# For Don Silk, R.I.P.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

It was too rough to anchor outside the harbour at Rarotonga, and the tiny box-shaped enclosure was full. I could see through my binoculars that one of Silk and Boyd's inter-island freighters was in port, and a red shelter-deck ship took up the main wharf. The wall at the southern end of the harbour was full of yachts, all moored stern-to. By the way their masts were bouncing about, there was quite a swell running inside.
I took her in with plenty of way on. There was a vicious cross-current running at the narrow entrance, with eddies and overalls every which way. The waves were bouncing and re-bouncing backwards and forwards like inside an echo chamber. I made my approach to come alongside the red ship, which was facing out of the harbour. She had obviously backed in, as she was too long to turn around inside, even with her nose on the wharf. She was flying the blue flag of New Zealand from the flagstaff on her stern. We came together port to port. 
Egon was having trouble on the fore-deck, although he had thrown his heaving-line across okay. He was arguing with one of the crew on board the red ship.
"What's up?" I shouted to him out of the wheel-house window.
"They won't take our lines," he replied.
I looked at the officer on the bridge-wing. "What's up, mate?" I asked him. "We want to tie up for the night."
"Sorry, we don't want you alongside us."
"You what!" I looked at him puzzled. "Why not?"
"Because we don't. The wind is getting up."
"You don't expect me to back out of here in this?"
"You came in. Sort yourself out."
Debut had swung bow on to the red ship, as we argued between us, and was now lying right across the harbour. I had about thirty feet between my bow and the side of the red ship, and about thirty feet from my stern to a jagged row of rusty sheet piles and other assorted junk poking out of the dirty water. Debut was slowly drifting downwind to jam herself across the pier-heads at the mouth of the harbour, which wasn't a good thing to happen. It had just gone high tide and the water was ebbing fast.
"So be it!" I said, thinking about what I had to do. I took hold of the small tiller of the auto-pilot and gave her full starboard rudder. I then rang down Full Ahead on the telegraph. Instead of the customary three rings, I gave her five... I wanted the lot.
The water boiled under Debut's stern, and a column of exhaust gases hosed black up into the sky. As the harbour was so shallow and constricted, a wall of water ten feet high was thrust astern of Debut. The scream of her turbocharger could be heard all over the harbour. Doors started opening and people came streaming down to the harbour's edge from their offices. This promised to be more than just another boring Monday morning in paradise.
The captain of the red ship, and soon the chief engineer, came out on to the port wing of her bridge. The latter had been down in the engine room, and had come running when he heard the heavy underwater turbulence. I knew that every building within a radius of half a mile would be shaking to it's very foundations, caused by the heavy beat of the 650 litre capacity of my main engine, and that every pane of glass within their walls was threatening to fall from it's frame. Crowds of people started walking towards the harbour to see the coming show.
I looked at my shaft tachometer... I was getting 110 RPM's. Not bad, I thought. Can't expect more than that when she was stationary. I could hear the cylinder-head relief valves blowing... she was giving me her all. The thrust from her propeller was swinging her stern round, but was also driving her forward. At fifteen feet from the side of the red ship, I brought the telegraph to Stop and watched the tachometer come down. I brought the rudder amidships, and when the tachometer had dropped to 10 RPM's, I rang down for Full Astern. I gave her five rings.
All the crew of the red ship had come out on deck by now, and every eye on her and around the harbour was looking at the point the two ships would impact. Debut's turbocharger wound up to a scream and the water boiled under her stern. A twenty inch in diameter column of exhaust gases hosed 60 feet into the sky before being blown downwind. 
The centrifugal force of her twelve foot in diameter bronze propeller, and the difference in water pressure between the upper and lower blades of it, paddled the stern of Debut sideways. With every rivet shaking in her hull, she brought her bows to a stop only three feet from the thin quarter inch plating of the red freighter. Debut's reinforced ice-bow was poised like a sledge-hammer against an egg.
Once Debut had gathered enough sternway, I rang down Stop. I had gained twenty degrees, but had drifted some fifteen feet further down the harbour. Time was running out for me. I saw the jagged pilings protruding from the harbour astern of my ship, and wondered what assorted junk lay under the cloudy, discoloured water.
I rang down for Full Ahead and swung my tiller over for full starboard helm. The scream of the blower rose up again and a wall of water boiled up under Debut's stern as she squatted down ready to charge. 
The wharfs were crowded with onlookers. The captain and crew of the inter-island ship were all out on deck watching. The owners and crew of most of the yachts moored stern-to in the harbour were watching and hoping that they wouldn't become a part of this drama as well.
I kicked her stern round a few degrees more. Watching the distance between the bows of Debut, the shaft tachometer and my position in the harbour, I rand down Stop. I watched the tachometer come down as the scream of her blower eased off its pitch. I brought my rudder amidships and rang down for Full Astern. The angle of Debut's bow to the red ship wasn't as critical now. She would have glanced off, not piled straight on through. While shaking the whole harbour to it's very foundations, she brought herself up only two feet from the side of the red ship. Once more I backed, then kicked ahead. I eased slowly down the side of the red ship, Debut's rusty plating being only three feet from her glossy red paint.
The chief engineer looked over towards me and gave a wave. "Nice going, Cap."
I returned his smile. "All in a day's work."
"She may be an old rust-bucket, but you have some good machinery inside her."
"Ruston Lincoln," I told him.
"Now you're talking about engines!" he beamed. "Where was she built?"
"Selby, on the Humber."
"I thought I recognised her shape." He bobbed his head in self-confirmation. "Was she one of those big Ross Boats?"
"Resolution."
"Fancy seeing the old Ressy out here!"
I rang down Stop and let her glide further up the harbour. The owners of the yachts were looking at her eighteen foot high bow approaching and were feeling worried. With her stern just clear of the red ship and her bow by the stern of Manuvai, Debut brought herself up against the sandy sea-bed.
The captain of Manuvai, a skinny little European, gave me a wave. "That was a really fine manoeuvre. What a bastard, not taking your ropes!" He spoke English with a strong Scandinavian accent.
A short, fat European next to him spoke. "And now you can take her back out again."
"And who might you be?" I asked him.
"The harbour master."
"Unless you're also King Canute, you'd better rescind that order. My ship is hard aground, and the tide is on the ebb."
"You can't be! There's fourteen feet of water there."
"It's a little deeper than that now, my ship draws eighteen feet." I looked at the captain of Manuvai." All right if we throw across a line?"
"Sure." He nodded. "No problem."
"Egon, get a line over to him, then row across a stern line with the dingy. Hey, Captain!" I shouted. "Fancy coming on board for a drink? You too, harbour master. And bring your friends with you."
Within half an hour, the harbour tug was alongside Debut, swarming with uniforms of every type. I settled all those I could in my cabin and left the rest to fend for themselves down in the mess-room with the crew. I'd made sure they were not going to order me out of this place today. My ship was hard aground, and her position in the centre of the harbour was accepted as a fait accompli.
I served the drinks, and everyone introduced themselves to me. This was the first time I'd met Don Silk, one of the owner's of the Silk and Boyd Shipping Line. Together with his captains, Beau Berg of Sweden, and Tig from New Zealand, we would meet up many times over the next few years in the South Seas and socialise on board each other's ships. After loosing all of his ships on the treacherous reefs in the South Pacific, Don Silk retired to Rarotonga to live out the rest of his life in paradise, where he wrote his book, 'Kauri Trees to Sunlit Seas'. All the best, Don. May you rest in peace. From your old drinking buddy, Cpt Dick Brooks.
Read more about his book on the Books forum, and the adventures he had out in the South Seas, and throughout the rest of the world.


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