Chapter V: Part 5

A large wave hit across their bow. Bervick stumbled and fell off the ladder. He rolled helplessly in the dark. There was a sudden snapping sound, louder than the wind. Then there was a crash. Bervick knew what had happened: the mast had been broken off. In the dark focs’le the dog began to whine.

* * * * *

The mast was gone.

Evans had seen it splinter as the wind-rushed waves went over the ship.

The man on watch crouched near the wheel. He was trying to hold it, to stop it from spinning. Martin lay unconscious on the deck. As the ship rolled, his limp body skidded back and forth.

Only eight minutes had passed since the williwaw struck. To Evans it seemed as if the wind had been shouting in his ears for hours.

His mind was working quickly, though. He tried to figure what would be the best way to go aground if he got control of the ship. The best thing would be to hit at an angle.

He looked at the approaching shore. Ten minutes, perhaps a little longer: that was all the time he had and the wind was not stopping.

On the rocks the giant waves swirled and tumbled. A white mist rose from the shore, a mist of sea spray hiding the mountains behind the rocks. His stomach fluttered when he saw these rocks, black and sharp, formed in a volcanic time.

He wished Bervick was with him. He even wished that Martin was conscious. His mind raced to many things. He thought of a number of things. They came to him in quick succession, without reason.

Evans wondered if the fire was out in the galley range. If the electric generator was still working. What the ship’s dog, whom he hated, was doing. Whether Duval still had his bandage on his finger and if not what the possibilities of blood poisoning were. He wondered what blood poisoning was like. His mother had died in childbirth; he thought of that.

The deckhand caught at the wheel and held it a moment. Then he had to let go. They could not even lash it secure. The ropes would break.

But the fact that the deckhand had managed to stop the wheel, even for a moment, gave Evans some hope.

Outside the sea was mountainous. Gray waves pushing steeply skyward, made valleys so deep that he could not see sky through the windows.

Evans hopped across the deck and grabbed the wheel. With all his strength he struggled to hold it still. The deckhand helped him hold the wheel. With both of them straining they managed to control the ship.

Ahead of them the shore of Kulak came closer. A long reef of rock curved out into the sea. Inside this curve the sea was quieter. They were running toward the end of the reef. They would strike it on their port bow.

Evans decided quickly to get inside the reef. It was the only thing to do.

“Hard to port,” yelled Evans. The man helped push the wheel inch by inch to the left. Evans slipped but did not fall as a wave struck them. The deck was wet from the water which streamed in under the bulkheads.

Bits of rigging from the now vanished booms clattered on the wheelhouse windows. Luckily the windows had not been broken.

A gust of wind threw the ship into a wave. Both Evans and the deckhand were torn loose from the wheel.

Evans was thrown into the chart table. He gasped. He could not breathe for several moments.

When he had got his breath back, Evans went to the window. Controlling the wheel was out of the question now. But they were inside the reef and that was good.

Evans held tightly to the railing. He watched the shore as they approached it.

Two tall rocks seemed to rush at him. Evans ducked quickly below the windows. They crashed into the rocks.

The noise was the worst thing. Breaking glass, as several windows broke. The almost human groan of the ship as the hull scraped on the rocks. The wind whistling into the wheelhouse and the thundering of water on the shore.

And then there was comparative quiet.

The wind still whistled and the sea was loud but the ship had stopped all motion.

Evans walked across the angled deck, and he was surprised at what he saw. The ship had been wedged between two rocks on the reef. The starboard side was somewhat lower than the port. The sea was deflected by one of the rocks and waves no longer rolled over the deck.

Martin, pale, his nose bleeding, walked unsteadily over to where Evans stood.

“We hit,” he said.

“We hit,” said Evans.

“How long I been out?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Wait till the storm stops.”

Evans looked about him. The ship was securely wedged between the rocks. There did not seem to be much chance of being shaken loose. Evans shivered. He realized that he was very cold and that the wind was blowing through the two broken starboard windows.

He went into his cabin and put on his parka. His cabin, he noticed, was a tangled heap of clothes and papers and furniture.

He went back into the wheelhouse. “You stay here,” he said to the deckhand. “Don’t do anything. I’ll be below for a while.”

The galley was much the way he had expected it to be. Broken dishes on the deck and food and ashes littering the table and benches. Smitty sat silently amid the wreckage. He did not speak as Evans passed him.

The salon was in better shape: there had been fewer movable articles here. Still, chairs were scattered around in unlikely places and books were heaped on the deck.

Major Barkison sat limply on one of the benches. There were blue bruises on his face. He was flexing his hand carefully as though it hurt him.

Chaplain O’Mahoney sat very stiffly behind the table. His dark hair was in his eyes and sweat trickled down his face. He managed to smile as Evans entered.

Hodges, looking no worse for the storm, was peering out one of the portholes.

“Everyone all right?” Evans asked.

“I believe so,” said the Chaplain. “We three aren’t very damaged.”

“Is it going to sink?” asked the Major, looking up.

“This ship? No, we’re not going to sink. Not today anyway.”

“What happened?” asked Hodges. “What did we hit?”

“We’re stuck between two rocks inside a reef. We’ve been lucky.”

“When are you going to get us out of here?” The Major was frightened. They were all frightened but the Major showed it more than the others.

“Just as soon as the wind lets up.”

“Is that long?” asked Hodges.

“I don’t know. There’s a first aid kit in the galley locker.” Evans went down the companionway and into the engine room.

Everything looked normal here. The two assistant engineers were checking their numerous gauges and the Chief was oiling a piece of machinery.

“What the hell did you hit?” asked the Chief. He did not seem bothered by what had happened and this annoyed Evans.

“We hit a rock, that’s what we hit. How are the engines?”

“I think they’re all right. The propellers aren’t touching bottom and you can thank God that they aren’t.”

“Will she be able to go astern?”

“I don’t see why not. Is that what were going to do?”

“Yes.”

“When do you want to push off?”

“When the wind stops.”

“We’ll have it ready.”

Evans met Bervick in the salon. Bervick was wet from his dash across the open deck.

“What’s the focs’le doing?” asked Evans. “Leaking?”

“No, we was lucky. We’re hung up just under the bow. We’ve lost our guardrail and that’s about all.”

“Good.” Evans looked through the after door. The sea crashed all around them, the white sea spray formed a cloud about them.

“Should be over soon,” remarked Bervick. “I think it’ll be over soon.”

“Yes, it should be over,” said Evans and he turned and walked back toward the wheelhouse.

iii

Bervick walked on the forward deck.

Since sundown the wind had almost died away. Water rippled about them and the ship creaked as she moved back and forth between the two rocks.

There was only a sharp stump where the mast had been. A few bits of rigging were scattered on the deck; for the most part the deck was clean of all debris.

One of the ventilators was gone and someone had covered up the hole where it had been with a piece of canvas. The other ventilator was slightly bent; otherwise, it was in good shape.

To his left rose the mountains of Kulak. They were like all the other mountains in the islands. The closer one was to them the more impressive they were.

He walked to the railing and leaned over and touched the hard wet rock that shielded them from the last gusts of the wind.

Martin came slowly toward him. He walked unsurely. The knocking he had taken had weakened him.

“Here we are,” he said.

Bervick nodded. “We got real messed up. It’s the drydock for us if we get back.”

“Hope we’re sent to Seward. I like Seward.”

“Nice town for Alaska. Maybe we’ll get sent down to Seattle.”

“My luck’s not that good.” Martin leaned over the railing and ran his hand over the shattered guardrail. “You think we’ll get off these rocks all right?”

“I think so. Maybe we knocked a hole in the bottom. If that happened we got no chance.”

“Maybe we didn’t get a hole.”

“That’s the right idea.”

They walked on the deck, looking for damage.

The cover to the anchor winch had blown away; the winch itself was not damaged.

“Let’s go up top,” said Martin. “Evans wants us to check the lifeboats.”

The top of the wheelhouse was much battered. One of the two lifeboats was splintered and useless. Martin laughed.

“Those things aren’t any use anyway, not up here they aren’t.”

“Sometimes you can get away.”

“In a lifeboat like that?”

“Sure, it’s been done.”

“I wouldn’t like to do that.”

“Neither would I,” Bervick tested the broken hull of the lifeboat with his hand. The wood creaked under the pressure.

“Let’s go below,” said Martin. “That’s no good any more.”

“I guess you’re right.”

They crossed the bridge and went into the wheelhouse. Evans was at the chart table. “What did you find?” he asked.

“One lifeboat knocked up and one ventilator on the forward deck gone,” said Bervick.

“I saw the ventilator go,” said Evans. “You say the lifeboat’s out of commission?”

“That’s right.”

“Shipyard for us,” said Evans and that was all. He turned back to his charts. Evans put on an act sometimes, thought Bervick.

“We’re going below, Skipper,” said Bervick and he and Martin left the wheelhouse.

Duval was in the salon. His coveralls were smeared with grease and he looked gaunt. He was sitting at the table, alone.

“When’re we leaving this place?” he asked.

“Pretty soon,” answered Bervick. “How’re your engines?”

“I guess they’ll be all right. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Bervick looked at the Chief’s grease-stained coveralls. “You have some trouble?”

“One of the pumps stopped working. I think we got it fixed. The boys are testing it now.”

“You look beat,” commented Martin.

“You would be too. How did Evans manage to get us on the rocks, I wonder?”

“He didn’t,” said Bervick. “Just fool’s luck that we got out of this thing this well.”

“You mean so far,” said the Chief sourly.

Bervick looked at him with dislike. Usually when they were working together there was no enmity but now, even on the rocks, he could not keep from disliking Duval.

“What’s happened to the passengers?” asked Martin.

“Damned if I know. They’ve probably gone out on deck or hit their sacks. That Major certainly got excited.”

“They all seemed excited,” remarked Bervick.

“I suppose you weren’t.” The Chief stood up and sighed deeply. “I think I’ll talk to Evans and see what’s going to happen.” He had started to leave when Evans came into the salon.

“When we going?” asked the Chief.

“Right away. Say, Martin, you take some men and go on deck and stand by while we go astern.”

Martin left the salon. “Are you going to be able to handle the engines all right?” asked Evans, turning to the Chief.

“I think so. What’re you going to do, go half speed astern?”

“Full speed, I think. Depends how tight we are. Come on, Bervick.”

Someone had tacked pieces of canvas over the broken windows in the wheelhouse. “Handle the telegraph for me,” said Evans.

“O.K.” Bervick looked out the window and saw Martin with several deckhands. They were standing on the bow, waiting. Lieutenant Hodges was also on the forward deck.

Evans maneuvered the wheel for several moments. “Ring Stand By,” he said at last. Bervick set the markers on Stand By. The Chief rang back quickly.

“Slow Astern,” said Evans.

Bervick rang the engine room again. The regular throbbing of the engines began. The ship creaked and shifted slightly.

“Half Speed Astern,” said Evans, his hands clutching the wheel tightly.

Bervick rang for Half Speed. The ship trembled. There was a ripping sound as they began to move from between the rocks. “There goes the guardrail,” said Bervick.

“Full Speed Astern,” said Evans.

Bervick set the markers on Full Speed. “Here we go,” he said.

The ship, with much groaning as pieces of wood were torn from the bow, moved away from the rocks.

Evans swung the wheel hard to port. There was a suspended instant and then the bow splashed off the rocks. The ship rolled uncertainly for a moment. Then they were free.

“Cut the engines,” said Evans.

The ship drifted away from shore.

“So far so good,” said Evans. “Give her Slow Ahead.” As the ship moved ahead Evans swung the bow out to sea.

“Now we can wait,” he said.

“For the leaks to start?”

“For the leaks.”

“Maybe I ought to go see the Chief, see how the pumps are working,” suggested Bervick.

“Sure, go below.”

The engine room was hot. Fumes from the engines made the air almost unbreathable. Duval was watching the gauges. His assistants stood beside the engines.

“Evans wants to know if the pumps are working.”

“Tell him I think so. Got good pressure.”

“I guess the engines weren’t bothered at all.”

“You can be glad of that.”

Bervick went up to the salon. Martin was looking out the porthole at the island shore.

“We made it,” said Bervick.

“Yes, we got off the rocks. I was afraid for a while we weren’t going to be able to. We were really jammed in there. Took the whole guardrail off.”

“Did you look in the focs’le to see if there were any leaks?”

“No. You think we should?”

“Yes. You take the focs’le and I’ll go down in the hold.”

On deck the wind was brisk but not strong. The air was clearer but the sky was still overcast. With night coming the weather might yet be good.

Bervick slipped the covering off one end of the hatch. Carefully he went down the narrow ladder. The hold was dark and damp and smelled of salt and wood. When he got to the bottom he turned on a light.

There were several crates of machinery on the deck of the hold. They had not been given much cargo to carry on this trip. Pieces of tarpaulin and lengths of line were strewn over the deck. Ammunition for the ship’s gun rolled about the hold. They had dismantled most of their gun and had stored the pieces. No one ever saw the Japanese in these waters.

Bervick examined the damp bulkheads carefully. They seemed to be sound. He walked over the deck and could not find any sign of a leak.

He turned off the light and climbed out of the hold. Martin was standing by the railing.

“Find anything?” Bervick asked.

Martin shook his head. “Everything fine. You find anything?”

“No.” They went aft to the salon. Martin went above to tell Evans about their inspection.

Major Barkison was in the salon when Bervick entered. He was nervous; his fingers played constantly with his belt buckle.

“Do you think it’s over for good?” he asked.

“I expect so. The heart of the storm’s gone by us.”

“I hope so. That was really dreadful, the rocks and all that wind. Does this happen often?”

“Occasionally it happens.”

“It was awful. We’ll get back all right now, though. Won’t we?”

“I hope so. Evans is good, he knows his business. I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“No, I suppose it’s all over.” The Major shuddered. “That wind, I’ve never seen anything like it. It was terrible, all that wind.” The Major sat down heavily.

Evans came into the salon. He seemed cheerful. He was smiling.

“Martin tells me there aren’t any leaks.”

Bervick nodded, “That’s right.”

“We’ll get there then. I’m hungry. Is Smitty around?”

“I think he’s below. I’ll get him.”

“Fine.”

“I gather,” said the Major slowly, “that the storm is over.”

“Well, it looks like it. Never can tell, of course. We may have some more but the worst is over.”

Major Barkison was relieved. “You know,” he said, “I must admire the way you’ve handled this. I’m going to recommend you for a citation.”

Evans laughed, “Send me back to the States, that’s what I want.”

“I’m serious,” said the Major. “You’ve done a remarkable job and we are all, naturally, most grateful.”

There was an embarrassed silence. Bervick looked at Evans and saw that Evans was at a loss to say anything. Evans did not know how to say the right things.

“I’ll get Smitty up,” said Bervick.

“Fine,” said Evans. “Go get him up. I’m hungry.”

Bervick found Smitty in his bunk. “Come on and get up,” he said. “We want some chow.”

Smitty swore loudly, “I seen everything now,” he said and he got out of his bunk.

Bervick went back to the salon.

_Chapter Six_

i

They had steak for supper. Smitty, in a mood of thanksgiving, had cooked an unusually good meal. He served it himself, almost cheerfully.

“Such a nice quiet evening,” exclaimed the Chaplain.

“It’s a real relief,” said the Major. “A real relief. I thought for a while that ... well, that that was it, if you know what I mean.”

“It was pretty close,” said Evans, smiling. His passengers looked much better. The Chaplain especially seemed happy.

“Yes,” said the Major, “I think we’ve been lucky. Of course, we have Mr Evans here to thank. If it hadn’t been for his ... his efforts, I suppose, we’d be dead now.”

“That’s right,” said the Chaplain, looking fondly at Evans. “You really did a remarkable job.”

“Pass the sugar,” said Duval and he took the sugar when it was passed to him and put several spoonsful of it in his coffee. Evans could see that he did not like to hear his Skipper praised.

“By the way,” said Evans, “I think we should really compliment the Chief. He sure did a good job. If his engine room hadn’t been operating I don’t know where we’d be.”

“That’s right,” said the Major, “we mustn’t forget Mr Duval.”

“We’ve been extremely fortunate,” said the Chaplain. “Not of course that we all weren’t quite ready to ... to meet our Maker, as it were.”

“I wasn’t,” said Hodges abruptly. The others laughed.

“Tell me, Mr Evans,” said the Major, “when do you expect to get to Arunga?”

“Tomorrow sometime, afternoon, I guess. Depends on what kind of time we make.”

“Excellent.”

“By the way,” said the Chief, “that ventilator, the one over the starboard engine; water and everything else’s been coming down it. You get someone to fix it?”

Evans nodded; he looked at Bervick, “You want to take care of that?”

“Sure.”

Evans sat down on one of the long benches that lined the bulkheads. Martin was in the wheelhouse. They were on course and the barometer was rising.

He shut his eyes and relaxed. The rocking of the ship was gentle and persistent. He had had an operation once and he had been given ether. There were terrible dreams.... All through the dreams there had been a ticking, a heartbeat rhythm, and a floating sensation much like the sea. He began to recall the dream. He was happy, and when he was happy he enjoyed torturing himself in a subtle fashion. He pretended that he was under the ether again, that the rocking of the ship was the dream. He recalled objects that looked like straws set in a dark green background. Lights shone from the tops of the straws and deep deep voices speaking in a negro manner came out of the tips of the straws. He began to sink into the vastness of the ether dream. There was a struggle and then a sense of being alone, of being overcome. The deep voices kept throbbing in his ears. Then there was quiet.

* * * * *

“Did you have a nice nap?” asked the Chaplain.

Evans opened his eyes and tried to look alert. “Just dozing.” He sat up. The Chaplain and he were the only ones in the salon. He looked at his watch: it was after ten.

“I cannot,” said the Chaplain, “get over the great change in the weather.”

“In the williwaw season weather does funny things.”

“I had what you might call a revelation of sorts, if you know what I mean, during the storm.”

“Is that right?” Evans wondered who was on watch. It was supposed to be his watch until midnight. Bervick had probably taken over while he slept.

“I had a sort of vision, well not quite a vision, no, not a vision, a presentiment, yes, that’s what I had, a presentiment of something.”

“Did you?” Evans was not sure that he knew what a presentiment was.

“This vision, presentiment I should say, was about the ship.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Nothing much at all. It’s really quite vague to me now. It was only that we’d all get out of this, that no one would be hurt on the trip, that’s all. That’s why I suppose one would call it a presentiment. It was just a feeling of course. A kind of instinct.”

“Is that right? I’ve had them too.” Evans wondered if the ventilator was still leaking.

“Have you really? I know there’s a sort of intuition, a sort of sixth sense I would suppose you’d call it.”

“Sure, that’s what I’d call it.” Evans wondered if there was anything to religion. Probably not, at least he himself had gotten along without it. He tried to recall if he’d ever been inside a church. He could not remember. In the back of his mind there was a feeling of great space and peacefulness which might have been the memory of a childhood visit to a church. He had seen some movies, though, that had church interiors in them. Churches where gray-haired men in long black robes stood in what appeared to be upright coffins and talked interminably about large resonant things. He had learned about religion from the movies and from the Chaplains he had met.

The Chaplain, his sixth sense at work, guessed what he was thinking. “You are not particularly, ah, religious, are you, Mr Evans.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” said Evans, who would have said just that if he had not disliked being thought different from other people.

“Oh no, I can tell that you’re a ... a pagan.” The Chaplain chuckled to show that this epithet was not serious.

“I hope not.” Evans was not too sure what “pagan” meant either. He wished that people would use simple familiar words. That was the main thing he disliked in Martin: the long words that sounded as if they meant something very important.

“Well, there are many, many people like you in the world,” said Chaplain O’Mahoney sadly, aware suddenly of the immensity of sin, the smallness of virtue.

“I guess there are.” Evans wondered if Martin had recorded the rising barometer readings regularly.

“Did you ever feel lost?” asked the Chaplain in an almost conspiratorial tone.

“What? Well, I don’t know.”

“I mean did you ever feel lonely?”

“Certainly, haven’t you?”

The Chaplain was a little startled; then he answered quickly, “No, never. You see I have something to fall back on.”

“I suppose you do,” said Evans and he tried to sound thoughtful and sincere but he managed only to sound bored.

The Chaplain laughed. “I’m being unfair, talking to you like this when your mind’s on the ship and ... and things.”

“No, no, that’s all right. I’m very interested. I once wanted to be a preacher.” Evans added this for the sake of conversation.

“Indeed, and why didn’t you become one?”

Evans thought a moment. Pictures of gray-haired men in black robes and gray-haired men advertising whiskey in the magazines were jumbled together in his inner eye. He had never become a minister for the simple reason that he had never been interested. But the thought that was suddenly the most shocking to him was that he had never wanted to _become_ anything at all. He had just wanted to do what he liked. This was a revelation to him. He had thought about himself all his life but he had never been aware that he was different from most people. He just wanted to sail because he liked to sail and he wanted to get married again because it seemed like a comfortable way to live. Chaplains and Majors wanted to become Saints and Generals respectively.

“I guess I never really wanted to be a minister very much.” Evans ran his hand through his hair. He noticed it was getting long. He would have a haircut when they got to Arunga.

“Some, I suppose,” said the Chaplain philosophically, “are chosen, while others are not.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” said Evans with more emphasis than was necessary.

The Chaplain squinted his eyes and took a deep breath and Evans could see that he was going to be lectured. He stood up and the Chaplain, looking surprised, opened his eyes again and exhaled, a slight look of disappointment on his face.

“If you’ll excuse me I’m going up top. My watch’s now.”

“Of course, certainly.”

Bervick was standing by the windows, looking out. Evans stood beside him and they watched the sea together. The dark water shifted lazily now, gusts of wind occasionally ruffling the surface of the water. The night sky was black.

“You been asleep?”

Evans nodded.

“That’s what I thought. Martin hit the sack.”

“Barometer’s up.”

“That’s nice. I don’t like low barometers.”

“Nobody likes them.”

Evans looked at the stump where the mast had been. “She really tore off hard, didn’t she?”

“Glad I wasn’t under it.”

“I guess the boys’ll really talk about us now, the guys on the other boats.”

“Sure, they’re just like women. Talk, talk, that’s about all they do.”

“I guess they’ll say it was my fault. Harms would say that. He’d want to cover his own hide for sending us out.”

“Well, you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to. That’s sea law.”

“That’s true.”

“But I don’t think they’re going to say it was your fault. Worse things’ve happened to a lot of other guys.”

“It wasn’t my fault, this thing, was it?”

“I don’t think so. You ain’t no weather prophet.”

“There wasn’t any way for me to tell that there’d be a williwaw.”

“Well, this is the season for them.”

“But how could I know that it was going to happen? We were cleared at the Big Harbor.”

“It’s on their neck then.”

“I hope so, it’d better be. I couldn’t help it if we got caught like that, got caught in a williwaw.”

“Sure, sure, it was no fault of yours.”

Evans looked out of the window. He was getting a little worried. The thought that he might be held responsible for taking a boat out and getting it wrecked in williwaw weather was beginning to bother him. Bervick was soothing, though.

“You taking over now?” he said.

Evans nodded, “Yes, I’ll take over. You got a couple of hours, why don’t you get some sleep?”

“I think I’ll go below and mess around. I’m not so sleepy.”

“By the way, did you fix that ventilator, the one over the Chiefs engine room?”

Bervick frowned, “No, I forgot all about it. I’ll go now.” Bervick left the wheelhouse. Evans checked the compass with the course. Then he opened one of the windows and let the cool air into the wheelhouse. In a few minutes he would go to his cabin and take a swallow of bourbon; then he would come back and feel much happier as he stood his watch and thought.

ii

Major Barkison and the Chaplain were in the salon when Bervick entered. The Chaplain was putting on his parka.

“Hello, Sergeant,” said the Major. “We thought we might take a stroll on deck before turning in.”

“It’s pretty windy still.”

“Well,” said the Chaplain, “I wouldn’t want to get a chill on top of all this excitement.”

“Well,” said the Major, “maybe we’d better just go to our cabins.” The Chaplain thought that was a good idea and Bervick was glad to see them go.

He walked around the salon, straightening chairs and arranging the books which were still scattered about. The salon was quiet, now that the big wind had stopped. Even the bare electric lights seemed more friendly than usual.

The after door opened and Hodges came into the salon. He slammed the door and stood shivering as the heat of the salon warmed him.

“What were you doing out?” asked Bervick.

“Walking around. I think we’ll be able to see stars soon. Looks like it’s clearing up.”

“Going to be quite a while before she clears that much.”

“Well, it looked pretty clear to me.”

“Clouds thinning maybe. I’ll be on deck myself soon.”

“You’ll see nice weather, at least that’s what I saw.” Hodges sat on the bench and scratched his leg thoughtfully.

“Hope so.” Bervick tried to think why he had come below. He looked up and saw that Duval was standing near him; he remembered.

The Chief was angry, “Say, Bervick, I thought you was going to fix that ventilator.”

“What’s the matter with it now, we ain’t rocking much.”

“Well, it’s leaking all over my engine, that’s what’s the matter. I thought Evans told you to get that fixed long time ago?”

“He certainly did. You heard him, too, I guess,” Bervick tried to irritate Duval.

“Damn it then, what’re you going to do, just stand there like a stupid bastard?”

Bervick frowned. “You watch what you say, Chief.”

“Who do you think you are telling me what I should say, anyhow?”

“Let’s take it easy,” said Hodges, remembering his superior rank and deciding that things were getting out of hand.

Bervick and the Chief ignored him. “I don’t want you calling me a bastard,” said Bervick. He enjoyed himself, fighting with Duval like this. Somehow Duval had begun to represent everything that he hated.

“I’ll call you anything I like when you sound off like that. You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you? Hanging around Evans all the time. You and he think you’re mighty superior to everybody else.”

“We sure in hell are to you.”

Duval flushed a dirty red. “Shut up, you thick squarehead.”

“_Cajun!_” Bervick snarled the word, made an oath of it.

Duval started toward him. Hodges stood up. “By the way,” said Hodges quickly, “where are the Major and the Chaplain?”

“What?” Duval stopped uncertainly; then he remembered himself. “I don’t know.”

“They’ve gone to bed,” said Bervick. He was sorry that the Chief had not tried to fight with him.

Hodges, pleased that he had stopped what could have been serious trouble, tried to think of something else to say. He asked, “Do you get into the Big Harbor often, Mr Duval?” This was the first thing that came into his head and it was the wrong thing to say.

“Yeah, we go there once, twice a week,” said Duval.

“A lot of nice people there,” said Bervick, looking at Duval.

“All you got to have is money,” said the Chief softly, “money and technique, that’s all you’ve got to have. Some people ain’t got either.”

“You’re right there,” said Bervick. “Some people got just one and not the other. Some people that I could name are just like that.”

“Some people,” said Duval, beginning to enjoy himself, “haven’t got nothing to offer. I pity those people, don’t you, Lieutenant?”

Hodges, somewhat puzzled, agreed that he pitied those people.

“Of course,” said Bervick, “there are some guys who sneak around and get other people’s girls and give them a lot of money when they get too old to give anything else.”

This stung Duval but he did not show it. “Sure, sure, then there’re the big snow artists. They talk all the time, that’s all they do is talk. That’s what Olga said someone we know used to do all the time, talk.”

“You must’ve made that up. Maybe she meant you. Yes, that’s who she meant, she meant you.”

“I don’t think so. She knows better. This guy was a squarehead, the guy she was talking about.”

“I think,” said Hodges, worried by the familiar pattern of the argument, “I think maybe you better take care of that ventilator, like you said.”

“That’s right,” said Bervick, “we can’t let the spray get on the Chief Engineer. That’s getting him too near the water.”

“I been on boats before you was born.”

“Sure, they have ferries where I come from, too.”

There was silence. Bervick felt keen and alive and strangely excited, as though something important was going to happen to him. He looked at the Chief in an almost detached manner. Hodges was frowning, he noticed. Hodges was very young and not yet able to grasp the problems of loneliness and rivalry.

“Someday,” said the Chief at last, “somebody’s going to teach you a lesson.”

“I can wait.”

“I think it would be a good idea,” said Hodges, “if you went and fixed whatever you have to fix. You’re not getting anywhere now.”

“O.K.,” said Bervick, “I’ll fix it.”

“You going to do it alone?” asked Hodges.

“Sure, it’s too late to get anybody else to help. I couldn’t ask the Chief because he’s too high-ranking to do any work.”

“Shut up,” said the Chief. “I could do it alone if I wanted to.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Why,” said Hodges, “don’t you do it together?” At Officers’ School they had taught him that nothing brought men closer together than the same work.

“That’s a fine idea,” said Bervick, knowing that Duval would not like it.

“Sure,” said the Chief, “sure.”

They walked out on deck. Hodges stayed in the salon, playing solitaire.

There was a cold wind blowing and the ship was pitching on the short small waves. Spray splattered the decks from time to time. The sky was beginning to clear a little. Hodges had been right about the weather.

The ventilator was dented and slightly out of position. When spray came over the side of the ship it eddied around the base of the ventilator and water trickled through to the engine room.

Duval and Bervick looked at the ventilator and did not speak. Bervick pushed it and felt it give slightly. Duval sat on the railing of the ship, opposite the ventilator.

“I suppose,” said Bervick, “we should hammer the thing in place.”

“You go get the hammer then.”

Bervick walked to the afterdeck. He leaned down and raised the lid of the lazaret. A smell of tar and rope came to him from the dark hole. He climbed down inside the lazaret and fumbled around a moment in the dark. Then he found a hammer and some nails.

“What took you so long?” asked the Chief. He was standing by the ventilator, smoking.

“You forgot about blackout rules, huh? You making your own smoking rules now?”

“You just mind your business.” Duval went on smoking calmly.

“I’m going to tell Evans,” said Bervick.

“You do just what you please. Now let’s fix that ventilator and stop talking.”

Bervick got down on his knees and tried to wiggle the ventilator in place. It was too heavy. He stood up again.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you get it in place?”

“No, I’d like to see you try.”

The Chief got down on his knees and pushed at the ventilator. Nothing happened. In the darkness Bervick could see the lighted tip of the Chief’s cigarette blinking quickly as he puffed. Duval stood up.

“You have to move these things from the top, that’s what you have to do.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“That’s what you’re on this boat for, to take care of them things like that. You’re a deckhand and this is deck work. This isn’t my job.”

“You’re the one that’s complaining. It don’t make no difference to me if your engine gets wet.”

Duval tossed his cigarette overboard. “Take care of that.” He pointed to the ventilator.

Bervick slowly pushed the ventilator over the opening it was to cover. Then he picked up the hammer and started to nail the base of the ventilator into the deck.

“How’s it coming?” asked a voice. Bervick looked up and recognized Hodges. He was standing beside the Chief.

“Don’t know yet. Trying to nail this thing down.” He was conscious that his knees were aching from the cold damp deck. He stood up.

“What’s the matter now?” asked Duval.

“Knees ache.”

“You got rheumatism, maybe?” asked Hodges with interest.

“Everybody has a little bit of it up here,” said Bervick and he rubbed his knees and wished the pain would go away.

“I never had it,” said the Chief as though it were something to be proud of.

“Why, I thought I saw you limping around today,” said Hodges.

“That was a bang I got in the williwaw. Just bruised my knee.”

“Well, I’ll see you all later.” Hodges walked toward the forward deck. The ship was pitching more than usual. The waves were becoming larger but overhead the sky was clearing and there was no storm in sight.

“Let’s get this done,” said Duval, “I’m getting cold.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe if you did some work you’d warm up.”

“Come on,” said Duval and he began to wrestle with the ventilator. It was six feet tall, as tall as Duval.

“That’s no way to move it,” said Bervick. He pushed the Chief away and he grasped the ventilator by the top. Slowly he worked it into place again. Duval watched him.

“See how simple it is,” said Bervick.

Duval grunted and sat down on the railing again. Overhead a few stars began to shine very palely on the sea. Bervick hammered in the dark. Then, working too quickly, he hit his own hand. “Christ!” he said and dropped the hammer.

“Now what’s wrong?” asked Duval irritably, shifting his position on the railing.

“Hit my hand,” said Bervick, grasping it tightly with his good hand.

“Well, hurry up and get that thing nailed.”

Anger flowed through Bervick in a hot stream. “Damn it, if you’re in a hurry, do it yourself.” He picked up the hammer and threw it at Duval.

The hammer, aimed at Duval’s stomach, curved upward and hit him in the neck. The Chief made a grab for the hammer and then the ship descended into a trough.

Duval swayed uncertainly on the railing. Then Duval fell overboard.

There was a shout and that was all. Bervick got to his feet and ran to the railing. He could see the Chief, struggling in the cold water. He was already over a hundred feet away. Bervick watched him, fascinated. He could not move.

His mind worked rapidly. He must find Evans and stop the engines. Then they would get a lifeboat and row out and pick the Chief up. Of course, after five, ten minutes in the water he would be dead.

Bervick did not move, though. He watched the dark object on the water as it slipped slowly away. The ship sank into another deep trough and when they reached the crest of the next wave there was no dark object on the water.

Then he was able to move again. He walked, without thinking, to the forward deck. A wet wind chilled his face as he looked out to sea. The snow clouds were still thinning. In places dim stars shone in the sky.

He walked back to the stump where the mast had been. He felt the jagged wood splinters and was glad that he had not been under the mast when it had fallen.

Slowly Bervick walked to the afterdeck. He had left the lazaret open; he closed it and then he went into the salon.

Hodges was building a house of cards. His hands were very steady and he was working intensely. When Bervick shut the door the house of cards collapsed.

“Damn,” said Hodges and smiled. “Get it fixed all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, we got it fixed.”

“I thought I heard a splash a minute ago. You drop anything over?”

Bervick swallowed hard. “No, I didn’t throw nothing overboard.”

“I guess it was just waves hitting the boat.”

“Yeah, that was it, waves hitting the deck.” Bervick sat down on a bench and thought of nothing.

“Where’d the Chief go?” asked Hodges.

Bervick wished that Hodges would shut up. “I think he went below. He went around outside.” Once the lie was made things became clearer to Bervick. They wouldn’t know what had happened for hours.

Hodges began to build his house of cards again.

Light glinted for a moment on Hodges’ gold ring. That reminded Bervick of something. He was puzzled. It reminded him of something unpleasant and important. Then he remembered: the Chiefs gold tooth which always gleamed when he laughed, when he laughed at Bervick. Duval was dead now. He realized this for the first time.

The salon was very still. Bervick could hear the careful breathing of Hodges as he built his house of cards. Bervick watched his fingers, steady fingers, as he worked.

No one would be sorry Duval was dead, thought Bervick. His wife would be, of course, and his family, but the men wouldn’t. They’d think it was a fine thing. They would talk about it, of course. They would try to guess what had happened, how Duval fell overboard; they would wonder when it had happened.

“You and the Chief were really arguing,” commented Hodges, putting a piece of the roof in place.

“We’re not serious.”

“You sounded serious to me. It’s none of my business but I think maybe you sounded off a little too loud. He’s one of your officers.”

“We didn’t mean nothing. He talked out of line, too.”

“That’s right. That’s dangerous stuff to do, talk out of line. There can be a lot of trouble.”

“Sure, a lot of trouble. Sometimes guys kill each other up here. It’s happened. This is a funny place. You get a little queer up here.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Hodges added a third story to his house.

“Me and the Chief, we don’t get along so well, but I ain’t got any hard feelings against him, know what I mean?”

“I think so. Started over a girl, didn’t it?”

“There’re not many up here. The ones they’ve got there’s a lot of competition for. We were just after the same one.”

“He got her?”

“Yeah, he got her.”

Hodges began to build an annex on the left side of the house. Bervick hoped he would build one on the right side, too. It looked lopsided the way it was.

“That’s too bad,” said Hodges.

“I didn’t like it so much, either.”

“I know how you feel.”

Bervick doubted that, but said nothing.

Hodges decided to build a fourth story. The house of cards collapsed promptly. “Damn,” said Hodges and he did not rebuild.

Bervick looked at his watch. “I’d better get some sleep,” he said. “See you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Evans was singing to himself when Bervick came into the wheelhouse. The man at the wheel looked sleepily out to sea.

“Fix the ventilator?”

“Yes.”

“Have much trouble with it?”

“Not so much.”

“Hammer it?”

“We hammered it.”

“Who helped you? Not the Chief?”

“Well, he stood by and watched.”

“Was he sore you hadn’t already done it?”

“He’s always sore about something.”

“I thought I heard you and him arguing below.”

Bervick played with his blond hair. “We had a little argument about fixing the ventilator.”

“I’ll bet you sounded off right in front of the Major.”

“No, just Hodges.”

Evans groaned, “What the hell’s matter with you? Can’t you get along any better than that with people?”

“Doesn’t look much like it.”

“He’s going to try get you off this boat, you know that?”

“I don’t think he will,” said Bervick and he was sorry he had spoken so quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, I don’t think he’s that kind of guy.”

“I never heard you say that before.”

“Well, he’s not so bad, when you get to know him.”

“Is that right?” Evans laughed. “You don’t make much sense.”

Bervick laughed. It was the first time that he had really felt like laughing in several months. The surface of his mind was serene: only in the back of his mind, the thoughts he was not thinking about, only there was he uneasy.

“Martin taking over at eight bells?”

Evans nodded. “You better get him up.”

Bervick went into the small dark cabin. Martin was asleep and breathing heavily. Bervick shook him.

“Get up,” he said.

“Sure, sure,” said Martin wearily. He rolled out of his bunk; he was already dressed.

“Afraid we might sink?”

“Sure, sure,” said Martin and he moved unsteadily to the wheelhouse.

Bervick sat down on his bunk and looked at the darkness. Duval was dead. He imagined how it must have felt: the cold water, the numbing sensation, desperation, and then the whole elaborate business of living ended.

Evans opened the door of his cabin. “You asleep?” he asked.

“No.”

“I’m going below now. Which ventilator did you fix? I’ve forgot.”

“The starboard side. The one amidship.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You going below now?”

“I thought I’d look around before I turned in. Chief still up?”

Bervick controlled his breathing very carefully. “No. He said he was going to hit the sack.”

“I won’t bother him then. Good night.”

“Night.” Evans closed the door.

Bervick lay in the darkness. He rolled from side to side in his bunk as the ship lunged regularly on the waves.

It was not his fault. He was sure of that. He had handed Duval the hammer. Well, he had thrown the hammer to him. He had not thrown it very hard, though. The Chief had lost his balance, that was all. Perhaps the hammer had hit him and thrown him off balance, but that was not likely. The ship had been hit by a wave and he was on the railing and fell off. Of course, the hammer might have been thrown much harder than he thought, but Duval had caught it all right. Well, perhaps he had not quite caught it; the hammer had hit him in the neck, but not hard enough to knock him overboard.

Then Duval was in the water and Bervick had tried to get help but it was too late. No, that was not right, he had not tried to get help: he had only stood there. But what could he have done? Fifteen minutes would have passed before they could have rescued him. Duval would have been frozen by then. Of course, he should have tried to pick him up. They couldn’t lose time, though. Not in this weather. He had tried throwing Duval a line; no, that wasn’t true at all. He had done nothing at all.

They would find he was gone by morning, or sooner. Then they would talk. Hodges would try to remember when Duval had left and he would remember hearing a splash: the hammer falling overboard. The Chief had gone back to the engine room or some place like that.

Bervick slept uneasily. From time to time he would awaken with a start, but he could not remember his dreams. That was the trouble with dreams. The sensation could be recalled but the details were lost. There were so many dreams.

iii

“I don’t see how it happened,” said the Major. “It’s been so calm.”

“I know, it’s been very calm,” agreed the Chaplain.

Major Barkison, the Chaplain and Hodges were in the salon. A half-hour before, at three-thirty in the morning, Evans had told them that Duval was missing.

In the galley the crew was gathered. The passengers could hear their voices as Evans questioned them.

Hodges sat at the galley table playing solitaire. He had been asleep when one of the crew had come and asked him to see Evans in the salon.

Hodges was sleepy. He hoped that Evans would finish his questioning soon and let them go back to bed. It was exciting, of course, to have a man disappear, and he wondered what had happened. Hodges could not believe that Duval had fallen overboard. That was too unlikely. That couldn’t happen to anyone he had talked to such a short time before.

“The decks are quite slick,” commented the Major. “It’s easy to slip on them; all you have to do is slip and that’s the end.”

“I can’t believe it happened that way,” said the Chaplain. “He must be somewhere around the ship. There must be a lot of places where he could be.” The Chaplain, like Hodges, could not grasp sudden death.

“This isn’t a big ship,” said the Major serenely. “They must’ve looked everywhere.”

“That water must be awfully cold,” said Hodges, beginning to feel awake.

The Chaplain shuddered and muttered something under his breath.

“Almost instant death,” said the Major. “Almost instant death,” he repeated softly. The Chaplain crossed himself. Hodges wondered how the water must have felt: the killing waves.

Evans and Martin walked in from the galley. Evans looked worried.

“Did any of you people see Duval tonight?” he asked.

The Major and the Chaplain said they had not.

“I did,” said Hodges.

“About when?”

“Around ten or eleven, I guess, I haven’t kept much track of time lately.”

“What was he doing?”

“Well, he and Bervick were arguing about fixing the ventilator or something.”

“I know all about that. Did you see him around later?”

“No. He and Bervick went outside to fix this thing. Bervick came back in alone. He said something or other about the Chief going below.”

Evans sat down on the bench. The lines in his face were deep now. He seemed to Hodges to have stood about all he could. First the williwaw and then this.

“Go get Bervick,” said Evans, turning to Martin.

Martin left.

“I guess he fell off, if he did fall off, after Bervick came in,” said Hodges.

“Could be,” said Evans.

“I can’t really believe this has happened,” said the Chaplain. “He must be somewhere on the ship.”

“I wish he were,” said Evans. “I wish he were.”

“There will probably be an investigation,” said the Major.

Evans nodded. “They’ll be running all over the ship.”

Bervick and Martin joined them. Bervick looked surprised.

“Chief’s missing. That right?”

“Yeah, he’s gone. The Lieutenant here didn’t see the Chief after you and him went out to fix the vent.”

Bervick nodded. “We went out and when we finished the Chief said something about going up forward. I went on back to the salon. I guess he went on below later.”

“Or else he fell overboard after you left,” commented Evans. He turned again to Martin, “Get the assistants, will you?”

The assistant engineers were as surprised as the rest.

“I don’t know nothing about it,” said the heavy-set one. “Chief, he went on up top around ten o’clock and he didn’t come back down, or at least I didn’t see him again.” The other assistant had not seen him either.

“Well, there’s the story,” said Evans. “On his way back he must have slipped.”

“But it wasn’t rough at all,” said the Major. “I wonder how he managed to fall over.” The Major carefully made his large-nosed profile appear keen and hawk-like.

“Well, he’d been sitting on the railing when I was fixing the ventilator. He might have sat on the forward railing after I left,” said Bervick.

“He could lose his balance then?”

Bervick nodded, “Easiest thing in the world.”

“I see.”

“We had a deckhand fall off that way once.”

“Of course, that’s what I feel must have happened. The decks are so slick.”

“And you can lose your balance on a railing.”

“I suppose so.”

The Chaplain was calm now. He remembered his duty as a priest. “There will have to be some sort of service,” he said, looking at Evans.

“That’s right,” Evans agreed. “I’m supposed to give it but if you wouldn’t mind I’d rather have you take care of it.”