Part 7 (2/2)

binnacle lamp. The grin threatened to become a belly

laugh so he went below.

The sun was an hour high when Gorson woke him.

”Bottom's shoaled out to eighteen fathoms,” the chief said. ”Are we going to pile into Ireland?”

Joe stuffed an arm into his oilskins and rushed up the ladder. Bucking steep seas under shortened sail, the Alice was making as much lee as headway. Freedy stuck his head out of the after scuttle. ”Ten fathoms,”

he yelled.

A half hour pa.s.sed, then suddenly a gray-green band was visible as they topped each swell. Joe studied the Alice's wake and knew they'd never weather it. ”Steady as she goes,” he said, and ducked below. As near as he could guess from the Alice's meager charts, the land must be Erris Head. 10 W longitude ran straight through this northwest corner of Ireland, but if the wind held the Alice would have to run through it too.

They had hoped to make for uninhabited land but this weather was going to change their plans. Why, Joe wondered for the thousandth time, couldn't the U.S.

Government afford a full suit of sails? He would have to put the men to sewing in reef points at the first op- portunity. Oh well, he philosophized, if it weren't for some parsimonious clerk I might not be seeing Ireland.

Funny, he thought, but we know more about Greece in 1500 B.C. than we do about Ireland even three thousand years later.

Gorson was studying the coastline. ”Nothing,” he said, pa.s.sing the gla.s.ses to Joe.

Joe took his own look. ”There,” he said. ”Not much of a harbor but at least they aren't breaking. It's the

only hole downwind so we haven't much choice.” He tried to remember what he knew about Ireland. The Norse controlled the east coast, he was sure, but western Ireland had managed to remain fairly free from Norse colonization, he thought.

Then he saw the s.h.i.+ps.

There were four of them-Viking s.h.i.+ps, rowing straight into the wind. Joe guessed they intended to round Erris Head under oars, then drive down the Gal- way coast on a raid. At least, that had been their original intention. Now, as they sighted the Alice driving straight toward them, the Norse rested their oars and waited.

Joe looked around for the engineman. Rose was on deck, along with everybody else. ”Better light her off,”

Joe said. Rose nodded and took a fresh bite on his cigar as he ducked down the scuttle.

The Vikings were less than three miles away. Men stood by the Alice, ready to take in sail the instant the engine started. ”What in h.e.l.l's keeping Rose?” Joe asked.

Gorson came back a moment later. ”That fertilizing stove!” he explained. ”When he cut it off the other day he got the valves crossed up and cut off the engine too.”

”Great!” Joe moaned. ”Better get out the rifle.” There was no hope of turning the Alice to tack out of the bay.

”He's working,” Gorson consoled. ”It'll be ready any minute now.”

Minutes pa.s.sed and still no engine. He could lower sail but if he did the Vikings would only start rowing again and the Alice would be dead in the water. Better keep canvas on and try to crowd through them.

The gap closed to half a mile. The Vikings waited, spread evenly before the route the Alice would have to take. Joe took the wheel and bore steadily for the gap between the two middle s.h.i.+ps. They were less than a hundred yards apart and he would be exposed to

spears and darts from both sides. ”Everybody go below,”

he said, ”except Cook. I want you here with the rifle.”

Joe and Cookie crouched in the foot-deep c.o.c.kpit, waiting for the first spear to fly. The Alice floundered along, much more slowly than Joe had thought pos- sible. The two center s.h.i.+ps were about seventy yards distant on either flank They aren't even closing in, Joe thought.

The Norse could see that, although his rig was a trifle strange-from somewhere in Arab country by the looks of those crazy three cornered sails-she was not rigged for rowing. Once around the headland she would have to moor or breech and they could finish her off at leisure.

<script>