Page 259 - The Tigris Expedition

The Tigris Expedition

Before we reached the gap through the final breakwater the
breeze had become a problem. We hardly seemed to move at all and
the wall ahead seemed to remain at the same distance. Not only did
the feeble wind reduce the speed, but as it struck us slightly to one
side of the high bow it forced us sideways to port, making it
difficult eventually to clear the jetty. The rudders and two boards
we lowered fore and aft were not enough to counteract this leeway,
and I had to give the four starboard men a rest while the others
rowed doubly hard, then we let the rowers change sides.
The eight men were exhausting their reserves and all I could do
from the tiller was to keep the rudder turned and yell even louder,
like a real slave-driver, but shouting cheers of optimism too. The
jetty came nearer. Another hundred yards and we would be level
with the long wall and clear its tip, where the sea broke and we
1
would be free, free to hoist our square sail. The minutes were
endless. A couple of the men at times splashed their oars like
drunkards, ending up with backward strokes.
After an hour and a half we reached the gap where the ocean
swells rolled against the star-shaped concrete blocks of the jetty that
stretched towards us from the port side. The moment we came
abreast of the breakwater the wind became too strong for our effort.
We barely managed to get outside, for the four oarsmen on the port
side hardly had space for full strokes; and once outside we lost the
battle with wind and waves and were slowly forced backwards,
stem and rudder-blades first, towards the dentated polygonal
blocks. We were seconds from disaster.
Hoist the sail!’ I cried. It was too early, but we had no choice, for
the men could do no more. It was a desperate situation, with people
suddenly screaming with fear on our behalf from the top of the jetty
and from half a dozen small boats that had come to see our
departure. We were right up against the fingershaped projections of
the breakwater blocks. The stern was so close that from the railing
of the steering bridge I could look down at little crabs scrambling
away in all directions as the rudder-blades swept past with only
■
inches to spare. An ugly performance. A close shave. A motorboat
threw us a rope as the exhausted men led by Norman rushed to
hoist the sail. It was up and trimmed at record speed. It filled. In a
few moments the concrete claws of the breakwater blocks slipped
behind us. We were out in the open sea.
We could only envy the early Sumerian seamen. How easy it
would have been if we, as they had done, could have gone in and
anchored in front of the Sohar beach. With a few oars we could have
218
s
!

i 1