The insistent clamour of the warning bells galvanised Joe into action and he sprinted to the boatdeck. In an instant, there seemed to be people everywhere. Crewmembers, men, women and children thronged the decks of the Brother Jonathan, as the storm raged wildly around them. People were frantically scrambling into the lifeboats before they were even launched, so that the davit hoists screamed in protest. One moment, Joe was desperately helping to unwind the hoist, trying in vain to control the descent of the heavily laden boat into the water, the next his feet were skidding across the deck and he banged heavily into the railings, crushing his arm. Looking down, he saw that the lifeboat had shot downwards, causing its inhabitants to scream with terror, but at least they were off the ship.
There was no doubt that the Brother Jonathan was sinking, and sinking fast. In the distance, Joe could see one other lifeboat making its way towards shore and he strained his eyes until he saw a familiar garment. Adam and his beloved custard-coloured coat! Joe thought, relieved his brother had made it safely off the ship. His arm throbbed painfully and he cradled it protectively.
The ship suddenly gave another violent lurch as her cargo shifted and as Joe watched in horror as a geyser of water spurted up through the deck timbers.
"We've got to get off this accursed ship now!" bellowed a familiar voice and Joe turned around to see George Pollock pulling at this arm. "They've overloaded her with cargo and she's sinking fast."
Joe nodded and bent down to pull off his boots, before accepting the cork lifebelt George held out to him. "Jump for it, son. It's your only chance!" Propelled by a firm hand that would accept no demurral, Joe climbed over the railings and leapt out blindly.
Growing up on the shores of the deep and chilly Lake Tahoe, Joe had thought he was used to swimming in cold water, but nothing could ever have prepared him for this. This water was so far beyond cold, it was closer to liquid ice. The freezing chill that seemed to soak into him immediately, making any sort of movement almost impossible. Plunging into the water, Joe seemed to travel downwards for an interminable time, before frantically kicking out and struggling through the darkness up towards the surface.
The coldness literally pulled the breath out of his lungs and Joe spluttered violently, gasping for air at the same time as his body fought against the shock. At least there was one small benefit – his broken arm was still useless, but at least it didn't hurt any more. One-handed, he wrapped the trailing lanyard from the lifebelt around his shoulders and started kicking out towards shore. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Joe realised that the only way to keep alive was to keep moving. He conjured up a picture of his family, standing on the beach, beckoning him to join them and this spurred him onwards.
Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the light shining out through the fog, Joe concentrated on one thing – propelling himself through the water. His breath was coming in short pants now, from a combination of cold water and exhaustion. Every third or fourth wave surged up and broke directly into his face, filling his mouth, ears and nose with stinging saltiness. Joe refused to give up and ploughed on with grim determination. His mind was occupied with staying alive and his body took over the sheer mechanics of swimming. The currents were strong and the riptide pulled him westwards, away from the lighthouse. Setting his jaw, Joe kept swimming towards shore, refusing to believe he would not make it. There was no point in looking back; he had to keep going forward, no matter how fruitless the endeavour appeared.
"Pa always said I got a double helping of stubbornness – from him and from Mama!" The thought sprang unbidden into his mind and Joe gave an involuntary grin, before choking painfully as he swallowed yet another mouthful of water. The memory of his mother seemed very close and Joe found his mind beginning to wander as the cold water took its inevitable toll on him. He started to mentally recite a prayer from his childhood in time to his strokes.
"Splendour of Heaven, Blessed Mother of the Son of God,
Immaculate Virgin, assist me in this necessity.
Oh Star of the Sea, help me and show me herein you are my mother."
Numbly, Joe fought on, continuing to pray, uncertain if he was praying to the Blessed Virgin or to his own mother, just longing for someone to turn around and comfort him, to take him away from this battle. He was growing very weary now, weary and numb with the cold. Vaguely, Joe realised that he was reaching the limits of his endurance and felt an overwhelming urge to stop swimming, to give up the fight and just sink below the waves, letting them close over his head and affording him peace.
"Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death." The familiar litany had never been quite to so appropriate and death had never been closer. For a moment, Joe was tempted to close his eyes and let go, but them his spirit returned and he started to fight again.
The tide was on the turn and for a while this worked in Joe's favour, for the waves pounding relentlessly towards shore also thrust his body forward. However, it also brought additional hazards, as timbers from the Brother Jonathan broke free and surged inwards with the tide. A large spar rose on the crest of a wave and crashed down onto Joe's unprotected head and shoulders. Pain blossomed like a crimson flower and Joe collapsed across the lifebelt, bobbing helplessly as the seas surged furiously around him.
The image of his family, once so firmly fixed in his head started to waver and then dissipate, as Joe felt the energy dissipate from his body. It was more than he could bear, this feeling of being utterly alone, helpless and at the mercy of the elements.
"I'm sorry, Pa, but I did try. I tried so hard."
There was nothing else he could do, he was too tired to go on any further. Consciousness ebbed away, to be replaced by an empty, grey void and Joe surrendered himself to the sea.
The waves continued to pound his battered body, steadily increasing in height and power as the flow tide thundered into shore, the breakers crashing and foaming in impotent fury on the sandy beaches and venting their fury on the cliffsides. Eventually, they began to deposit flotsam and jetsam on the shoreline, including a limp and unresponsive figure, still lashed firmly to a lifebelt.
Snugly enclosed within the folds of a borrowed dressing gown, Adam sat by the window and stared out at the sea, still searching vainly for any signs of life amid the sullen grey waves, tipped with white foam. The previous days had heaped misery upon misery, as it became clear that only a pitifully few bodies would ever be recovered. Most of the passengers and crew of the Brother Jonathan had simply disappeared into the ocean, leaving their relatives with only a memory to grieve over.
"Adam?" A familiar voice, one he had longed to hear, yet there was an unaccustomed hoarseness to Ben's words and all his vigour and purpose seemed to have been drained away. Beside him, Hoss stood silently, his eyes swollen and bloodshot, set in a white face that was noticeably thinner.
Time seemed to stand still, frustrating their attempts to find some understanding or to forge a new unity. Adam held out his hands in supplication, trying to breach the gulf. And then, in a flurry of movement, he was enfolded in love and understanding. There was no need for further words, for what in truth could be said? A vital part of their lives was over and the very fabric of their existence was ripped into shreds.
Ben knew, from bitter experience, that the void would eventually grow smaller, that the chasm would be breached, but he dreaded the long, hard journey that lay ahead.
"There's still no news?" Adam asked that afternoon, when Ben and Hoss returned from the Sheriff's office.
Hoss screwed up his face. "A body was washed ashore at Eureka and been identified as a Miss Berry."
Adam nodded sombrely, thinking of the pretty, vivacious Mary. "I met her on ship. Joe seemed rather smitten with her."
A flicker of a smile crossed Ben's face. "That sounds like your brother!" He treasured this small insight into his son's last days, days spent far from home. While he pitied the girl's parents, who would have to identify her body, but at least they would be afforded the comfort of a funeral service, a formal farewell and a grave to visit and grieve over. Ben only had his memories of Joe and it seemed inappropriate to colour the vibrancy with which his son had lived with a melancholic overtone. That would be a betrayal of Joe and his legacy. Yet it was inconceivable that there should be no lasting memorial to his beloved child and this troubled Ben greatly.
