The fishing fleets headed for home throughout the morning of Christmas Eve. The Misty left Plymouth Sound some two hours later than the rest of Porthellis’s luggers and behind the last of the boats going downcoast for Christmas because they had to wait for Jeff to come ashore from visiting a woman he knew. He climbed aboard the boat to three mute, grim faces; even Graham Chellew was disinclined to be chatty. They had made two hundred and fifty-five pounds for the season, an amount well down on other years. They were tired and dispirited and the satisfaction on Jeff’s face grated on their nerves.
They got under way in a freshening south-easterly wind and on a sea that was gradually growing in strength and power. Huddled out of the bitter cold in the wheelhouse, Malcolm Chellew at the wheel, they stood close together watching the sails flapping wildly, the bows of the boat rising and dipping over the iron-grey white-flecked water, willing the four and a half hour journey to be over soon.
‘Be lucky if there’ll be any herring at all next year,’ Graham said, true to his grumbling form.
‘Aye,’ Malcolm replied, the only one who was listening as he expertly read the mood and pitch of the waves. ‘Couldn’t get much worse.’
Jeff was looking at Matt, as he had done often over the last few weeks, noticing his growing despondency; today he appeared to be in a pit of deep despair. He said suddenly and unexpectedly, ‘You got anything for Hannah for Christmas?’
Through his gloom Matt barely heard the question. Knowing something personal was going to be said, and not insensitive to Matt’s mood, the Chellew brothers started a quiet conversation between themselves.
‘Why do you ask?’ Matt frowned, deepening the furrows of his brow.
‘I know you think a lot of her. I heard what you said to each other after the fight. You’re not going to let her pride get in the way of your love for each other, are you?’
Matt was dumbfounded to hear these words from the man who had treated Hannah more cruelly than any other. ‘Why are you interested in what goes on between me and Hannah?’ he asked suspiciously, hoping there wasn’t trouble brewing. ‘I thought you hated her. You ordered her out of the village. Have you changed the way you think about her or are you up to some other bloody cruel game?’
‘I’m a man who’s faced death and who’s lost a bitter-tongued mother who never had a good word for any of his children,’ Jeff said seriously, grabbing the roof of the wheelhouse as the lugger lurched wildly. ‘I should never have listened to my mother though there were other reasons why I turned against Hannah. But I see things in a new light now. I don’t want to spend eternity suffering in Hell for turning against one of my own.’
‘Maybe you don’t,’ Matt said warily. ‘But that doesn’t explain why you’re concerned about what goes on between Hannah and me.’
‘I don’t know what your differences are about but I can see there never was a couple more suited to each other than you and her.’
‘She doesn’t see it that way.’
‘She would if she was thinking straight. Hannah’s got a bit above herself working in the big house, but she would never have spoken to you the way she did if she didn’t care about you. She felt let down by you fighting with Daniel Kittow and that bastard’s not worth spitting on. He’s after her himself but even if he wasn’t I reckon he’d try to come between you. He’s got a hardness about him she can’t see. Surely you aren’t going to let him win?’
‘Is that the way you see it?’ Matt said thoughtfully.
‘How do you see it?’
‘That she could never be truly happy with me unless she loves me more than Roscarrock.’
‘She may have had her head turned, what young woman wouldn’t given the circumstances? But she kept on with you, didn’t she? Kept coming back to you no matter how you fell out. That must mean something. I’ll tell you one thing, Matt, I know it was mostly because of me she went to Roscarrock but it won’t do her any good if she stays there for ever. You’re a proud bugger too, you know. Jump down off your high horse and go to her. She’s worth one more try, isn’t she?’
Matt gazed out of the sea-lashed window at the waves being whipped up by the increasing wind. He had gone through every emotion since he’d given her his ultimatum, at times seriously thinking of throwing himself into the depths and letting himself drown rather than face the rest of his life without her. But was there a safe port of calm still to be had with her? He didn’t know, but Jeff was right, he had been letting his pride rule his heart.
‘Hannah’s worth anything and everything. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her again.’
Jeff slapped him hard on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit. Take that bleddy miserable look off your face and when you get ashore clean yourself up and go straight up to Roscarrock. I’ll stake my life on it that she’ll be glad to see you.’
The men ate their crib and chatted more amiably as they got nearer Porthellis. As they caught up with other boats going home they waved to the crews, shouting Christmas greetings to Mevagissey men and those from Mount’s Bay and wishing each other good luck for the New Year.
As the Misty sailed the stretch of coast between Polperro and Fowey, a fierce gust of wind rocked the boat and a stay holding the mizzen mast to the gunwale at the stern snapped and ran through the pulley. The mast swung about like a twig and was in danger of being damaged. Matt and Graham volunteered to make the repairs.
‘Watch your footing,’ Jeff cautioned them. ‘The sea’s riding like a good man on a whore.’
Matt frowned at Jeff’s vulgar expression and put on his oilskins and followed Graham outside. The wind was now gale force. The sea was pounding against the boat, hurling freezing cold water up over the top of the cabin and wheelhouse, hitting the men angrily in the face and stinging their flesh. It was dangerous to the unwary but the two men had weathered these conditions, and worse, many times before.
Inching cautiously along the deck as the boat rolled, ducked and dived, holding tightly to the sides, Graham grabbed the end of the rope while Matt gripped the swaying mast. In a few minutes they had the rope back through the pulley and the mizzen mast firmly lashed in its place. Graham gave Matt the thumbs up and they started to make their way back to the wheelhouse and welcome shelter.
They didn’t see the freak wave until it was washing over them with the force of an avenging angel. Matt was thrown to the deck like a piece of flotsam, banging his head on the hatch of the fish berth as he was sent sprawling. He clawed at the hatch to stop himself from being flung against the side of the boat and probably having his ribs broken, raising his head in time to see Graham disappearing over the side.
‘No!’ He waited until the terrible rush of water had cascaded back over the side of the boat and scrambled to his feet, lurching forward until he was clinging to the gunwhale. Graham was holding on to the side of the boat but was in danger of being swept away at any moment. Throwing his body over the side, Matt got hold of his wrists.
‘Pull yourself up,’ he shouted above the roar of the elements. Like Graham, he had lost his hat and salt water dripped off his chin and stung his eyes.
Graham used all his strength in one huge effort to get a grip on Matt’s oilskins. Matt felt as if his arms were being torn from their sockets as he started to haul him in.
‘I’ve got him too!’ a voice shouted at Matt’s side and he knew Jeff was there. ‘Pull! Pull!’
They nearly had Graham chest high over the gunwale when the boat dipped and Graham was slung back down into the surging water.
The two rescuers gritted their teeth and strained every muscle to pull on the stricken fisherman. Matt got a glimpse of Graham’s face; he was terrified, it was a perilous sea to be lost in. Their lungs at bursting point, they pulled and strained and slowly, a bit at a time, Graham was hauled towards safety. Graham cried out in pain as they got him stretched over the gunwale. Then his hand slipped off Matt’s slippery oilskins. Afraid they’d lose ground again, Matt took one foot off the deck and leaning further overboard tried to clutch a handful of Graham s oilskin jacket. The boat gave a tremendous stagger downwards on that side and losing his footing, Matt spilled out of the boat, over Graham’s body and into the sea.
Malcolm, fighting to steer the lugger to the best advantage to get his brother safely back on board, cried out in disbelief as he saw Matt’s body being hurled into the boiling spume. There was nothing he could do for him; he couldn’t even get to the flares for he daren’t take his hands off the wheel. He watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Jeff brought Graham to safety and laid him out on the deck. Then he bent over the side to look for Matt. His dark eyes darted over wave after wave, he peered in all directions but there was no sign of him. Jeff put his fist in the air and howled in anguish. ‘Almighty God, why must this happen now?’
When he’d got Graham back to the wheelhouse, he set off the distress flares and then the Misty, staying close to the spot as they waited for the lifeboat, searched the area again and again.
It was dark when they stopped for a few moments to eat and drink to keep their strength up. Just after midnight, Christmas Day, they hailed the lifeboat, but there was no sign of Matt. The men bowed their heads and prayed but they knew it was hopeless. Matt was lost for ever in the murky black waters.