In the cold and stormy days that followed, the bright beacons were their meals.
Breakfast, at 8am, was a cup of hot porridge made from rations, two biscuits, and some lumps of sugar. Lunch was at 1pm, and was a ration, eaten raw, and a cup of hot milk. Dinner, at 5pm, was the same. Then during the night they had a hot drink, generally of milk.
The glow of warmth and comfort produced by the food and drink made optimists of nearly all of them.
The weather conditions didn’t improve, and on the fifth day the wind was so fierce that they had to take in the double-reefed mainsail and hoist their small jib instead. They put out a sea-anchor to keep the Timothy Obi’s head up to the sea. The anchor consisted of a triangular canvas bag tied to the end of a rope and allowed to stream out from the bows.
The boat was high enough to catch the wind, and, as she drifted to leeward, the drag of the anchor kept her head to windward. So their boat took most of the seas more or less end on. Even then the crests of the waves would often curl right over them and they shipped a great deal of water, which meant unceasing baling and pumping. Looking out abeam, they would see a hollow like a tunnel formed as the crest of a big wave toppled over onto the swelling body of water. A thousand times it seemed as though the Timothy Obi would be engulfed, but the boat lived.
The north-westerly gale was born above the Tarakkis Continent, and its freezing breath lowered the temperature towards zero. The sprays froze upon the boat and gave the bows, sides, and decking a heavy coat of mail. They couldn’t allow the load of ice to grow beyond a certain point, and in turns they crawled about the decking forward, chipping and picking at it with their tools.
When daylight came on the morning of the sixth day out they saw and felt that the Timothy Obi had lost her resiliency. She was not rising to the oncoming seas. The weight of the ice meant she was becoming more like a log than a boat. The situation called for immediate action.
They first broke away the spare oars, which were encased in ice and frozen to the sides of the boat, and threw them overboard, keeping two oars for use when they got inshore. Three of the fur sleeping bags went over the side; they were thoroughly wet, weighing probably 40 pounds each, and they had frozen stiff during the night. Four sailors were the watch below, and when someone went down it was better to use the wet bag just vacated than to thaw out a frozen bag with the heat of their poor body. They now had five bags, four in use and one for emergency use in case someone collapsed.
The reduction of weight relieved the boat to some extent, and vigorous chipping and scraping did more. They had to be very careful not to put their axe or knife through the frozen canvas of the decking as they crawled over it, but gradually they got rid of a lot of ice.
The Timothy Obi lifted to the endless waves as though she lived again.
About 11am the boat suddenly fell off into the trough of the sea. The rope had parted and the sea-anchor was gone. This was serious. The Timothy Obi went away to leeward, and they had no chance of recovering the anchor and their valuable rope, which had been their only way of keeping the boat’s head up to the seas without the risk of hoisting sail in a gale. Now they had to set the sail and trust it would hold. While the Timothy Obi rolled heavily in the trough, they beat the frozen canvas until most of the ice had cracked off and then hoisted it. The frozen gear protested, but after a struggle their little craft came up to the wind again, and they breathed more freely.
Frostbites were troubling them, and they had developed large blisters on their fingers and hands. Gecko would always carry the scar of one of these frostbites on his left hand, which became badly inflamed after the skin had burst and the cold had bitten deeply.
They held the boat up to the gale during that day, enduring the pain as best they could.
The boat tossed ceaselessly on the big waves under grey, threatening skies. Their thoughts didn’t include much more than what had to be done. Every surge of the sea was an enemy to be watched. They ate their scanty meals, treated their frostbites, and hoped for the improved conditions that the next day might bring. Night fell early, and in the tedious hours of darkness they were cheered by a change for the better in the weather. The wind dropped, the snow squalls became less frequent, and the sea moderated.
When the morning of the seventh day dawned there wasn’t much wind. They shook the reef out of the sail and once more laid their course for East Seiru. The sun came out bright and clear, and Miguel got a snap for longitude. They hoped the sky would remain clear until noon, so they could get the latitude. They’d been six days out without an observation, and naturally their dead reckoning was uncertain.
The boat must’ve looked strange that morning. All hands basked in the sun. They hung their sleeping bags to the mast and spread their gear all over the deck. Some of the ice had melted off the Timothy Obi in the early morning after the gale and dry patches were appearing in the decking. Porpoises came blowing round the boat, and cape pigeons wheeled and swooped within a few feet of them. These little black-and-white birds had an air of friendliness, unlike the great circling albatross. They had looked grey against the swaying sea during the storm as they darted about over their heads and uttered their plaintive cries. The albatrosses, of the black variety, watched with hard, bright eyes, and seemed to take an impersonal interest in their struggle to keep afloat amid the battering seas. An occasional stormy petrel flashed overhead.
They revelled in the warmth of the sun that day. Life was not so bad after all. Their gear was drying, and they could have a hot meal in relative comfort. The swell was still heavy, but it wasn’t breaking and the boat rode easily. At noon Miguel balanced himself on the gunwale and clung with one hand to the stay of the mainmast while he got a snap of the sun. The result was enormously encouraging—they had done over 380 miles and were nearly halfway to East Seiru.
It looked as though they were going to get through.