Page 138 - The Tigris Expedition

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lifeboat full of Russians with us into the shallows, their big ship
circling around somewhere outside the reefs without captain.
‘Captain Igor,’ I said, ‘now I accept that I am your father. Then I
am in command. I will consent to pay the dhow.’
I could see how Igor fought to keep his mouth shut. He had no
comment when Rashad passed my acceptance on to the man on the
pillows. I crawled into the cabin and rolled up my mattress to look
for my dwindling supply of cash. I had no Kuwaiti dinars. But the
pirates had agreed to be paid off in Iraqi dinars, which was strong
cash in these parts. It was lucky that I had enough in reserve for the
gulf area.
The bandits were not willing to yield a penny and even insisted
on keeping Rashad as a hostage until the ransom was paid when we
reached the edge of the shallows. Without the slightest sign of fear,
Rashad agreed.
The wind had somewhat abated and yet the dhow had difficulties
getting us moving in the right direction when they threw a tow to
the Russians who in turn had us at the end of their line. Slowly the
procession of three small vessels began to work to windward
without any sign of Slavsk.
The night fell over us again, as black as the last. Except for our
own kerosene lamps and modest flashlights, there was nothing to
be seen in any direction. No lights on the island. No lighthouse. No
Slavsk. Whether the other two dhows were going away, or coming,
was anybody’s guess.
Captain Igor was still with us on the reed-ship and could report
that Slavsk was about seven miles away when the towing began. We
seemed to be going through an extremely shallow area, for the
pitching and rolling was formidable. Our flashlights sometimes
showed seaweed dancing in the waves of an almost milk-coloured
sea. The rascals ahead of us in the pitch dark did a good job. It
proved to be a long passage. Then, at last, Norris shouted from the
mast ladder that he saw the lights of a ship on the starboard side
forward. The lights grew bigger. It was Slavsk.
The sea ran really wild, with tall swells at the edge of the
submerged reef when the pulling ceased. The dhow suddenly
appeared close to our side, now with a kerosene lamp lit, like on
Tigris. This time we feared that they might come too close, for as
one boat rose up on a wave crest the other sank down in opposing
rhythm. Their wooden gun whales might rip the reed-rolls of Tigris
to shreds. It was a truly violent dance, but we had to venture close to
pay the ransom and get Rashad back. I stepped on to the side roll of
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