Philip scrunched his face momentarily. “Six points from north-northeast, that’s northwest. So we’re heading toward the coast?”
“Edging toward it,” David admitted. “Remember, the coast is curving away from us as we go north.
“We won’t outrun the storm, but that course will still buy time for us to figure out which way the hurricane is moving. Right now, we’re playing a chess game with the hurricane, but one in which we can’t see its moves.
“Anyway, I want get away from the shallow waters between Florida and the Bahamas. Those are more prone to breaking if the wind picks up. And the Walvis won’t like it much when some breaker drops tons of water on its deck.”
* * *
David and his mates started giving orders to prepare the ship for the hard blows to come. The crew cleared the scuppers, and checked that the pumps were working. They battened down the hatches, and set up life lines on both sides of the deck.
* * *
They cautiously continued north, or more precisely northwest by north, making slow progress against the wind. The winds backed to north by east, so they had to angle even more to the west in order to make headway.
Still, the wind change was good news; it meant that they were in the less dangerous semicircle. If they were in the middle of the ocean, their best bet would have been to put the wind broad on their starboard quarter, and edge out. Unfortunately, if they did that here, they would soon be enjoying an unplanned American vacation. So they left the wind farther aft, angling just enough to counter the inward spiral. The Koninck David and the Hoop did their best to follow the Walvis’ lead. The chop of the water increased as the new swell fought with the old one.
* * *
The sun looked down on them through a white gauze. Despite their plight, Philip couldn’t help but admire the halo it had acquired. The ring proper was bright white, with a red fringe on the inside. The sky was darkened for some distance farther inward, and a vaguely defined corona played outside the halo.
Gradually, the sun faded from view. Then a new layer of clouds slid under the old one, darkening the overcast. The sky became a virtually uniform gray. The main topsail split, fabric streaming out like ribbons from a running lass’ hair, and the topmen bent in a replacement, and close-reefed it.
It started to rain, tiny droplets that seemed to hang suspended in the air. All at once, there was a downpour, as though someone had suddenly emptied a bucket on Philip’s head. It ended within minutes, and the misty not-quite-rain returned. Then came another rain shower.
The wind strengthened. There were many “white horses”—foaming wave crests. The sailors took down the normal sails and raised the storm sails, which were made of a heavier, tougher fabric.
Soon, on the eastern horizon, Philip could see a dark mass of clouds, looking like a sorcerer’s fortress, with a parapet of black cotton. If, that is, any fortress had pieces of itself break off and fly away from time to time. That was the “bar,” the main cloud mass, where the winds would be strongest.
Not that they were gentle where the Walvis and its comrades struggled. The winds were now gale force, and the sea was heavy. The timbers moaned like lost souls. There were flashes of lightning to the east. The only good news was that the barometer was low, but steady. That implied that they were succeeding in keeping their distance from the eye of the hurricane. Philip was sent to join the group who were straining at the whipstaff, keeping the ship on its course.
The stays hummed like a swarm of angry hornets, but they all held.
* * *
“Wind’s come around to the northwest, Captain,” said Cornelis. “Slackened some, too.”
David thought this over. Being an old Asia hand had its disadvantages when you were north of the equator; he had to keep reminding himself that almost everything about Indian Ocean typhoons was reversed up here in the northern hemisphere. Northwest, yes, that meant that the storm center was now ahead of them. In effect, the hurricane had swept them up, like an unwilling partner at a dance, and swung them a quarter circle around itself as it continued its journey northward.
“How’s the barometer, Philip?”
“Rising, sir.” The relief in Philip’s voice was evident. And that was fair enough, the pressure change confirmed that they were now in the rear half of the storm.
David sent Cornelis to take a sounding; he didn’t want to shoal after surviving this much. And he detailed a half dozen men to act as lookouts, both to watch for danger, and to determine whether the Koninck David and the Hoop had also weathered the storm.
They soon caught sight of the Koninck David, so it, at least, was safe. However, it signaled that some of its precious water casks had been swept off the main deck, and it would need to detour to the American coast to make amends.