for a trembling cook standing near the gasoline drums to lose his nerve.
    “I can’t swim, I can’t swim!” he cried out as the water level inched up his chest.
    In a frightened panic, he grabbed onto the iron rungs that ran to the vent hatch and scurried up into the shaft. Reaching the top rung in darkness, his frenzied terror continued and he began pounding on the small round hatch cover with his fists, crying to be let out. In a state of complete shock, he suddenly felt the hatch give way under his hands and drift open. With his heart pounding in disbelief, he squirmed through the hatch and stood on the deck beside the moon pool dumbfounded. It took nearly a full minute before his racing pulse began to slow