Page 55 of Valour

22nd June 1915, Weddell Sea

Hester sat in the galley, a steaming mug of tea wrapped in her freezing hands. The thud of running footsteps pounded the deck above, and she frowned. Was fairly sure everyone was down below.

Frank hurtled through the door, his eyes wide, face white. “Captain Orn. The Intrepid. She’s leaking badly. We need help.”

Shit. It must be bad if Septimus had sent Frank over. “Go. I’ll bring everyone.”

Ten minutes later, Hester ran into the hold of the Intrepid and covered her ears with her hands. The din of rushing water, hammering, and the creak of the pumps battered against her. The freezing brine bit at her lower legs, and in the dark she could barely see a thing, jostled by the crew, by faces she couldn’t quite work out.

She stood, aghast at the tons of water that were currently leaking through a hole in the side of the ship. This was nothing like the trickles of water that they fixed so easily on the Valour.

Winston and Betty waded over to Victor, who was soaked to the skin. Betty set a chock into one of the holes and drove it in. Septimus was working the pump, his sleeves rolled back, muscles straining as he pushed and pulled at the handle, his face set in a grim mask.

Hester waded over and grasped the opposite handle of the pump, helping take the strain as they worked to get the water out. But it was useless. They could never stop the rising water, only slow it.

The water was so cold. So cold it made her bones ache. But in the chaos, it hardly seemed to matter. With the anguish in his eyes, it hardly seemed to matter.

“How bad is it?” Hester shouted.

“Quite bad,” he said, barely audible in all the din. “Luckily we emptied the stores onto the ice a week ago, or everything would be ruined.”

“It will be alright. What Winston cannot do with timber is not worth knowing,” Hester said, though she could make out the tension in her bosun’s shoulders. He sawed a length of wood over his knee, then hammered it into place in the hole. Water sprayed mercilessly.

Septimus shook his head tersely and kept at the pump, working harder than ever. Hester struggled to keep up.

“Everything looks worse in the dark,” she said, hoping to lift his spirits. She couldn’t imagine how she would feel in his shoes. Wasn’t sure if anything would make her feel better. But she wanted to try all the same.

“The ice worsens. The pressure. I—” Septimus shook his head again and looked her in the eye. “I’m not sure how much longer the ships will stand it. Either of them.”

“They are strong. They will survive it. They must.” She could not conceive of anything else.

He laughed mirthlessly. “I fear you have been having such a fine time that you forget the dangers, forget what threatens our lives every day. There is no help, nothing and no one to save us should we falter.”

Hester frowned and pushed a little harder on the pump handle. “I do not forget the dangers, but what use is worrying and waiting for the worst to happen? We will make it to Vahsel Bay. The ships will hold.”

He had no answer to that, but pumped with more violence, and something deep inside her sank. For the briefest of days he had shown her a lighter side, a side which she had hoped to tease out. And now, it seemed he was back to his hatred of her.

Hester ran up the steps from the Intrepid’s hold and into the galley.

“Done,” she announced, then collapsed into a chair at the table, resting her head on her burning forearms. The lamps flickered in the dim light, casting long shadows.

“You fixed it?” Charlotte asked, setting a steaming bowl of porridge before her.

“Yes. We just need to pump the water out now. My God, this is needed,” Hester mumbled, shovelling porridge into her mouth. She shivered, and Charlotte wrapped a coat over her shoulders. “We shall have earned a good sleep after that.”

Charlotte dropped her voice to a whisper. “Could that happen to the Valour?”

Hester glanced up at her, trying to think how to answer. Of course it was possible, but it wouldn’t do to dwell on the worst-case scenario. “It’s best not to think of what could happen. We will deal with whatever arises, fear not.”

“Alright,” Charlotte said uncertainly, wringing her hands together.

Winston was next into the galley, face grey, his teeth chattering, his hands white as the ice.

“Get next to the stove,” Hester ordered, pointing with her spoon. Winston obeyed, squatting down next to the open door of the lower oven, his hands held out. “Well done, Winston. I don’t think the outcome would have been so good had it not been for you.”

“All in a day’s work, Captain,” he said. “Victor and Betty did a fine job too.”

“I’m sure,” Hester said.