Pretending to inspect the cargo's fastenings, Van Berkumlocated his barrel again, mixed in with all the others. Hecould tell it by the small dab of blue paint. Unlike the othersit was empty, and caulked on the inside.
Turning, he made his way across the deck again. Somethinghuge and bat-winged flitted past him. He hunched his shouldersand hurried.
Four more loads, and each time a quick look into thedistance. Then--Then ... ?
Then!
He saw it. There was a ship off the port bow! He lookedabout frantically. There was no one near him. This was it. Ifhe hurried. If he was not seen.
He approached his barrel, undid the fastenings, lookedabout again. Still no one nearby. The other vessel definitelyappeared to be approaching. There was neither time nor means tocalculate courses, judge winds or currents. There was only thegamble and the hope.
He took the former and held to the latter as he rolled thebarrel to the railing, raised it, and cast it overboard. Amoment later he followed it.
The water was icy, turbulent, dark. He was suckeddownward. Frantically he clawed at it, striving to drag himselfto the surface.
Finally there was a glimpse of light. He was buffeted bywaves, tossed about, submerged a dozen times. Each time, hefought his way back to the top.
He was on the verge of giving up when the sea suddenlygrew calm. The sounds of the storm softened. The day began togrow brighter about him. Treading water, he saw the vessel hehad just quitted receding in the distance, carrying its privatehell along with it. And there, off to his left, bobbed thebarrel with the blue marking. He struck out after it.
When he finally reached it, he caught hold. He was able to