It was a fracassing noise, going through the entire ship, and Nigel felt the walls of his tiny wooden cabin shaking. He lept from his sleeping place – not that he had been sleeping, it was impossible in the comings and goings of the waves, the roaring sound of the sea and the howling wind all around them. The five other persons in their little cabin stared at him, each of them clutched to his blanket with wide open eyes. But he only saw Moira’s eyes – they held him as if he could calm the storm by his own will. Moira… his wife. All her fear seemed to be fixed in that glance, all the trust she had in him, all the hopes they had taken on their ship. But he did not have the power to help her.
“I will go upstairs and look†he mumbled in a desperate effort. “Maybe some of the sailors need prayers…†Maybe your wife needs your prayers said a tiny little voice inside him, but he could not face her eyes fixed like that on him, when he could not help her. It was his task to pray for those in danger. Everybody on this ship was in danger. And all their lives could depend on the sailors. Tearing himself away from his wife’s open eyes, he stumbled into the aisle beside the cabin and searching with his hands to find hold on the walls, slowly progressed towards the ladder to the deck. He did not turn beck, fearing like Orpheus had done, that if he turned to see his beloved again, they might be separated forever. For this storm was, for sure their way to hell.
Nigel had thought that the storm was at its peak now, that nothing could get any worse. The ship seemed almost like a living being at moments, sliding, gliding on the waves, jumping in the air as if it had a will of its own, and even under deck every inch must be wet by now. Water was entering from all sides, and to Nigel it seemed as if the ship itself was weeping under the torture it must endure in the storm. He felt a wave hit the side and closed his eyes as if there was any way to escape the disaster. But there was none. Soaked up to his bones, finally he reached the steps leading up to the deck, the same about which Moira had so thoroughly laughed on the first day, asking him to stay always there until she had climbed up, so that he could catch her if she was falling on the steep way up.
The young vicar had thought that he had seen the inferno of the storm, while he was still under deck – but only now that he saw the outside, he knew how wrong he had been. This was more an inferno than he had ever been able to imagine. Although it had to be in the middle of the day, the sky was black. But not the black of the night, in which however dark it was, stars could still be guessed, but a furious black, like a clothing torn into pieces. Nigel could not have said, where one cloud ended, where another one started, which one was thrown around by the storm, where the rain was falling from. It was as if the earth had opened her guts and torn them out and was throwing them on their ship with a wrath he had not believed that even God himself could hold in his hands.
His first reaction was to quiver back. But then, the long trained years of praying came back to his mind. This was his duty. Courageously he tore his body up to the deck and sliding on the wet planches, holding his hand over his eyes, tried to see if someone was still living out there in the storm. Was it possible to survive such rage, to stay close to it? As another wave hit the ship, Nigel fell, and stretching out his hands to hold on something, anything, he saw all of a sudden, what had been the great noise he had heard in the cabin before coming up. The main mast of the ship was broken – still half hanging in the air, like a broken cross, which was empty without any sign of hope. The huge sails still hang on it, torn into pieces like cheap handkerchiefs, floating wet and heavy in the wind, as if someone had left shrouds on this huge cross. For a while he saw no living person.
Then he heard a voice, through the howling echoes of the storm. A man was walking towards him, rather crawling than walking, a man still wearing his uniform of a sailor, and Nigel even vaguely remembered his face. Had he been the first officer or even the captain? Here inmidst the inferno, he was just a human being, and nothing but his existence seemed miraculous.
“What are you doing here†shouted the man against the storm.
Nigel tried to answer, but first when he opened his lips it seemed only as if the storm had seeked a last possibility to enter his body and he felt a great vague of cold filling his mind and soul. In a desperate attempt to make himself understand, he raised his hands like in a prayer, to show why he had come. After a moment which seemed an eternity, he managed to howl some words into the storm:
“I am a man of God. I came to pray for you. I am a man of God.â€
It seemed as if the other had understood him and tried to come to him. When the sailor had reached him, he grabbed for Nigel’s arm and tore him close to a door which almost looked like a cabin’s door – but as far as Nigel knew all passenger’s cabin were under deck and the entry was the one where had gone out. They were a little bit sheltered there, if anything could be shelter under those circumstances, and even if still howling they could hear each other.
“I came to pray for the men. Are they still alive?â€
“We have lost some to the sea, and most are trying to keep the other mast fixed, when we saw you. We feared the breaking mast might have entered the cabins.â€
“No, the people in the cabins are alive and unharmed, but frightened beyond death. Will we survive this storm?â€
The sailor did not answer immediately, a roar from inside the structure of the boat had captured his attention and he was looking towards the second mast, which was starting to ply dangerously.
“The men need prayers.†He said then, abruptly. “We all need prayers.â€
Suddenly, the black blanket that was the sky above them opened as if someone had torn it to pieces and in white lines of clouds, am eerie ray of sun all of a sudden enlightened the scene like a last grinning smile. And then, within seconds, the sky itself broke into pieces, and all the wrath of the world was concentrated in the one lightening hitting out of the black sky. Nigel heard the noise before he saw the impact, and the second mast coming down on them as before he even knew that the lightning had fallen. He saw the sailor screaming unable to distinguish any words. Automatically, his hands folded in this gesture, repeated so many times over the last year in seminar first, and then with his community and his lips started to mumble on their own. Was there still a God in all this fury? Would he save them?
They joined the rest of the crew – how exactly, Nigel could not say, half was he torn by the sailor who had been with him, half were the others crawling towards them, having never experienced a storm on the sea before, he had no conscious thought left, no possibility to register anything beyond the fury of the elements.
The two broken masts looked the grinning broken teeth of an old woman for him, like sinister signs of death, and he tried to gather himself in the words and gestures of prayers he had learned. The men of the crew were exchanging words, and through the mumbling Nigel heard a few.
“Lostâ€
“Drownâ€
“Brokenâ€
No need to be a seaman to understand that it was serious. With quick gestures, the first sailor who had come towards Nigel separated the crew in two, and even if his words were lost in the howling storm, his intention was clear. Get down the life saving canoes, get the passengers up, and hurry. Hurry! He then turned to Nigel, pressing his mouth close to the vicar’s ear, shouted:
“We must get the passengers out of here. Come down with me to the cabins. Quickly!â€
Nigel stared in disbelief at the man: bringing up the others in this unleashed hell? Children and women up here? Setting them out in little nutshells on the ocean of fury he had witnessed?
“Is there no other was, Sir? Is there any chance we will survive this storm?â€
With dark eyes, the man stared at Nigel, hesitated a minute, shook his head – as if the former mention of hurry did not matter any more.
“If we will survive this? You said you are a man of God… you are more qualified than I am to know if we will survive this.â€
He then turned his back on Nigel, rising his arm to call the other sailors to follow him, and stumbling his way over the battlefield that the deck had become, walked to the cabins. In a sudden horror of understanding, Nigel did his best to follow him.